Page 25 of The Spinster's Resolve

H owever, much to Grace’s disappointment, she did not have an opportunity to speak with the Duke that evening. He seemed to be forever surrounded by his ‘friends’, and after supper, half the women in the room encircled him. No doubt due to his newly confirmed bachelor status, she thought viciously.

She tried to approach him a few times when he walked past, but he pointedly looked away, and she struggled to catch his eye. As a last effort, she even joined in the conversation when all the guests had left, leaving only Lady Elizabeth and Mrs Merriweather in the drawing room.

‘Gerrard seems happy with his bride-to-be,’ the Duke remarked, reclining in an armchair. Lord Gerrard had just left to escort Lady Jane home.

‘I wondered at their growing friendship since Father’s funeral,’ Lady Elizabeth admitted, perturbed at the thought that she had missed all the signs. ‘I feel a fool for not seeing it before.’

‘Do not make yourself uneasy on that account, Eliza. It happened, and it is for the best. My heart was not in the marriage. Jane must have felt it. I only wish they had not gone behind my back. That is what stings the most, especially from Gerrard. But he is my little brother, and I must find a way to forgive him.’

‘I wonder at your forbearance, Gabriel; it could not have been easy to do what you did. If I were in your place, I would not want to see Gerrard again,’ Lady Elizabeth said. ‘He was always spoilt; always had everything he wanted without having to work for it. But I never dreamed he would be disloyal to you. He loved you so much as a child—he cried his heart out when you left for the military. Perhaps his perceived abandonment caused him to resent you?’

The Duke made no reply.

‘I hope it will not deter you from finding a wife and securing the family line, brother.’

He said nothing and merely stared at the dying embers in the grand fireplace.

‘I wish you would consider Lady Farthington or Lady Hawthorne, Gabriel,’ Lady Elizabeth sighed.

‘I have no desire to do so, Eliza. You know my sentiments on the matter.’

‘You must not let Jane mar your views on matrimony. There are plenty of faithful women out there. Am I not right, Miss Skye?’

Grace nearly choked on her tea. What an absurd situation. To be asked to comment on a man’s suitability for marriage when that very man had, not two nights ago, offered to make her his mistress.

A devilish smile curved her lips. ‘I do not think His Grace would make a good husband at all, Lady Elizabeth. He is brutish, commanding, and altogether stubborn.’ She took a slow sip of her tea before adding smugly, ‘Until he can address these issues, it is best he avoid female company altogether.’

She met the Duke’s gaze, challenging him.

He arched a brow. Challenge accepted.

‘Miss Skye would have you believe that I am not fit for polite society. If that were the case, then pray, may I ask why the ladies of society hound me?’

Lady Elizabeth chuckled. ‘I have to agree with Miss Skye, Gabriel. You are stubborn.’

‘The ladies are charmed by your title, Your Grace—not you.’

‘Oh? And how do you propose I find a wife who loves me for who I am, rather than my title?’

‘That is simple,’ Grace said sweetly. ‘Disguise yourself as an untitled, impoverished gentleman. Work on your character and personality—I am sure you will find a woman who desires you rather than your title.’

Mrs Merriweather, a little tipsy from too much sherry, burst into laughter. ‘Capital idea, Miss Grace, simply capital.’ She reached for another glass, but Grace swiftly swapped it for a biscuit.

Lady Elizabeth clapped her hands. ‘I love it, Gabriel. You should do it! Miss Skye can assist you in this experiment.’

The Duke smirked. ‘And if I did as you describe, how would I determine whether she is loyal and faithful?’

Grace nearly leapt from her chair at his hypocrisy. He had the audacity to question a woman’s loyalty after what he had done?

She forced a saccharine smile. ‘That is quite simple, Your Grace. Observe how she treats those she loves. That will reveal her heart.’

For a fleeting moment, she saw it—the flicker of recognition in his gaze. He knew she was speaking of Skye Manor. Of their evenings together.

‘Perhaps a game of chess would determine if she is intelligent as well?’ the Duke mused.

Lady Elizabeth smacked her forehead. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! What does intelligence have to do with marriage? It is about the heart, Gabriel!’

‘Would you not agree that I should be able to hold a conversation with my wife? She would be my lifelong companion, after all,’ he countered. ‘She should be well-read. Humour is a must. And beauty...’

His eyes flicked toward Grace.

Lady Elizabeth threw her hands up. ‘Now he is speaking of marrying a jester! Miss Skye, do help me.’

