by Millie Adams
‘Good evening,’ she said in her friendliest voice, as if appearing on someone’s doorstep uninvited, in the middle of a storm, looking like a drowned rat, was a perfectly normal thing for a young lady to do. ‘Would you please inform the lady of the house that Lady Iris Springfeld would like to visit?’
The butler continued to stare at her, but his look was bewildered rather than threatening.
‘I’m afraid I’m lost,’ she said, this time hoping to elicit his pity, ‘and, as you can see, rather wet. Would you please tell the lady of the house that I am in need of some assistance?’
The butler stood back to let her in. ‘There is no lady of the house, but I will let the master know of your situation. Please come in.’
Iris entered the home, which was in near darkness, apart from the scant light coming from the butler’s candle and a few candles burning in sconces on the wall. It really was starting to appear as if she had stepped back in time. Or was it simply that the master was a miser who did not want to waste money on keeping his home well lit?
‘Please wait here,’ the butler said and disappeared up the dark hallway.
Iris placed her sodden hat back on her head and tried to straighten up her clothing, then looked down at her muddy boots, which were leaving damp footprints on the oriental rug. She quickly stepped off it and onto the stone tiles. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light and the hallway came into view. This part of the house appeared to be modern, with a large domed window that would let in light during the day, elegant marble pillars, and an expansive divided staircase at the end of the hallway. She looked up at the walls, lined with large portraits glaring down at her through the gloom.
‘His Lordship will see you now.’
Iris emitted a small yelp. It was the butler’s voice she had heard, not one of the painted ancestors coming to life. To cover her embarrassment she gave a small, nervous laugh.
‘Please follow me to the drawing room,’ he said, politely ignoring her rather peculiar behaviour.
‘Thank you,’ she replied, pretending that neither the yelp nor the laugh had actually happened.
The drawing-room door creaked loudly as the butler opened it. Was this house deliberately trying to act as if it was the setting for a horror novel? Was the master going to be a hobgoblin, or some depraved being from the underworld? Right now, she was so desperate for shelter she’d take her chances with a hobgoblin, provided it meant she could get out of the rain.
She entered the room, and the master stood up while the Irish wolfhound lying at his feet raised its head and looked in Iris’s direction.
No, definitely not a hobgoblin. Unless hobgoblins were over six feet tall, broad of shoulder, long of leg and wore dark grey tailored suits.
‘Good evening,’ she said in her sunniest voice as she bobbed a small curtsy. ‘I’m Lady Iris Springfeld. I was caught out in the storm and got rather wet in all that rain.’ She pulled a mock frown and gestured to her wet skirt.
Then she waited for him to say something reassuring. No response came.
‘I’m afraid I also got rather muddy.’ She looked down at the foot of her gown, then sent him another small, apologetic frown. ‘I’m sorry about that.’
‘Come closer to the fire,’ the man said.
His voice wasn’t exactly friendly, but nor was it the voice of a diabolic, depraved creature from the underworld. Not that she actually knew what diabolic, depraved creatures sounded like, but she was sure they would not have deep, masculine voices that were rather pleasant to listen to.
‘Thank you.’ She approached the fire, which was providing the only light in the room, and relished its warmth, while trying to ignore the way her clothing was starting to steam slightly.
She looked around the large yet sparsely furnished drawing room. It was obvious he did not receive guests often. Not only did his rather unfriendly manner suggest that, but also all the furniture had been pushed to the edges of the room, with only one leather armchair in front of the fire.
‘That’s much better,’ she said. ‘Being beside a warm fire is so much better than being out in that weather.’
She looked up at him and smiled. His face was slightly turned away from her, but in the subdued light he appeared to be much more attractive than the average hobgoblin. Her gaze moved down to his jacket. One lapel was slightly tucked under. He must have pulled it on in haste when she entered the room, and she was tempted to straighten it for him. Instead, she continued to smile, hoping he would smile back and show her she was welcome.
‘And who do I have the pleasure of addressing?’ she finally asked, when it became obvious he had no intention of doing the honours himself.
