He paused for a second. Perhaps he should not be reading this letter? But he found that his curiosity got the better of him, and he could not help himself. The hand in which the letter was written was masculine – a slightly untidy, diagonal script. A love letter, then, it must be? That opening line was not quite what a brother or an uncle would write to a lady. Charlotte, whoever she was. He flipped the page over and skimmed to the end. It was signed,Ever yours, Lord H.
He turned back to the beginning of the letter, his eyes drawn to it almost magnetically.
I am so sorry I could not converse with you for longer at the ball last week,it read.You know how things stand between us, of course, but I do so hate to see you pained. And yet, there is nothing to be done about it, not yet, at least. Pray do write soon and tell me that you forgive my boorishness? I shall not sleep until –
“Pray, what do you think you are doing with that letter, sir?” a voice rang out across the clearing. Luke looked up in surprise, almost dropping the letter in the mud as he did so.
And there, on the other side of the grass, just emerged from the shaded path, was a sight unlike any he had ever beheld before. A woman, nay, a lady, dressed in what looked to have once been a decent gown, which was now covered in mud, with the hem torn in several places. Her boots were caked in mud, and her hands were too. She must have fallen over at some point in pursuit of the hapless dog. Perhaps her dog?
All this detail, though, was surpassed in importance by the cloud of unruly hair escaping from her bonnet and her flashing brown eyes, which glared at him across the clearing.
“Madam,” Luke said, rising up from the log and giving a slight bow in her direction. “This letter is yours?”
“Indeed it is!” she replied fiercely, crossing the clearing towards him. She was very petite, he thought as she approached. The top of her bonneted head would perhaps reach his shoulder, maybe a little higher.
He stepped towards her, running a hand through his thick dark hair as he did so. “And the dog? Does he also belong to you? You should take greater care of him. I thought he had lost himself in the woods.”
“Who are you to tell me to take better care of my dog when I find you sitting here shamelessly reading someone else’s letter? Were you never taught that it is rude to read another person’s private correspondence?” Her eyes flashed at him again, and he felt the tiniest shift of something within him. He held her gaze; indeed, he was finding it difficult to look away.
“Forgive me, Madam,” he replied, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips as he tried to keep his tone even. It would not do to laugh at this lady, indeed. He sensed that she would not take kindly to being mocked. “Are you quite well? You look as if you have had some – well, some sort of misfortune.”
She paused, frowned, then looked down at her dress. “Oh, yes, I am in a shocking state, I see. I fell in the woods back there. Over a tree root or something like that. I was chasing this stupid –” She stopped herself and bit her lip before continuing. “I was in pursuit of the dog. And I lost my footing. But I am quite well, I thank you.”
“And you are warm enough?” he asked, noticing her bare forearms as she stood in front of him. “Perhaps you would like to wrap yourself in my coat to keep out the cold for a while?”
She shook her head and let out an impatient huff. “I am quite warm enough, thank you.” She pressed her lips together and glared at him again, then took a breath and spoke, her words clear and crisp. “The letter, sir. What right do you have to read another person’s correspondence?”
Luke smiled now, unable to keep the amusement off his face. “Well, this dog delivered it to me so obediently, I almost thought it was meant for me.” He held the letter in his hand still. “I am afraid it is rather damp. From the drool, you know.” He wiped it on his breeches again. “I assume you are the addressee? Your name, please, Madam.” He bowed again, only very slightly, but enough to honor the courtesy of the moment.
She took another step forward and reached out for the letter. “Please, sir, give me the letter.”
“Not until you tell me your name,” Luke insisted, holding the letter slightly out of her reach.
She huffed again, her eyes flashing with fury. Now that she was standing a little closer to him, he could see the slightest hint of a honey color within the dark brown hue of her irises. A unique combination, he thought, one that he had never seen before.
She threw her hands up in the air in a gesture of impatient frustration. “You are impossible, sir! And extremely impertinent, too, if I may say so.”
“You may say anything you wish, madam, but I shall not surrender this letter until you tell me your name. How can I know otherwise that you are the true recipient of the letter?”
She screwed her eyes shut for a second, then opened them again, her frank gaze falling on his face. “My name is The Honorable Charlotte Hervey, daughter of Viscount Haddington,” she replied. “And might you do me the honor of telling me your name? And returning my letter, forthwith?”
CHAPTERTWO
Charlotte waited for the man to respond. He was simply looking at her, the letter still willfully clutched in his hand. It had taken her a while to recover her composure after the shock of seeing him sitting there on the log, the dog at his feet, so boldly reading her letter. But now she was running out of patience with him.
At last, he spoke, his tone formal now. “My name is Luke Russell. I am the Duke of Seton.” He bowed low this time as if he was remembering his manners. “And you are quite right; this letter is addressed to you.”
He handed it over, at last, and she snatched it from his hands, tucking it away immediately into the folds of her dress. She stood up a little straighter and stared at him. She was not going to let him get away with this shocking behavior. “How dare you pry into my private correspondence?” she demanded.
“I apologize miss. Please do forgive me,” he conceded. “As I said, the dog seemed to deliver it to me in such a considered way that I could not help myself.” He paused and looked at her again, somewhat curiously. His eyes were a piercing blue color. Their hue reminded her of the azure ripples of the river that ran along the edge of these very woods when on a sunny day the sparkling blue of the sky was reflected in its flowing waters.
She nodded shortly. “The dog belongs to my sister. He obeys no one but her.” She paused. “And you, it seems.”
“I find that I have a natural affinity with animals.” He spoke easily now, as if they were old acquaintances rather than two strangers meeting in the woods in these most unusual circumstances. “You look as if you are perhaps more at home out of doors than inside?”
She glanced down again at the ragged tatters of her dress and flushed. If her stepmother saw her, no doubt she would roundly upbraid her when she returned home. It was certainly not ladylike to be parading around the countryside in such a state. And in the presence of a duke, no less! “I – I do like to be outdoors, yes, Your Grace,” she stammered. “But I prefer to avoid falling into the mud, if at all possible.”
There was mirth in his eyes but also a shade of concern when he responded to her. “And you are sure you will not relieve me of my coat, at least for a time? It is just there in my saddle bag. It is not warm outside this morning.”
