Chapter One
London, England
“Jason? Do stop ignoring me so.”
At his mistress’s request, the duke stepped away from the window where he lingered, glowering with fervent distaste at the stagnant city street located outside the translucent glass pane. Jason Rutherford, Viscount Ellis, Earl Hargrove, and third Duke Thornfield turned to acknowledge the provocative female propped on one elbow amongst the smooth silk sheets covering the bed behind him.
“It’s about time you learn a little patience,” he informed the slender redhead with a bite, already moving to resume his position.
Afraid she would lose her lover’s attention if she did not rush to speak, Lady Katrina Morton tripped over her own words. “If anyone lacks some type of serenity Your Grace, you are the guilty party, sorry as I am to admit such a great debacle.”
A half step from the window, Jason changed directions. His movements rapt, he strode to where his sizable bed was located at the center of the chamber. As normal, he employed noble care sinking down at the edge and observing his feminine quarry.
“If that were true,” he responded, “I would have demanded your services long before now. The way I see it, because I have done so at all, you should consider a veritable honor. The fact that I strained to employ any measure of civility speaks for itself. You have no room to complain, my angel.”
Not sure, whether to be more shocked or offended by the harsh remarks, Lady Morton leapt to her feet, her anxiety clear as she grasped for the green silken cover resting in a lifeless pile near her heels.
“I gather you would like for me to leave?” Katrina inquired of the Duke.
As Jason stood along with her, his face revealed no sign of emotion.
“Since there is other business which requires my attention,” he began, his voice edged with graceful sentiment that he didn’t in truth feel. “I see no reason for you to remain. Yes, Lady Morton, I must agree. Your departure would be a far better decision.”
As he reached the door connecting the bedchamber to the hallway Jason paused, his thoughts even now ruffled by images of the disturbing beauty who he had encountered on his recent visit to Ashford.
To the woman beside him he stated, “I will see that my servants attend you. Though be warned, you may consider this your last visit to this manor, especially if it is to be one of a personal nature. Good evening Lady Morton.”
Jason swung the door wide and strode into the townhouse’s hallway, coated on both sides by a dim, golden light. On the verge of slamming the door in his path, he gave his head a frustrated shake. With infinite determination, he forced from his mind visions of a young English beauty who continued to haunt him.
Satisfied with his temporary success, he started for his study, convinced he would complete the few minor pieces of business that awaited him there. Once finished, he could prepare for the events to take place later that night.
* * * *
Across the city, the townhouse located at 73 Grosvenor Street—home to Lord and Lady Blakely—shimmered furiously against the London night. It was ablaze with light flowing from its rich interior, alive with unique decorations. Every few seconds an individual hurried past one of the four windows, set into the gray stone of the townhouse’s main story.
“Lady Blakely,” one of the servants called, once again hurrying past the glass. “Please, excuse my interruption, but where was it you said you wanted these flowers? I do apologize, your ladyship.”
Lady Leticia Blakely, wife of Lord Markus Blakely exhaled. “Of course Martha,” she responded to the aged maid. “I requested they be placed here, in the ballroom—on the table near the main entrance. I would like my niece to see them as soon as she enters. The golden daffodils have always been one of Ariel’s favorites.”
“Aunt Leticia?” Approaching her aunt from behind, Ariel stretched up, giving the middle-aged woman’s right shoulder a light tap.
Leticia jumped at the unexpected contact. The gray-streaked, light brown hair that thickened her head shivered in alarm. Still, as her niece rounded to her front side, she acknowledged the girl with a short laugh.
“May I help you?” Her words on the tail end of the fond chuckle.
Ariel, who was apprehensive and wary, now relinquished some of her tension. More cheerful, she explained, “It’s only that I have, at last, completed my unpacking. I wondered if you might be able to tell me when the ball is to take place. That way I can be prepared. As I’m sure my father has long since told to you, I do have a tendency to wander.”
“Don’t worry darling,” Leticia informed her niece. “I will be sure to let you know when the time comes. I will send one of my servants to alert you.” With a sympathetic smile, Leticia patted the young girl on the head. “Ariel?” she inquired on the heels of her statement. “Don’t get too comfortable, my dear. After all, you are aware, are you not, that in two days we will travel to our estate in the country, and you will be required to at least partially repack.”
“Thank you, Aunt. Oh, the flowers are gorgeous.” Grateful for this fresh knowledge, which before that point she had been unaware of, Ariel gave Leticia a tight embrace, then swung away. Unsure where to go, she wandered towards the library, hoping that once there, she could discover a small measure of quiet.
“Lady Blakely.” Positioned a few inches inside the room, the Duke of Thornfield rested one shoulder against the thick mahogany molding that lined the sides of the doorway.
“Your Grace?” Clearly startled by her premature visitor, Lady Blakely shifted her attention to the duke. “Whatever brings you to this gathering at this early hour? My heavens, no other guests have even arrived yet. Please don’t take offense. I am, of course, pleased by your company.”
“As always,” Jason returned with a light laugh, “you are an extremely affable hostess. Might I ask, what has you acting so jittery at this time?”
Eased by his relaxed approach, Leticia strolled to where he stood, temporarily disregarding the room, she had entered only moments before. “More than one matter,” she admitted with a sigh. “It’s no wonder all the ladies love you as they do,” she informed Jason, shifting subjects abruptly. “You have an incredibly affluent way of dealing with them. If I were not a married woman—but you know what I am trying to say.”
The duke lifted her hand and then grazed her fingers with his lips. “Your husband is a lucky man. Which reminds me of the reason for my arriving at such an early hour—I wish to speak with him about one of the shipping companies in which we both hold a share. I gather he is available?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Leticia straightened and withdrew her hand.
Though he did possess a streak of genuine courtesy, Jason was, far more cynical and overbearing in nature than he was kind and compassionate. Though few were aware of the fact, to those individuals who socialized with the duke on a regular basis the point was easy enough to recognize.
~
Miracles in the Making Page 9