‘I am Theo Crighton, the Earl of Greystone.’
She bobbed another curtsy and waited for him to say something, anything else. Was he deliberately trying to make her feel uncomfortable? If that was his intention then he was succeeding.
‘The lady perhaps requires a change of clothing, my lord,’ the butler said. ‘She is soaked to the bone.’
Iris would have thought that was obvious and not something that His Lordship needed to be informed of, but she said nothing, merely nodded her thanks in the butler’s direction. At least he had some manners, even if his master didn’t.
‘Yes, see to it, Charles,’ the taciturn Earl said. ‘And will you please provide the lady with a chair?’
‘It’s very kind of you to invite me in,’ Iris said, trying to keep her voice light and friendly, as the butler dragged a matching leather chair from across the room.
The Earl really had no choice, but manners would dictate that he at least pretend he was pleased to assist. And it certainly wasn’t the way most men treated her. If she stumbled into Lord Pratley’s home in a state of distress and needing rescuing from a storm, he would be moving heaven and earth to make her comfortable and would have behaved as if she was doing him a great honour by allowing him to assist her.
The butler arranged the chairs beside the fire. ‘I’ve moved your chair two feet to the right, my lord.’
‘Thank you, Charles. And would you also bring some tea for Lady Iris and something for her to eat?’
He turned to nod to the butler, the side of his face that had been in shadow now exposed in the fire’s flickering light.
Iris’s hand shot to her mouth and she was suddenly ashamed of herself and everything she had thought about the Earl. It was all now so obvious. The dim lighting, the pushed-back furniture, even, dare she admit it, his failure to act the way most men did when in her presence. He was blind. Scarring covered his forehead and one eye, and the other eye was lifeless, suggesting it too had either limited or no sight.
Iris was tempted to apologise, although she wasn’t sure what for. Perhaps it was for her uncharitable thoughts about the bleakness of the unlit house, or for her unwanted intrusion, or for whatever had caused the scarring on his otherwise handsome face.
And it was a handsome face. Black hair framed chiselled cheekbones and a strong jawline, which was bearing evening stubble. As she continued to stare at him, for some unknown reason she was tempted to run her finger along the small cleft in the middle of his chin.
Her hand continued to cover her mouth, as if caught in an inappropriate act, and she quickly looked away, surprised at her own boldness, even if it had only been a thought.
The butler bowed and left the room. Iris sank down into the soft leather, trying to push out any thoughts of cleft chins, strong jaws or high cheekbones.
‘Please, won’t you sit down?’ she said, indicating the chair opposite, then withdrew her hand, realising it was a pointless gesture if he couldn’t see her.
The Earl reached out behind him to the arm of the chair then sat down and picked up his glass of brandy.
‘Would you like a brandy or would you rather wait for tea?’
‘Actually, a brandy wo
uld be rather nice,’ she said with a polite smile. ‘Just to warm myself up a bit,’ she added.
Certainly not to steady my nerves.
His gruff humph suggested he did not believe her, but he crossed the room and took a glass from the sideboard, then poured her a brandy from the cut-glass decanter and steadily handed it to her. As her hand lightly touched his, the strangest sensation shot up her fingers, her arm, and into her chest, where her heart did a peculiar jump.
That was odd. Touching a man’s hand had never had that effect on her before. It had to be the effect of this rather disconcerting day that was causing her nerves to behave in such an unusual manner. She took a quick gulp of her drink and coughed as the woody alcohol caught her in the back of the throat, then burnt its way down to her stomach.
Oh, for goodness’ sake, Iris, behave yourself. You accidentally touched a man’s hand. That’s no reason to become so flustered.
She closed her eyes and drew in a slow breath to steady herself, took another sip of her drink and smiled at her host.
‘I’m so pleased I stumbled upon your home,’ she said, keeping her voice light and friendly. ‘Otherwise I’d probably still be wandering around in this storm. And I saw no one during my walk, so I couldn’t ask for any directions to get back to Lord and Lady Walberton’s house.’
He said nothing, just nursed his drink and stroked the head of his dog. The animal growled with contentment, looked up at Iris with its liquid brown eyes then went back to sleep.
