Taking a deep breath, Hope shakily opened the door leading into the hall. She poked her head out and glanced back and forth to make sure no one was there before stepping out onto the cold parquet floors. Her feet were bare, and she had on a simple, white morning dress, her hair flowing freely down her back. She felt silly being out and about in such disarray, but it was an important part of the plan. Without her lady's maid, Noelle wouldn't have been able to properly dress and ready herself for the day.
Hope began walking tentatively down the hall, knowing that Lord Brattondale would most likely be found in the breakfast room taking his morning tea. She dreaded going into that part of the house, knowing there was no way she could go undetected—there would be a surplus of servants scurrying about attending to their daily duties. As she came to the corner that would take her down past the drawing room and towards the breakfast room, she straightened and took a steadying breath before slipping into her role as a frantic Noelle who had just discovered her lady's maid had gone missing in the night.
Grabbing her skirt, she forged ahead at a hurried pace, attempting to look frantic. And though she was only acting, she did indeed feel frantic but for entirely different reasons. From somewhere behind her she heard a noise that startled her and quickly averted her gaze. The moment she looked down she felt herself collide with a solid mass, causing her to push back in resistance and trip into the mahogany bench sitting against the wall. Before she could steady herself, she felt her back arch and reached her hands back to catch herself on the piece of furniture that proved to be too close to the ground to offer any help and immediate support.
Instead of her hands coming in contact with hard wood of the bench, they flailed wildly as she desperately tried to grab onto something, anything to keep her upright, but to no such luck. She fell to the ground awkwardly with a thump, her left ankle twisting unnaturally beneath her in the process. The sharp pain in her ankle that accompanied her fall momentarily distracted her from her mortification. She reached down and pulled up her skirt to inspect her foot, rubbing it to ease the pain, oblivious to the stranger watching her every move.
Pierce sat back and stared in shock. He had been waiting in the drawing room for a quarter of an hour and was growing impatient with the delay. The butler had told him that Lord Brattondale would be with him shortly, but he had yet to grace Pierce with his presence. When he heard a noise in the hall he had stepped out to see what was going on, when he felt, more than saw, someone crash into his chest. He then watched in horror as the girl did an un-choreographed dance with the bench only to finish by falling gracelessly to the floor in a heap of white muslin and golden waves of hair.
Pierce had reached forward to try and steady her, but it had all happened so quickly that he had not been able to respond in time, so he watched helplessly as the girl fell to the floor. He immediately made to assist her to her feet, but was distracted by her motions when she pulled up her skirt to reveal a slender ankle and one dainty foot. The appearance of that one bare limb had him mesmerized—it was a provocatively feminine leg, and he couldn't seem to peel his eyes away.
He watched for a second while the girl rubbed her foot before his brain seemed to kick into gear and start working again. He squatted down next to her and cleared his throat. The girl looked up sharply, seeming to become aware for the first time that she was not alone.
"Oh! I apologize." She quickly pulled her skirt down, much to his regret, to cover the view he had just been appreciating so fully. "I was just looking for my father."
Pierce looked at the disheveled girl in front of him with new eyes. Could this be Lady Noelle? By father, certainly, she was referring to Lord Brattondale. He briefly scanned her body before returning to look at her face. If this was indeed Lady Noelle, then Elliot had been wrong, terribly wrong, for this girl was not plain in any way. Her long hair fell all around her shoulders in cascading waves of honey, tempting him to reach out and run his hand through the thick locks. How had Elliot described her? Nondescript. She was the farthest thing from nondescript he had ever seen—her pale face was artfully arranged with full pink lips, a straight nose, and when he looked into her eyes, he gasped. She had the most amazing eyes he had ever looked into! They were the color of brandy and he couldn't seem to look away. He had a sudden desire to reach out and brush a wayward strand of hair from her face, stopping himself before he did just that.
He reached for her hand instead, watching as she stared at his extended hand before offering hers in return. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on it before saying, "It just so happens I'm waiting for Lord Brattondale to arrive. Let me help you to the drawing room where we can take a look at your foot." He made to help her to her feet and watched as she grimaced in pain. Without thinking, he scooped her into his arms and carried her into the drawing room, depositing her gently on a rose damask settee.
