Duke Of Darkness. Anabelle Bryant

Her breath caught and she dismissed it as need for fresh air, yet with each revolution of the carriage wheels, her mind spun faster.

      Brick upon brick, the home rose to the sky, each level marked by varying sized windows, the tallest at the top to accommodate the high ceilings indicative of the most opulent rooms. Concrete balconies complimented the upper sash windows, a few overlooking a cobblestone walkway, and pilasters outlined the massive front doors. The grounds were impeccably manicured and instead of appearing over-run by the verdant green ivy that crept up the north wall, the blanket of green appeared perfectly placed.

      She exited the coach and a line of servants assembled to angle up the manor steps in a makeshift processional that echoed a formality she’d never have paired with Wharncliffe. Again, she amended her thoughts. He was a member of the aristocracy, after all.

      Much to her surprise, Devlin had sent a messenger ahead and she was introduced to each member of the household. Considering the series of events that led her to Kenley Manor in the course of two short days, her heart softened at the unexpected gesture.

      Perhaps her stay would not prove so terrible. She glanced over her shoulder to see her new guardian in discussion with Reeston, the butler. He held Henry captive at his side in an attempt to prevent the pup from tearing through the long hall on an adventure to explore the new surroundings. Henry’s tail wagged with furious enthusiasm. Such a striking contrast, the angry little white pup in the arms of the dark duke. His butler said something and a smile graced Devlin’s lips. For an odd moment, he appeared vulnerable and her breath caught. He must have sensed her attention as he turned in her direction. His eyes caught hers and held for longer than was proper, her heart hammering in her chest triple time. Surely everyone on the steps could hear it. With a little gasp of surprise at her sudden rush of emotion, she averted her attention and followed the housemaid upstairs.

       Chapter Eight

      Tillie was the most talkative individual Alexandra had ever met. The petite maid, whose dark brown curls bobbed with as much energy as her conversation, spoke non-stop all the way to the west wing, quite a distance from their point of origin. Oh, it was refreshing to hear everything the young girl shared, but to have it rattled at such speed and quantity after the long confinement of her travels was enough to send Alexandra to bed for the night. But of course, that would be unacceptable. Tillie had already informed her of the menu, the guests in attendance, and of the expectations for the evening. The young maid was a force to be reckoned with, of that Alexandra was sure, yet she meant well and possessed the smile of an angel.

      “Well, here we are. It is a wonder His Grace ordered this wing opened for your arrival. No one stays in this part of the estate. Well, not since his parents.” Tillie paused and took a much needed breath, although the silence lasted only that long. “In you go, then.” The maid pushed open the door and stepped aside as Alexandra entered a large guest bedroom decorated in varied shades of pink. Floral tapestries decorated the walls and evoked an instant smile.

      “I’ve gone ahead and arranged for your bath in the next room, milady.” Tillie opened the compact travelling valise placed on the bedchamber floor. How a footman had visited her room so quickly caused Alexandra to wonder at the efficiency of Wharncliffe’s servants. Impeccable, of course, in tune to his clothing. She set her personal bag on a wooden chest at the foot of the bed.

      “Please, Tillie, you must call me Alexandra. Everyone does.” Well, almost everyone. A sudden flash of Devlin’s amused grin shot to mind. She pulled the pins from her hair and ran her fingers through the knotty mess. It would present a challenge to untangle her hair in any semblance of order before dinner. She hoped Tillie was as skilful with the toilette as she was in information dispersal.

      “I could never do so, milady, but I thank you for your kindness.” The maid curtseyed and turned to leave.

      “As you wish, although I am sure we will be great friends. A bath is just what I need.” Alexandra walked across the room and picked up her travelling bag. “Shall I ring for you when I am ready to dress for dinner?”

      “Of course, milady. You will have a grand time at dinner. Viscount Fenhurst is expected as well as his sister, and they are lively company. Lord Fenhurst is His Grace’s very best chum. They grew up side by side. His sister, Lady Julia, was quite the tagalong through all their adventures. I suppose she still follows a bit now, but then that’s to be expected when you see the way she admires His Grace.” Tillie took a necessary breath. “But I keep you from your bath with my chatter.” The maid curtseyed again and left the room.

      Alexandra smiled in relief. She collapsed against the back of the door to enjoy the solitude. Then she fairly skipped to the next room and sank into the steaming hot tub of bubbles.

      Devlin stared at the Oriental rug and focused on the small leather bag resting on a makeshift holder. He arched both arms backwards in a long, swift stroke and brought the wooden club down through to completion. The ball shot forward, out through the opened terrace doors, as an enthusiastic bark sounded in the distance below.

      “Nice shot, I say. Have you improved or does my eyesight fail me?” Phineas Betcham, Viscount Fenhurst, strode into the study and veered left to the brandy decanter. “Reeston no longer bothers to announce me. This whole laissez-faire attitude with the servants is going to come back to haunt you some day.” He poured himself a healthy portion and settled on the brown leather sofa while Devlin set for another shot.

      The slice of the club sheering the air was the only sound in the room for the next moment. Then Devlin turned and smiled. “My staff is my family as much as you are, Phin. You know that. I can’t stand on tradition when there are many evenings Reeston might be in here chatting about golf instead of you.” He fixed another ball on the well-worn strip of carpet used as a beginning point. “Besides, they’ve all seen me through so much, what difference does a title make when you consider the bigger picture?” He glanced out of the terrace doors, lowered his head and took another swing. A series of deep barks could be heard after the ball launched.

      “Don’t tell me King is outside cheering you on?” Phin viewed him, amused.

      “I’ve taught him to retrieve the bags. Makes sense, doesn’t it?” Devlin angled his club against the corner of the sofa and walked to the sideboard to pour a drink.

      “You have entirely too much time on your hands, Dev.”

      “I know. Isn’t it great?” He chuckled, although his expression faltered. “And where is the lovely Lady Julia? You did speak to her, did you not?” Devlin tried to sustain a nonchalant air but in truth, much depended upon his friend’s answer.

      “Of course I brought my sister. She’s flittering about somewhere downstairs. Did you think Julia would stay home if she knew I planned to visit?” Phin didn’t say more. They were keenly aware of the comment’s implication. Julia held a long-running entendre for Devlin, and while no one was supposed to acknowledge it and the lady in question did her very best to hide her feelings, Phineas and Devlin had known about the crush for years. At times it was uncomfortable. Still there was nothing to be done about it. Phineas introduced her to dozens of bachelors, aside from the attention she drew herself, yet as far as Devlin knew, her ardour had not lessened over the years.

      “Well, what did she say about my ward? Did you explain the situation? Ask her to do me the favour? Help launch Alexandra?”

      “You are an audacious scoundrel, Devlin Ravensdale. Sending me to do your dirty work. As if she’d refuse. Julia is exceedingly enthusiastic about the entire notion. She asked me dozens of questions of which I had no ready answers. Meanwhile, I am sure in her mind she anticipates all the time she will spend here with the off chance you might meander through the parlour or invite her to stay for tea.”

      “I don’t drink tea.”

      “Not the point. I just don’t want to see her hurt. No matter what I do or say, she still entertains the thought someday you will look at her and … uh, I can’t even say it.” Phineas finished his brandy and set the glass down, anxious to change