Grace barely held in her laughter. ‘I cannot help a lost cause, Lady Elizabeth. Perhaps a physician of the mind would be better suited.’ She turned to the Duke. ‘Your standards are impossibly high. It will be difficult to find such a creature.’

The Duke leaned back in his chair, a slow, knowing smile on his lips. ‘Perhaps I will not need to search. Perhaps she will simply appear before me.’

Grace scoffed. ‘You may as well wait for fairies and leprechauns. And even if you did find her, what makes you think she would want you? She might find you boorish.’

Lady Elizabeth giggled. ‘Finally, someone who puts him in his place.’ Then seeing her brother’s fallen face, she declared, ‘But I must come to my brother’s rescue—Gabriel would make a good husband!’

‘Would he indeed? How so?’ Grace countered. ‘A reluctance towards the institution of marriage disproves your statement from the outset.’

Lady Elizabeth faltered. ‘I... I believe you are right.’ She glanced at her brother, looking embarrassed on his behalf.

‘I am not averse to marriage entirely—now,’ Lord Armitage defended himself. ‘Should I find the right lady. But how will I know if she is my soulmate?’

‘When you feel a sense of tranquillity and calm when you are together,’ Grace said seriously.

‘Bravo, Miss Skye! A very good answer. I am impressed,’ Lady Elizabeth said approvingly.

The tipsy Mrs Merriweather hiccupped. ‘Grace was always such a loving and sweet child—and wise beyond her years. Ask anyone, they will tell you!’ she ended in a loud whisper.

‘Thank you, Mrs M. Now please eat your biscuits,’ Grace said, pushing the plate towards her. Under her breath, she muttered, ‘It will soak up that sherry.’

‘I have said this before, but I shall say it again—Grace, how are you still unmarried?’ Lady Elizabeth smiled widely.

Grace refused to throw herself at him. Instead, she said firmly, ‘I have no desire to marry, Lady Elizabeth. Like your brother, I despair of ever finding a loyal and faithful spouse. I would rather live my life peacefully in our cottage.’

‘Nonsense—I am certain you could find someone here,’ Lady Elizabeth insisted.

‘I hear London gentlemen like to keep mistresses. I take the marriage vows seriously, so I am afraid they are not for me.’

With that, she stood and dragged the inebriated Mrs Merriweather with her. The Duke watched her leave, and Lady Elizabeth watched her brother.

Hiccup. ‘How would anyone know she even exists? She does not socialise at all...’ Mrs Merriweather cried as she was manoeuvred through the door.

Grace’s news would have to wait.

DESPITE HER FRUSTRATIONS , Grace still had to convey the news to the Duke.

At midnight, she stood outside his chamber door and knocked.

No answer.

She knocked again. Nothing.

With bold determination, she turned the handle and slipped inside. She could not risk a servant spotting her in the hallway.

The room was dimly lit by the dying fire, and the air was thick with the scent of sandalwood and pure masculinity. Before she could take a step—

A low growl stopped her.

She froze.

A massive black-and-white Great Dane stalked toward her, eyes glowing in the dim light.

She held up her hands in surrender. ‘Good dog. Sit... er... sleep?’

The beast sniffed her, then—to her relief—demanded petting before flopping onto its bed.

She blew out a sigh of relief and, for the first time, had the opportunity to examine the room. She felt immediately out of place. Everything was large. His chamber was immense; on the far side, a dying fire flickered in a grand fireplace, and at the centre of the room stood an imposing four-poster bed, its heavy curtains drawn back.

He was sleeping.

Grace stood still, unable to help herself from watching. He looked so peaceful. Irresistible.

Her heart yearned to reach out, to brush the unruly strands of hair from his forehead. She resisted.

Her face twisted in anguish as the memory of the ball crashed over her.

She shook her head to snap herself out of it and cleared her throat.

No movement.

She called his name softly.

Still, he merely turned over, his breathing even, lost in slumber.

Reluctantly, she stepped forward and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake.

In an instant, he reacted—swift and instinctive. With one smooth motion, he flipped her onto her back and pinned her beneath him.

She yelped.

His weight pressed her down, his arms pinning her wrists. His dark eyes burned into hers as he realised who she was.

He did not immediately let her go.

‘You should be more careful, Miss Skye, about entering a man’s chambers uninvited. I do not think you realise the danger,’ he murmured, his voice rough with sleep as he finally loosened his grip.

Grace scrambled off the bed, keeping the disastrous memory of the ball fresh in her mind, and forced herself to keep her tone business-like.