‘That’s where I’m staying. At the Walbertons’ estate,’ Iris continued. ‘For a house party. My mother and I. We’re both staying there. All week. But I decided to go for a walk. Silly, really.’
He still said nothing.
‘I didn’t think the storm would come up so quickly,’ she burbled on, trying to fill the silence. ‘One minute the sky was clear. Well, not exactly clear. It was cloudy, and there were a few dark clouds on the horizon, but still, I didn’t expect the sky to open up and for there to be such a downpour. And as for the wind, my goodness, it can certainly blow here, can’t it?’
Her prattling was making her sound like a ninny, but what choice was he giving her? This uncomfortable silence had to be filled, and he wasn’t doing much to help. Iris was not used to anyone sitting in her company and not speaking. At home there was always constant chatter from her mother, brother Nathaniel and sister Daisy, along with her older, married sister Hazel during her frequent visits. And when she was at social events people always made conversation with her, especially men. But this one, this Earl of Greystone, looked as if he was as sparse with his words as he was with his candles.
‘I mean,’ she continued after she had given him enough time to reply, time which he chose not to use, ‘who would expect the weather to change so quickly?’
‘Anyone familiar with English weather, I would have thought.’
Iris laughed, even though the expression on his face suggested he was criticising her, not teasing.
They sank back into an awkward silence, broken when the butler re-entered with a pile of clothing. Iris smiled at him, so grateful for the interruption.
He looked down at the clothing, blushing slightly, an unusual sight as servants were usually well-trained to keep their faces impassive under all conditions. ‘I’m afraid the maids are all somewhat shorter than you, my lady, so their dresses would be rather immodest if you wore them. I hope these will suffice, my lady.’ He blushed a slightly darker shade of red.
Iris took the clothes from his outstretched hands. ‘I’m sure they’ll be perfect,’ she said, trying to reassure the uncomfortable servant. Then looked down at the clothing and frowned. He had handed her a pile of men’s garments.
‘I’m sorry, my lady,’ he rushed on. ‘We tend to retire early in this house, and the other servants are already in bed, but I shall call for a maid to help you change.’
‘Oh, no,’ Iris said. ‘I’ve caused enough inconvenience already. I wouldn’t want to disturb the household any further.’
She looked over at the Earl, expecting him to contradict her, to say it was no inconvenience whatsoever, that her presence was not a disturbance.
No contradiction came, so she continued. ‘Thank you for the clothing and I’m sure I’ll be able to manage on my own.’ Iris knew that the maids would have been working since the early hours of the morning and would have to be up again early tomorrow, so she was not merely being polite when she said not to disturb them. And how hard could it be to dress yourself in men’s clothing? Iris didn’t know but was about to find out.
‘Very good, my lady,’ the butler said with a bow. ‘When you have changed, I’ll take your damp clothing to be cleaned and dried.’
‘You’re very kind.’ She smiled at the butler and was pleased that he smiled back. At least someone in this house was friendly.
The butler departed and the Earl rose from his chair. ‘I’ll give you some privacy and leave you to get changed beside the fire where it’s warm,’ he said, which was possibly the longest sentence he had said since she had arrived.
‘Thank you. And I hope you’ll be joining me for tea. I wouldn’t want to drive you away from your room.’ And what presumably was the only lit fire in this dark, gloomy house, she added to herself.
Instead of a response, he merely bowed and left the room, his dog trotting at his heels.
As she pulled off her damp dress and underclothes Iris tried to count her blessings. She was out of the storm. She had a fire to warm herself beside. Now she had clean, dry clothes to wear, and she wasn’t in the company of a hobgoblin or a diabolic creature from the underworld. She smiled as she undid her corset. Although perhaps falling into the hands of a hobgoblin might have been a better outcome. Such a creature would probably be a better conversationalist than the morose Earl of Greystone.
Copyright © 2021 by Eva Shepherd
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ISBN-13: 9780369711151
Marriage Deal with the Devilish Duke
Copyright © 2021 by Millie Adams
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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