“Oh dear. Oh my goodness. Oh Lordie, it is your grace, is it not?”
“You miserable sot! Damn you, Croft, get belowstairs immediately. I don’t want to see that bulbous nose of yours again until you’ve sobered up from drinking my port.”
“Er, it was the sherry, your grace. We’re low on the port. Your late father was never very fond of port.”
“Damn you, I should sack you right now, it’s no more than you deserve.”
“But your grace” Croft tried to lower his voice to a more dignified pitch, but the marquess interrupted him brusquely.
“Out of my bloody sight, Croft. I’ve no patience left for you. God, you reek.” He turned on his heel and headed for the quiet of the library. “Send a footman with brandy and don’t you taste it.”
He didn’t see Croft wave his hand frantically at his back. He flung open the library door, kicked it closed with the heel of his boot and strode directly to the fireplace. It didn’t occur to him to wonder why such a brightly blazing fire was burning in the grate, and he splayed his hands toward the warmth.
“It’s about time you have returned home, Jason. After five days, I must tell you that the servants had seriously begun to doubt my word. Croft even started tippling again, so that proves that he believed me an imposter.”
He spun about so quickly that he had to grab the edge of the mantelpiece to retain his balance. For a long moment, he stared at Hetty, not one word taking form in his mind.
She stood quietly, her hands resting on the back of a chair. She was dressed in a modish yellow jonquil gown, her blond curls tied with a yellow velvet ribbon. She looked very beautiful and very serious and very pale.
“You, Hetty, you’re here? I don’t believe this. You’ve been here at Thurston Hall all this time?”
“Yes,” she said, walking slowly toward him. “I’ve put you to a good deal of trouble. If you wish to yell at me, I will grant you the opportunity without interruption. Do forgive me, Jason, please.”
“Yes, I damned well want to yell at you and shake you and kiss you until you’re senseless. Bloody hell, I’ve been frantic with worry. Everything went wrong. I went to Belshire Manor, then on to Jack’s house in Herefordshire. I prayed, by God, I’ve turned into a Methodist this past week.”
Then he opened his arms to her. She covered the distance between them on a dead run. He pulled her roughly to his chest, burying his face in her hair. He tightened his hold about her back, as if afraid she’d disappear.
“I’m truly sorry, Jason,” she whispered, raising her head from his shoulder to gaze into his dark eyes. “Pottson told me where you’d gone. Lord Harry thought for a while to set out after you, but I decided it ridiculous for both of us to be riding the roads of England. Please forgive me for being so foolish. It’s just that I didn’t know what to do. There was just too much and I couldn’t seem to sort through it all. All I could think about was Thurston Hall and you.”
He thought fleetingly to inquire just how the devil she’d spoken to Pottson, but he wanted to kiss her her mouth, her stubborn jaw, the tip of her nose. He wanted to inhale her scent, to kiss her soft hair, to mold his hands around her breasts. God, if something had happened to her
“Do you forgive me, Jason?”
She didn’t let him answer, but stood on her tiptoes. As his mouth closed over hers, feather light, she felt his hands stroking up and down her back, cupping her to bring her hard against him. She loved the feel of him, the differentness of him. She loved him. It was some moments before he drew back and looked down at her. There was a dark, dreamy quality in her eyes he’d never before seen. Tenderly, he kissed the tip of her nose, her chin, the soft curls at her temples. The weariness and concern that he had worn like a heavy mantle slipped from him, and he gave a shout of pure joy.