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Her chin rose. ‘I believe I do like books, Your Grace.’ Stiltedly she answered his earlier question. ‘Perhaps I might borrow one from this library and find somewhere quiet so that I might sit and read it?’
Griffin was feeling a little ashamed of the abruptness of his behaviour now. The more so because he had seen Bella’s brief expression of bewilderment at his harsh treatment of her.
Before it was replaced with one of proud determination.
Even wearing that overlarge and unflattering pale blue gown, her feet bare but for her stockings, and with her hair styled so unbecomingly, Bella now bore an expression of haughty disdain worthy of his severe and opinionated grandmother.
The tension eased from his shoulders at that expression, and he settled back against his leather chair. ‘If you wish it you might ask Pelham for a blanket, and then go outside and sit beneath one of the trees in the garden. Although I advise that you walk on the safety of the grass until your new footwear arrives,’ he added dryly.
Her look of hauteur wavered slightly as she now eyed him uncertainly. ‘I might go outside?’
‘You are not a prisoner here, Bella,’ Griffin answered irritably. ‘Any restrictions placed on your movements, while you are here, will only be for your own safety and never as a way of confining you,’ he added with a frown.
The slenderness of her throat moved as she swallowed before answering. ‘And what if we were never to discover who I really am?’
Then he would keep her.
And buy her dozens of pretty gowns of a fit and colour that flattered her, and the slippers to match. Then he would feed her until she burst out of those gowns and needed new ones, her cheeks rosy with—
Griffin’s mouth firmed as he brought an abrupt halt to the unsuitability of his thoughts. He could not keep Bella, even if she were foolish enough to want to stay with him. She was not a dog or a horse, and a duke did not keep a young woman, unless she was his mistress, and Bella was far too young and beautiful to be interested in such a relationship with a gentleman so much older than herself.
Nor did Griffin have any interest in taking a mistress. A few hours of enjoyment here and there with the ladies of the demi-monde was one thing, the setting up of a mistress something else entirely.
Even if his physical response to Bella was undeniable.
Chapter Three (#u6dc3a30a-29a3-5b98-9167-147d94a8b035)
‘People do not just disappear, Bella,’ he now bit out grimly. ‘Someone, somewhere, knows exactly who you are.’
Bella supposed that had to be true; after all, she could not have just suddenly appeared in the world as if by magic.
Oh, but it had been so wonderful, just for those few brief seconds, to imagine being allowed to stay here. To remain at Stonehurst Park for ever, with this proud and arrogant Duke, who she was sure had a kind heart, despite the impression he might wish to give to the contrary. After all, he had not hesitated to care for her, despite the circumstances under which he had found her.
She felt sure that a less kind man would have handed her over to the local magistrate by now, in fear she might be a criminal of some sort, rather than allowing her to remain in his household. For if it transpired she was a thief, then he could not be sure she might not steal all the family silver before escaping into the night. And she might do so much more if she were more than a thief...
No, despite his haughty aloofness, his moments of harshness, and that air of proud and ducal disdain, Bella could not believe Griffin to be anything other than a kind man.
Besides which, she had not imagined the physical evidence of his desire for her a few minutes ago.
She looked at him shyly from beneath her lashes. ‘Then I can only hope, whoever they might be, that they do not find me too quickly.’
Exactly what did she mean by that? Griffin wondered darkly.
He had come to Stonehurst Park for the sole purpose of finding Harker; the last thing he needed was the distraction of a mysterious woman he found far too physically disturbing for his own comfort!
A conclusion he was perhaps a little late in arriving at, when that young woman currently stood before him, barefoot, and a guest in his home...
The mysteries of her circumstances aside, Bella was something of an unusual young woman. The slight redness to her eyes was testament to the fact that she had been recently crying, which he was sure any woman would have done given her current situation. But most women would also have been having a fit of the vapours at the precariousness, the danger, of their present dilemma. Bella appeared calm, almost accepting.
As evidence that she did not, as he suspected, suffer from amnesia at all?
He looked at her coldly from between narrowed lids. ‘The sooner the better as far as I am concerned.’
Bella frowned at the coldness of his tone. Just when she had concluded that Stone must be a kind man he did or said something to force her to decide the opposite. As if in self-defence?
She turned away to look at the shelves of books so that he should not see the hurt in her eyes, glad when the heaviness of her heart lightened somewhat just at the sight of those books. As proof that she did indeed like to read?
She took a novel down from the shelf. ‘I believe I shall read Sense and Sensibility. I have read it before, but it has long been a favourite of—’ Bella broke off, her expression one of open-mouthed disbelief as she realised what she had just done. ‘Oh, my! Did you hear what I said?’ she prompted eagerly.
The Duke’s mouth twisted without humour. ‘I believe that happens sometimes with people who have lost their memory. They recall certain likes and dislikes, such as a foodstuff, or a book they have read, but not specifics about themselves.’