"Thank you, but that was hardly necessary, I am sure I could have managed the few feet it took to get in here." Hope felt her face burn with embarrassment. She looked up into the dark eyes of the stranger and couldn't believe she had allowed him to hold her in his arms, but then again, he hadn't given her much choice in the matter. She looked down at her hands resting in her lap, mortified that he was seeing her dressed so indecently. Who was the man anyway?
Before she knew what he was doing, he was kneeling before her, reaching to take her injured foot into his hand. She gasped and tried to pull back but his grip was firm and unyielding.
"What are you doing?" she squeaked, highly unnerved by the feel of his large hand on her bare foot.
"You took a bad tumble, and I think you may have sprained your ankle. I think you should take it easy and stay off of it for awhile. Of course, I am no doctor. It is merely a suggestion."
Pierce continued to inspect her ankle, sure that it was not hurt beyond a minor sprain but unwilling to take his hands from her soft, smooth skin, despite the indecency of the gesture.
Finally, Hope pulled back. "That is quite enough, thank you." She waited as he stood once more, noting his impeccable attire—he was dressed to perfection in tan breeches that accented long, muscular legs. She briefly noted that one of his thighs was almost as thick as her waist before continuing her observation of his attire; he wore a dark waistcoat and jacket with an expertly tied cravat that appeared even starker next to his dark skin. Every inch of him looked flawless. She noticed how perfect his jacket was tailored to fit snuggly across his broad shoulders without appearing too tight.
The stranger seemed to find her appraisal of him humorous, as he watched her with one eyebrow cocked. When her eyes came to settle on his face, he smirked. "See something you like?"
Her face flamed once more. She would never admit to him that she found his dark, roguish looks wildly appealing. He was a magnificently made specimen, something her wildest imagination could not have conjured. Instead, she took the offense. "I was just wondering who you might be and what you are doing in my house?"
"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Pierce Chadwick, the Duke of Kerrington. And who might you be?" Though he was almost positive he knew, he still had to ask.
Hope gasped, her eyes widening in alarm. So this was the Duke of Kerrington, the man she was now expected to marry in Noelle's place. Her palms began to sweat and her thoughts raced. She had pictured a stodgy middle-aged duke, not an outrageously handsome man with a wicked glint in his dark eyes. How would she ever be expected to be wed to such a man?
While her thoughts were racing, the duke asked once more, "May I ask who you might be?"
"Oh! Pardon me, Your Grace, I just did not expect...I mean, I thought that...oh forget it. I am Lady Noelle." It felt odd referring to herself as someone other than Hope, but she knew from here on out that Hope was dead to her and that Lady Noelle would be her only identity.
Though he had expected her to confirm his suspicions that she was indeed Lady Noelle, he found he was still partially dreading that he might be mistaken and that she would end up being a younger sister or cousin. He was at once relieved and oddly delighted until he remembered she was just another spoiled lady of the ton, most likely with nothing more to offer him but a pretty face. Not that he would complain, at least luck had favored him with a beautiful future wife.
Hope watched as Pierce took his turn appraising her, feeling as if she was a horse on display at Tattersall's and he was deciding whether he liked what he saw enough to purchase. Unfortunately for him, and much to his own doing, whether he liked what he saw or not, the purchase had already been made.
Being scrutinized by the duke was making her squirm, and finally, she had had enough of his piercing gaze raking her body and she snapped, "Like what you see?"
Pierce let out a sonorous laugh. "Whether I do or not is of no consequence now. I fear it's past time for me to be picky—I have won you fair and square, and I am much too honorable to back out of the deal now. I suppose we are stuck."
The arrogance and brashness of his statement made any positive impressions she had formed of the duke vanish, being replaced by the opinion that Noelle had been wise to flee this marriage while she had a chance for real love and happiness, highly doubting she would have ever come to love the conceited Duke of Kerrington.
