Duke Of Darkness. Anabelle BryantЧитать онлайн книгу.
notch and her maid whispered a protestation. No one would dictate whom she would marry. A woman had a right to her own heart.
When her maid completed her coif in a soft style, the girl moved to the wardrobe to tend to her gown. Alexandra followed her movements with absent attention, her mind reconsidering the dim prospects of the future.
Now dressed in a simple black mourning gown with white pearl buttons, a high neck and straight sleeves, she regarded her reflection in the mirror. Perhaps it was not entirely necessary, but she wished to show the duke deep respect for his aunt’s passing. The gown’s simple design and absence of adornment echoed the hollow feeling left by Min’s death. She had no need to draw any further attention to herself. Dinner would be interesting, if nothing else, and a chance to gain information about the estate to aid in her plans.
She stooped to pick up Henry, her miniature white terrier. The dog was a gift from Addington, named by himself in his own honour. She let out a little grunt at the irony. Perhaps her father had played a hand in that decision, too. She dismissed the inane thought, gave Henry a little scratch behind the ears, and hurried to the staircase below.
Things were not as they should be. Devlin had never considered that Alex might be a young lady. He shook his head in exasperation. Unexpected complications were not his strong suit. Yet hell and damnation, his whole world shifted when that waterfall of shimmering hair fell down her back. He clenched his teeth and finished dressing in an effort to drive the inappropriate observation from his brain. Mourning clothes would not be a problem. He always dressed in black.
Fending off a case of self-loathing, he raked his fingers through his hair and a palm over his face. He knew how he appeared. A chinstrap beard outlined his sharp jaw, the ebony hair emphasizing the severity of his features. Eyes dark as pitch, an angular nose set off by prominent cheekbones, and dark slashed eyebrows, all gave the appearance of a villain or, at least, a man up to no good. He’d heard his appearance referred to as wicked. Right now he certainly fit the part, most especially in consideration of the news he planned to impart.
He approached the dinner table while a litany of self-condemnation played through his mind. Alexandra stood near the dining room entrance conversing with Grimley. If only he were home, he could invite his servants to dine and therefore dilute the conversation to the most mundane of topics. But no, the table was set for two. A sudden pang of sorrow coursed through him at the remembrance of Aunt Min’s absence.
“Lady Alexandra, I apologize, it would seem with all of the commotion I haven’t learned your full name.” She turned to him then, and he swallowed a sharp word. Even in black, she was lovely. She offered her hand as if to entreat him to enter, but instead he clasped it within his own and brought it to his lips. She wore no gloves, her skin silky smooth and warm to his lips. They were not dining formally and kissing one’s ward wasn’t proper, yet his actions seemed at war with his better judgement.
“Good evening, Your Grace.” Her eyes twinkled in the light of the candlelit chandeliers. A footman came forward and pulled out her chair. She sat and turned to him with a smile on her face. “Are you ready?”
His brows furrowed in confusion. “For dinner?” He took his place at the table and waited. His eyes did not miss the way her hair fought the silver combs trying with little success to contain those long tresses. Then she laughed and a dimple showed in her right cheek. Charming, that dimple.
“No, are you ready for my name? My father believed I was destined for great things. I am called Alexandra Elizabeth Patricia Grantchester. It is no wonder your Aunt Min preferred Alex.”
Devlin followed her glass as she took a small sip of wine. “With no disrespect to my aunt, there is nothing about you that is an Alex, Lady Alexandra.”
“You may be right, although I must confess my full name sounds rather old and stodgy. I didn’t mind the alternative.” She laughed again. A very pretty sound.
“Interesting. I will think on the matter then.” He matched her eyes over the rim of his goblet. She really was a delightful creature. Shan’t be any trouble to find her a match. A disquieting sensation settled in his stomach and he took another swallow of claret.
“We don’t stand on formality here and as Aunt Min often said, it is just too much of a mouthful.” She paused in wait of his reply, but he offered none. “Are you enjoying the soup, Your Grace?”
Had he tasted it?
“Delicious,” he murmured with effort.
A sudden yipping pulled his attention to the corner of the room where a white dog waited, a small bowl of food before him.
“Never mind my dog, Your Grace, he’s a jealous little fellow when excluded from the conversation.”
“By your own rules, you must call me Devlin.” He sat back as a footman removed his soup bowl and set a steaming plate in front of him. “Should I be afraid to ask your dog’s name? I am gripped with curiosity.” He’d anticipated uncomfortable conversation, so the playful banter that ensconced them with comfortable ease left him more than a little surprised.
“Oh, that’s just Henry.” She smiled with affection at the dog. “A spoiled little pup accustomed to demanding most of my attention.”
“I take it your father didn’t name your dog.” The humour wasn’t lost on her and she let out a sweet little laugh before glancing in his direction with a flick of her eyes. The exchange offered yet another glimpse of that fetching dimple in her right cheek.
Very nice. She proved clever as well.
He forced himself to focus on the meal. While far from extravagant, dinner tasted delicious, properly seasoned and freshly prepared. Hashed venison with shredded turnips evoked reminders of his childhood, and the second course of raised fowl pie with artichoke bottoms, proved the perfect cure to satisfy his hunger. He savoured the last bite and noted the steady rhythm of annoyed barking that continued from the corner. Alexandra set her napkin aside as Grimley appeared with impeccable timing.
“Dessert will be served in the grand salon.” He waited for neither acknowledgement nor direction, pausing only to gather the dog and remove him from the room much to Devlin’s pleasure.
“Well, Just Henry seems angry I’ve monopolized the conversation, but there is a matter of importance that needs to be addressed. Would you prefer we wait until after dinner?”
Alexandra stalled. Her eyes held his for a long stretch and something in her gaze caused his heartbeat to falter. He sat at the opposing end of the long dining room table, yet within the candlelight, without another soul to make conversation or interrupt the pleasant silence, their dinner seemed intimate as if a prelude to something more enticing or a promise offered. He banished the thoughts as they surfaced. Aunt Min must have been delirious to assign him this task. If he wasn’t mad already, and many days existed when he believed the gossipmongers’ opinion of his sanity, the thought of guardianship to this incredibly beautiful woman would be the one task that accomplished his journey into hell.
The remainder of dinner passed in much the same manner. Devlin found Alexandra to be pleasant and witty, her company enjoyable. Now seated in his aunt’s elegant salon, he felt obliged to inform her of the situation. Yet it seemed the more he learned of her, the less keenly he anticipated having to share the fact that he was there to uproot her, return her to Kenley Manor, and see her married. She struck him as an intelligent creature, one who would not be over pleased to find her future no longer remained in her control.
He vowed to face the matter head on and walked to the sideboard for a fortifying brandy. Port was not going to do it. Grimley entered with a tray of sweets: biscuits, sugarplums and Shrewsbury cakes, their inviting lemon fragrance filling the air. He placed the platter on a round table between the two velvet settees. Devlin watched his ward sit down with grace and