‘I was in no danger, Your Grace. I double-checked the hallway before entering. Besides, I had no choice—I have urgent news that could not wait.’

He raked a hand through his hair as he slowly sat up, exhaling deeply.

‘I did not mean danger for you...’

Grace frowned at his puzzling remark but decided to ignore it.

She busied herself, smoothing her skirts, her fingers trembling slightly. ‘I am sorry to wake you, but I had no opportunity to speak with you during the day. This could not wait, I’m afraid.’

The Duke blinked, looking around wildly. ‘Wait—where is...’

His gaze landed on the enormous black-and-white Great Dane, sprawled across the floor, snoring softly.

‘What on earth did you do to Hugo?’ he asked, exasperation colouring his voice. He ran a hand down his face and shook his head. ‘You have cast a spell on him too, no doubt,’ he muttered dryly.

Grace hid a smile.

‘When did you decide to house a cow in your chamber?’ she asked impishly.

One of his brows quirked upwards, his lips twitching. ‘Hugo is a ferocious guard dog, trained to tear apart any intruder who dares set foot in this room.’

‘Hmm, perhaps he could do with a little more training,’ she teased.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. ‘If you would be so kind, Miss Skye, as to turn around while I make myself more presentable.’

‘Oh! Yes... of c-course,’ she stammered, quickly turning, her face flaming.

A few moments of rustling fabric later, he stepped around the bed, now clad in a white linen shirt, the top few buttons left undone.

Grace swallowed hard. He was showing far too much chest for her comfort.

‘I am all ears, Miss Skye. What is this news that disturbed my slumber?’ he asked, folding his arms and regarding her intently.

She took a steadying breath, then blurted, ‘The watch belongs to Lord Edward! The watchmaker made two—one for Lord Harry and one for Lord Edward. He personally engraved them. Lord Edward recently went back to commission a replica after losing his, but the watchmaker was unable to do so.’

‘Whoa, whoa! Slow down, sweet. I cannot comprehend a word when you speak so fast,’ he said, pulling her gently towards the sofa.

He poured her a glass of water from a nearby pitcher and handed it to her.

‘Here, drink this.’

The cool water helped, and she took a deep breath before attempting again, this time at a more measured pace—rather than the frantic babbling of an overwrought pigeon.

‘I just found out a few things myself,’ the Duke said. ‘Taylor was watching all the guests from a hidden spot at the ball and identified the three friends of Gibbs. They are close associates of Edward and Harry—they went to Eton together. The Bow Street Runners have arrested them, but they have not talked... yet.’

A sickly tremor ghosted down Grace’s back. The fact that these men were more afraid of the murderer than of imprisonment disturbed her.

She swallowed hard.

Lord Edward must be incredibly dangerous.

A sudden wave of fear engulfed her. She had unwittingly drawn his attention—rejected his proposal, exposed his secrets, and played a role in his downfall.

What would he do if he found out?

The Duke continued, unaware of her growing dread.

‘We know that both brothers were out of town when Gibbs was killed. I asked around but could not determine where they had gone. Also, according to the Bow Street Runners who were tailing him, Edward has a habit of frequenting the very brothel from which we rescued those girls.’

Grace stiffened.

‘Not only that,’ he added, ‘but Mr Smith has written back. He confirmed that Edward was in close liaison with my father, and he is certain that it was Edward who recommended the purchase of the Skye Estate.’

He paused.

‘All of this was circumstantial—until now. The watch places him at the scene of the murder. Thank you, Miss Skye. You have found the last piece of the puzzle.’

He turned towards the door, clearly intending to dismiss her.

Grace hesitated.

He wanted her gone.

The realisation stung more than she cared to admit.

‘Get some rest,’ he said, reaching for the handle. ‘We have a long day ahead of us.’

She took a step towards the door, her heart heavy.

Then—

‘Miss Skye,’ he said softly.

She turned.

‘Yes?’

For a moment, he simply looked at her, as though trying to decipher her thoughts. His expression twisted with something unreadable—anguish, hesitation... regret?

He parted his lips as if to speak, then seemed to think better of it.

‘Never mind,’ he said at last.

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

‘I shall speak with you once this ordeal has come to an end.’

There was a quiet determination in his voice.

‘Very soon,’ he murmured, his gaze dark and unreadable. His fingers flexed at his sides, as though fighting the urge to reach for her. ‘And then...’ He exhaled. ‘This will all be over.’