‘Oh.’ Bella’s face dropped in disappointment. ‘I had thought for a moment that I might be recovering my memory, and so relieving you of my presence quite soon, after all.’
Griffin knew that he deserved her sharpness, after speaking to her so abruptly and dampening her enthusiasm so thoroughly just now. He had been exceedingly rude to her.
But what was he to do when he was so aware of every curve of her body, even in that ghastly gown? When she had felt so soft and yielding in his arms just minutes ago? When the clean womanly smell of her, after the strong perfume and painted ladies of the demi-monde, was stimulation enough? When just the sight of her stockinged feet peeping out from beneath her gown sent his desire for her soaring?
Why, just minutes ago he had been thinking of keeping her!
Damn it, he could not, he would not, allow himself to become in any way attached to this young woman, other than as a surrogate avuncular figure who offered her aid in her distress. Chances were Bella would be gone from here very soon, possibly even later today or tomorrow, if his enquiries today should prove fruitful.
He deliberately turned his attention to the papers on his desk. ‘Do not go too far from the house,’ he instructed distractedly. ‘We have no idea as yet who is friend or foe.’ He glanced up seconds later when Bella had made no effort to leave or acknowledge what he’d said.
‘What?’ He frowned darkly.
She eyed him quizzically. ‘I was wondering if that follows you around constantly.’
Griffin’s irritation deepened at her enigmatic comment. ‘If what follows me around?’ He had owned a hound as a child but never as a man...
‘That black thundercloud hanging over your head.’
Griffin stared at her for several long seconds as if he had indeed been thunderstruck. He had also, he realised dazedly, been rendered completely speechless.
Did he have a thundercloud hanging over his head?
Quite possibly.
There had been little in his past, or of late, for him to smile about. Nor, he would have thought, too much to cause amusement to this young woman either, but Bella now gave him a mischievous smile.
‘If that should be the case, I sincerely hope it does not rain on you too often.’
Impudent minx!
Despite his best efforts he could not prevent the smile of amusement from curving his lips, followed by a sharp bark of outraged laughter as Bella continued to look at him with that feigned innocence in her candid blue eyes.
Bella’s breath caught in her throat as Griffin began to chuckle, finding herself fascinated by the transformation that laughter made to the usual austereness of his face. Laughter lines had appeared beside now warm grey eyes, two grooves indenting the rigidness of his cheeks, his sculptured lips curling back to reveal very white and even teeth.
He was, quite simply, the most devastatingly handsome gentleman she had ever seen!
Perhaps.
For how could she say that with any certainty, when she did not so much as know her own name?
She gave a shiver as the full weight of that realisation once again crashed down on her. What if she should turn out to be a thief, or something worse, and last night she had been fleeing from imprisonment for her crimes?
She did not feel like a criminal. Had not felt any desire earlier, as she’d made her way through this grand house to the Duke’s study, to steal any of the valuables, the silver, or the paintings so in abundance in every room and hallway she passed by or through. Nor did she feel any inclination to cause anyone physical harm—except perhaps to crash the occasional vase over the Duke’s head, when he became so annoyingly cold and dismissive.
Except there weren’t any vases in this room, Bella realised as she looked curiously about the study. Nor had she seen any flowers in the cavernous hallway to brighten up the entrance to the house.
That was what she would do!
When she asked Pelham for a blanket to sit on outside, she would also enquire about something with which to cut some of the flowers, growing so abundantly in the garden she could see outside the windows, and she’d ask for a basket to put them in.
Just because she had no idea who she was, or what she was doing here, was no reason for her not to attempt in some small way to repay the Duke’s kindness in allowing her to remain in his home. And this beautiful house would look so much more welcoming with several vases of flowers placed—
‘What are you plotting now?’ Griffin’s laughter had faded as suddenly as it had appeared, and he now eyed Bella warily as he saw the light of determination that had appeared so suddenly in her eyes.
She frowned as her attention snapped back to him. ‘Why do you treat me with so much suspicion?’ She gave a shake of her head. ‘I know that the circumstances of my being here are unusual, to say the least, but that is hardly my fault, or a reason for you to now accuse me of plotting anything.’
Griffin heaved a weary sigh, very aware that he was projecting his wariness and suspicions onto Bella, emotions so familiar to him because of Felicity’s duplicity. Which was hardly fair or reasonable of him.
He nodded abruptly. ‘I apologise. Perhaps I am just tired after my disturbed night’s sleep,’ he excused ruefully. ‘Please do go and enjoy reading your book out in the garden, and try to forget that I am such a bad-tempered bore.’
Griffin was far from a bad-tempered bore to her, Bella acknowledged wistfully. No, the Duke of Rotherham was more of an enigma to her than a bad-tempered bore. As he surely would be to most people.
So tall and immensely powerful of build, he occasionally demonstrated a gentleness to her that totally belied that physical impression of force and power. Only for him to then address or treat her with a curtness meant, she was sure, to once again place her at arm’s length.
