Lady Vivian Defies a Duke - By Samantha Grace Page 0,5
dangerous than riding in a thunderstorm.
A gust of wind ripped his hat from his head, but another blinding flash and concurrent explosion discouraged him from turning back for it. Rain saturated what had been left of his dry hair and dripped into his ear. He must look like a drowned rat by this point. Certainly, he was less appealing than the water sprite he had come across earlier.
Silly chit. She either had no sense of direction, or else she had purposefully misled him as punishment for disturbing her swim. It was a good thing he had come across another gentleman on the road who was able to provide better instructions than “go that way.”
Of course, if Luke had followed her directions, he would be safely ensconced in the White Wolf Inn enjoying a thick steak and a tankard of ale. But where was the thrill in playing it safe? If he were to die, at least it would be on his terms. No chance of death catching him unaware today.
Lights flickered through the trees; shelter from the storm was close. As they rounded the bend, a house lit up like a fireworks display loomed in the distance. He grinned. This must be Brighthurst House, and the likely employer of the mischievous water sprite.
Too bad he wouldn’t have enough time to deal with the impertinent wench, but he was at Brighthurst for one purpose only. He would see this arrangement between him and the Marquess of Ashden’s sister dissolved as quickly as possible and return to London to finalize his arrangements with Captain Pendry. His task, however, was of a sensitive nature and required finesse. It was better for him to speak with Lady Vivian in person rather than entrusting his friend, Ellis, to handle the matter.
He had his father’s legacy to consider, but Lady Vivian’s welfare was at stake as well. She was an innocent in this situation. She didn’t deserve to be caught in the middle of a battle between Luke and her brother. In their last audience, her brother had vowed to call Luke out and declare his father a liar if he refused to honor the marriage settlement, a worthless threat given Ashden was more versed in Latin and antiquities than weaponry. Luke would win in a duel easily, his father would be exonerated, and yet Lady Vivian’s reputation would be in tatters.
What had his father been thinking to enter into negotiations with a man who would put his pride before his sister?
Luke had been mulling over his father’s covert actions often lately, and he was inclined to agree with his mother’s companion, Johanna Truax. This arranged marriage had been one more attempt by his father to force him into becoming what he was incapable of being. Father had refused to accept the truth about him. Luke hadn’t been the same since his accident, and no amount of browbeating could make him regain what he had lost. If not for his brother, Richard, at the helm this last year, Luke didn’t know what would have become of his family.
He didn’t wish to drag another person into his disordered life. This ridiculous betrothal could go away quietly if Lady Vivian’s brother was a reasonable man, but he wasn’t. The marquess had refused to listen to reason, but perhaps an appeal from his sister would sway him.
As Luke rode up to the house, a groom ran to greet him. He shouted instructions and handed over Thor’s reins. The driving rain drowned out the man’s response as he led Thor to the stables straightaway.
Luke bounded up the stairs, and the front door of Brighthurst House swung open. A butler waved him inside.
He bowed low. “Welcome to Brighthurst—”
“I’m flooding Lady Brighthurst’s floor, my good man. Save the pleasantries for another day.”
The man drew back, clearly aghast at his brusque manner. Luke was more concerned about ruining his hostess’s home than observing the pomp and circumstance associated with his station or shocking the butler.
He tugged off his gloves and handed them to the servant. Two footmen hurried forward, one to remove his drenched jacket and the other to extend a towel.
“Thank you. Now if you would kindly show me to my quarters so I might make myself presentable.”
The butler’s shaggy gray brows shot upward, but he nodded to one of the footmen. “Do you have no trunks, sir?”
Had he arrived before his valet and trunks again? Luke must have a discussion with his driver about dallying. Now he was in a predicament.