A Deal with a Duke (The Daring Drake Sisters 2)

Concentrating on the approaching manor, she tripped over something, landing face first in the cold, wet snow. She released a scream of frustration as she rose and brushed the frigid flakes off her face, hair, and cloak. This day could not get any worse. Her clothes were damp, her hair half out of her coiffure, and there was the ever-increasing possibility that she would freeze to death.

Maybe storming out of her sister’s house on Christmas Day without a solid plan in mind hadn’t been her best course of action. She should have considered every detail, especially the cost involved, the weather in the north, and the possible damage to her reputation.

But did she do that?

Of course not! That would have been far too sensible. No wonder she hadn’t found a husband yet. She was foolish and impulsive and...and...almost frozen for it.

With weak legs, she took her final steps to the large wooden door and lifted the knocker. The brass handle fell out of her icy hand and banged against the door. An eternity passed before an imposing older man opened the door and stared down his large straight nose at her.

“Deliveries should be taken to the side door,” he said in a voice as cold as the blowing snow. “And no, we have no need for extra servants at this time.”

“I am here to see Lord Lang...excuse me, the...His Grace.” She would never feel comfortable using that honorific.

“For what purpose, madam?”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she brushed them away in fear they would freeze her eyelids shut. “Please just let me in,” she begged.

“Oh, very well,” he replied, opening the door further for her. “Please do not drip all over the floors. The maids just finished in here.”

She wanted to ask him where she should drip but didn’t wish to antagonize the man, afraid he would boot her out. “Could you please let His Grace know that Miss Louisa Drake is here?”

“Alone?” he questioned.

“Yes, alone!” Was the man blind as well as arrogant?

“Of course, Miss Drake.”

He walked away, leaving her sodden and cold in the hall. How dare that man not even bring her to a salon! She hugged herself to warm up, but the cold had invaded her entire body. Her teeth started to chatter again, and she wondered how long her legs would hold her. Intent on finding a fire, she walked down the hall until she found a small salon with a cheery fire burning.

“Thank God,” she whispered as she entered the room.

That dratted butler hadn’t even taken her wet wool cloak from her. She let the cloak drop to the floor. Her only thought was to get as close to the fire as possible. The heat beckoned her like a moth to candlelight.

She shifted a large, burgundy wingback chair closer to the blaze and then sat to wait for Harry. Finally, warmth seeped into her, making her sleepy. She rested her head in the crook of the chair as her eyelids became heavy. Her head jerked back as she realized she’d been nodding off. She couldn’t let that happen.

Forcing herself to rise, she walked closer to the fire. But the chair summoned her to return to its soft comfort. Louisa lightly slapped her face to keep awake. What was taking the blasted butler so long? He should have offered her tea. Or brandy. Something to pass the time while she waited for Harry.

Her nerves tingled with anticipation. Harry would be so happy to see her again.

“MISS DRAKE?” HARRY asked in confusion. “Miss Louisa Drake?”

He repeated his butler’s announcement for clarification. Jenkins must have told him the wrong name since Harry was quite certain Louisa could not be here. In his home. In Northumbria. Her being here made no sense at all.

“Yes, Your Grace. The young woman is dreadfully disheveled and arrived on foot with no companion or chaperone. She does not look like a lady at all. Shall I send her on?”

“No.” What the bloody hell was Louisa doing out here alone? Something dreadful must have happened, but with her family, that was hardly unusual. “Did she say why she had arrived unannounced and without a chaperone?”

“No, Your Grace.”

Louisa had always been a brash young woman, but this must be important if she so boldly defied convention to visit him. The last time he’d seen her was at the small dinner party his father had held in Harry’s honor. The night his wife died. The night he should have been paying attention to his father’s actions, not stealing glances at Louisa.

The wind howled around the corners of the house, reminding him of the raging storm. He clutched the arms of the chair, his knuckles turning white. She would have to stay here for at least the night.

Louisa Drake in his home.

Alone.

Rubbing his temples against the painful guilt, he sighed. Louisa had changed him and made him a better man. How could he face her after what he’d done? After what his father had done to her sister?