As if he was annoyed with himself, for having revealed even that amount of gentleness.
As if he were in fear of it.
Or of her?
Bella gave a snort at the ridiculousness of that suggestion as she glanced at him, and saw he was already engrossed in the papers on his desk. He did not even seem to notice her going as she took her book and left the study to walk despondently out into the garden.
No, the differences in their stature and social standing—whatever her own might be, though it surely could in no way match a duke’s illustrious position in society?—must surely ensure that Bella posed absolutely no threat to Griffin. In any way.
In all probability, the Duke was merely annoyed with being forced to continue keeping the nuisance of her, and the mystery of her, here in his home.
She had not asked to be here, or to foist the puzzle of who she was upon him.
Nevertheless, that was exactly what had happened.
But where else could she go, and how could she go, when she had no friends or money with which to do so?
* * *
Like a moth to a flame Griffin found himself getting restlessly back onto his feet and wandering over to the window within minutes of Bella leaving the library, the papers on his desk holding no interest for him whatsoever.
At least, none that could compete with his curiosity in regard to the mystery that was Bella.
She had already spread a blanket on the grass and was now sitting beneath the old oak tree he could see from the window, the book open in her hand, the darkness of her still-damp hair loose again about her shoulders, now drying in the dappled sunlight filtering through the lush branches above her.
What was Griffin going to do with her, if his enquiries as to her identity should prove unsatisfactory?
She could not remain here indefinitely; if it turned out that she came from a family in society, as he suspected she might, then her reputation would be blackened for ever if anyone should realise she had stayed in his home without the benefit of a chaperone or close relative.
Inviting his only close relative to come to Stonehurst Park and act as that chaperone was totally unacceptable to Griffin; he and his maternal grandmother were far too much alike in temperament to ever be able to live under the same roof together, even for a brief period of time.
Perhaps he should send word to Lord Aubrey Maystone in London? He worked at the Foreign Office, and was the man to whom Griffin reported directly in his ongoing work for the Crown.
The puzzle of Bella was not a subject for the Foreign Office, of course. Nor was it cause for concern regarding the Crown. But Maystone had many contacts and the means of garnering information that were not available to Griffin. Most especially so here in the wilds of Lancashire.
Except...
Maystone had been put in the position of shooting one of the conspirators himself the previous month, and after that he’d become even fiercer in regard to the capture of the remaining conspirators. If Griffin were to tell the older man about Bella, he could not guarantee that Maystone would not instruct that Bella must be brought to London immediately for questioning, for fear she too was involved in that assassination plot in some way.
He might never see Bella again—
His gaze sharpened as he saw that while he had been lost so deep in thought, Bella had risen to her feet and left the shade of the oak tree to walk across the garden. She now stood in conversation with the gardener who had been working on one of the many flower beds.
This was not the elderly Hughes, who had been head gardener here even in Griffin’s father’s time, but a much younger man Griffin did not recognise. A handsome, golden-haired young man, in his early twenties, who was obviously enjoying looking at Bella as that dark hair hung loosely about her shoulders, as much if not more than the conversation.
Just as Bella appeared perfectly relaxed and smiling as the two of them chatted together.
Griffin did not give himself time to think as he turned to stride forcefully out of his study to walk down the hallway, leaving the house by the side door usually only reserved for the servants, before crossing the perfectly manicured lawn towards the still-conversing couple.
A handsome young man and beautiful woman so engrossed in each other they did not yet seem aware of his presence.
Bella broke off her conversation and her eyes widened in alarm the moment she spied the tall and fiercely imposing Duke storming across the grass towards her, his face as dark as that thundercloud he carried around above his head.
Her heart immediately started to pound in her chest, and the palms of her hands felt damp. What on earth could have happened to cause such a reaction in him?
‘Your Grace?’ She looked up at him uncertainly as he reached her side.
‘Who are you?’
The glowering Duke ignored her, his countenance becoming even more frightening as he instead looked at the young gardener with cold and frosty eyes.
‘Sutton, Your Grace. Arthur Sutton.’ The young man touched a respectful hand to his forelock, his face becoming flushed under the older man’s cold stare.
‘You may go, Sutton.’ Griffin nodded an abrupt dismissal. ‘And I would appreciate it if you would take yourself off to work elsewhere on the estate for the rest of the day,’ he added harshly, causing the bewildered young man to turn away and quickly collect up his tools ready for departing.
Bella felt equally bewildered by the harshness of Griffin’s tone and behaviour. It was almost as if he suspected her and the gardener of some wrongdoing, of some mischief, when all they had been doing was—
‘Oh!’ She gasped after glancing towards the house to see that the library window overlooked this garden, and realised exactly what Griffin had suspected her and the handsome gardener of doing.
Bella made sure that the young gardener had walked far enough away out of earshot, before she glared up into the harshly drawn face looking down at her so condescendingly. ‘How could you?’