When she finally spoke, she did so through gritted teeth. "I am not exactly impressed with you either, but I wasn't the one foolish enough to play for your hand in a silly game of chance. You were, after all, the one who misused his agency to gamble with both of our futures. Pardon if I very much agree with your assessment that we are indeed stuck, as you so inelegantly put it. At least you had a choice, whether you chose honorably or not I suppose is a matter of opinion, and for now, I will keep mine to myself."
"I beg to differ. I think you just made your opinion known," he snapped back, unsure of what else to say to defend himself. It rubbed him wrong that he couldn't completely disagree with her and that she had indeed pegged him right, but he was much too proud to play the fool and admit the error of his ways to himself, let alone her.
"Very well, then there won't be any pretenses between us, that's a relief," she quipped, though she felt like a hypocrite for saying it when she knew there would always be a bigger secret between them.
They sat in silence, avoiding each other's gaze until the sound of silence became so loud it was deafening. Hope fiddled with her skirt, giving her hands something to do, keeping her eyes downcast to avoid having to look at the duke.
Pierce was the one to finally break the silence. "You act as if marrying me is akin to facing the guillotine. Is the prospect of being my wife really that unappealing?"
Hope had to hide a smile behind her hand at his outburst. Apparently, he was used to women fawning over him, and the thought that the very lady he was practically betrothed to was not impressed with him obviously perturbed him greatly.
"Let's just say, it was not a choice I would have made for myself," she replied honestly, knowing full well that she had not made the choice to pose as Lady Noelle and marry the insufferable duke. Though if things would have been different and she really had been born a lady, who's to say she wouldn't have chosen someone like the Duke of Kerrington? His dark hair and chiseled features attracted her, and she had a hard time looking at him without remembering the thrill she had felt as he caressed her ankle with his large hands or his masculine smell as he held her against his hard, broad chest. But then she remembered his arrogant manner, and she immediately decided that she would never have chosen to be tied to a conceited, vain aristocrat on her own.
Pierce leaned back casually against the wall, trying to mask his irritation at her words. "I suppose you think you could have made a more advantageous match than marrying a duke?"
"Ha!" she said flailing a hand in front of her, "A duke, an earl, a marquis, none of that matters to me. The measure of a man is his honor, not his title."
"If your taste is so exceptional, then why haven't you made your own match by now? Let me guess, no gentleman can measure up to your exacting standards?" he asked acerbically.
There was a pregnant pause before Hope finally answered. "Perhaps I have yet to meet a man that—thrills me." She inwardly winced, having no idea where that had come from.
"Thrills you?" he barked, and before she knew it he was sitting next to her on the settee making her feel small next to his overpowering frame.
His face was inches from hers and she could feel his warm breath on her face as he spoke, "If you are looking to base a marriage off thrills alone, this union might not be completely hopeless. If there is one thing I can deliver, it is thrills." And with that, he took her head into his hands and pressed his lips to her own.
Hope was speechless. The feel of his firm lips on hers had shocked her completely at first, but as the initial forcefulness of the kiss dissipated and turned gentle, she found she couldn't focus on anything other than his kiss, though she knew she should protest and object to his forwardness. His hands wound into her loose hair, caressing her scalp and causing her spine to tingle. The kiss deepened, and she found herself forgetting about anything around her, the very fact that they were sitting in the middle of the drawing room where someone could walk in at any moment didn't even cross her mind.
Though Pierce had initially kissed her to prove a point, he soon found himself completely immersed in her, nothing existed but the two of them. She was warm and responsive and smelled clean and fresh and slightly of lavender, unlike most of the ladies of his acquaintance who wore so much perfume it repulsed him. He could tell by her initial hesitation and reservation that she hadn't had much experience kissing, and it gave him a secret thrill to realize that as her husband he would be the one to teach her the art of passion. When she moaned softly, he moaned in response, wrapping his hands in her hair and tugging her head back to give him full access to her neck, as he trailed tiny kisses down her cheek and over the slim column of satin skin, feeling her pulse beat under his lips. He slowly moved back up to her lips, where he placed a final kiss, before reluctantly pulling back to look at her flushed cheeks and eyes that had darkened with passion.
