Blake scowled deeper.
Arrived and nearly killed you!
He should never have left home. He should just have sent someone to retrieve her and deal with Baston in a swift manner. But that would be too much like his father’s way of handling matters. The late duke’s shadows might still cling to him, but that didn’t mean he had to act as that man would have acted.
The rattling of an oncoming carriage had him sighing in relief. “We should move to the side of the road.”
She nodded, and they moved over to the side. “Will that be your friend?”
Blake nodded. He wouldn’t go so far as to call Bishop a friend. However, he wouldn’t refute anyone else calling him that. The soft scent of blooming roses drifted into his lungs, stealing away his annoyance.
So sweet.
Without question, this encounter with her would keep his mind occupied for the next eighteen years after they parted ways again. He also somehow understood that, this time around, the memory would likely be woven through with a longing he dared not even begin to acknowledge. Hell and all the damnation of this world. The last thing he wanted was to play matchmaker for the woman of his dreams. The mere thought of her with another man made his stomach twist into knots. However, despite his gnawing unease, so long as she was happy, he was determined he would be happy for her.
“Your brother...,” he probed, “Baston has him, correct?”
She nodded. “That loathsome man is keeping him prisoner.”
Just as their reports claimed. A part of him marveled at her determination to save her family. The other part... He’d never experienced this sort of devotion before in his family, even with seven half-brothers, so he couldn’t understand it. He had family, just not love between them. She cared for her brother so much that she was willing to seek out the veiled widow in order to save him.
What about you, heh? You were willing to leave your fortress to save her.
That wasn’t the same. He was repaying a debt—that was enough.
Blake stood beside her, his fingers tightening their grip on his reins. This woman had a way of pulling him into her orbit, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to escape it. Ever since they had first met. He hadn’t been able to escape it for eighteen years.
What the devil had he gotten himself into?
Damn Bishop
Matchmaker? Him?
Savior? Him?
The thought was as ludicrous as it was unsettling. And yet, as much as he wanted to dismiss all this as a terrible idea, a small, treacherous part of him didn’t ever want to leave her side.
Chapter Three
Rosilee watched withfurrowed brows as a large, imposingly grand carriage pulled to a stop a few feet away from them. Her doubts about his identity vanished while other questions—like why Leopold had never mentioned this duke—took its place. She didn’t have time to gather her wits or organize all the questions in her mind, however, before a tall young man stepped from the carriage.
More questions arose.
“Is that your brother?”
The duke snorted disdainfully. “He’s my butler.”
Butler?
She studied the duke’s face. Was he teasing her? She couldn’t tell. For all the bad luck she had been struck with since she started her journey, could the tides truly have turned so completely that a mysterious duke had truly arrived to save the day? One who had a connection with her brother? It all seemed rather like a fairy tale. One, quite frankly, she was desperate enough to believe in.
“It seems I arrived just in time,” the man remarked, flashing a grin at the duke. He didn’t seem like any butler Rosilee had ever known.
“You are late.”
The butler ignored the duke and directed his smile to her. “You must be Lady Rosilee. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Finally?