"Tell me that didn't thrill you," he growled.
He didn't know what he expected her to say but he was caught completely off guard when she put a dainty hand over her mouth and began giggling. He failed to find the humor in what had just occurred.
"What's so humorous?" he asked.
"You just snarled at me, like the grumpy gnome in one of my stories that snarls when he speaks. I couldn't help it that you reminded me of him."
"How flattering to know that I remind you of a gnome. And for the record, I do not snarl." What was it with women telling him he snarled lately—first his mother and now her?
"You most certainly did, Your Grace. Do you make a habit of it? Because, if so, I am not sure I can go through with this arrangement. To think I will be spending the rest of my life with a man that snarls is unthinkable."
"That is all you have to say? I just kiss you passionately and all you can do is complain that I snarl?"
She felt herself weaken at the reminder of that passionate kiss. It had shaken her up more than she was willing to admit, so instead, she said, "I suppose it was pleasant enough, thank you."
"Pleasant? I've been told my kisses are many things but never have they been described as merely pleasant." He was provoked by her indifference to a kiss that had sparked more passion in him than he could ever recall experiencing, but he would never admit it if she wouldn't.
"You are snarling again—and maybe you haven't gathered enough opinions."
"I can assure you that I have kissed plenty of women." He raked one hand through his hair causing it to muse adorably. "And this is a highly inappropriate discussion."
"No more inappropriate than your previous actions." She said, as she purposely scooted away from him. It was much too hard to think clearly when he sat so close she could feel the heat radiating off of his body.
He couldn't seem to help himself, and he snarled.
"Truly, you must overcome that. It is quite an unbecoming habit."
"I can't seem to help myself. You seem to bring out the surliness in me."
"Do not try to place the blame on me. I am sure you are quite capable of that all on your own." She couldn't help but goad him, hoping to take his ego down a notch or two. Pierce leaned back, his arms crossing over his chest as he perfected a pout that quite irritated Hope, especially since it only seemed to draw attention to his full lips, and she did not want to think about those lips and what they had felt like on her own.
The loud clearing of a throat caused both of them to jump. Pierce sprang to his feet and smoothed out his jacket as he moved to greet Lord Brattondale with a handshake. Hope sat as still as she could, nervous about playing Noelle for the first time in the earl's presence. She hoped he wouldn't see through her act and see to punish her as he saw fit, not to mention the embarrassment the scene would cause her by being called out on the deception in front the duke. For the second time within a matter of minutes her breathing was coming rapidly, but this time it was as a result of nerves and not passion.
"Your Grace." Lord Brattondale nodded at Pierce, as his fleshy hand reached out to grip the much leaner and more muscular hand of the duke, "I am glad the arrangement has already been made for your betrothal to my daughter or surely this scandalous scene would warrant such actions." He looked suspiciously at Pierce's mused hair before turning to glance at his daughter, shocked to see her in a state of such dishabille.
Hope rose and walked towards the earl, anxious to defend herself, "Oh no, Father, it's not what you think. I have the most horrible news—Hope has left in the middle of the night to run away with one of the stable boys. I only appear this way because I couldn't properly ready myself without the assistance of a maid, so I came to tell you post haste, to ensure I get a replacement promptly." She hoped she sounded sufficiently concerned. Then gesturing one hand toward Pierce she continued, "It was quite by accident that I met his grace on my hurried search for you."
"I suppose the loss of your lady's maid is quite tragic." She wasn't sure if he was being facetious or not. "I will arrange for a replacement without delay. Now at least go get some stockings and slippers on and pull your hair up properly. I assume you can manage at least that much on your own?"
She nodded silently then turned to exit the room but not before she heard Lord Brattondale saying, "I apologize, Your Grace, she's not always so imprudent."
And the duke responding, "No apology necessary. I have a feeling your daughter is quite full of surprises, the least of which is her reckless appearance this morning."
If he only knew.