Читать книгу The Regency Season: Decadent Dukes: Rufus Drake: Duke of Wickedness / Griffin Stone: Duke of Decadence / Christian Seaton: Duke of Danger - Кэрол Мортимер, Carole Mortimer - Страница 13

Two more days passed before Anna saw Rufus again, and at a time and place she was completely unprepared for.

Hurrying out of the rain, on her way into the church to arrange the flowers for tomorrow’s Sunday services, she instead came to an abrupt halt as she saw a solitary man standing a short distance away in the churchyard.

Rufus.

He stood at the Drake crypt, head bent, seemingly unaware of the light rain falling and dampening his hat and clothes.

He looked so alone.

Which was a strange thought to have about a duke. A very wealthy and much-sought-after duke, as village gossip indicated that every well-connected family in the area had sent him invitations to dinner parties and hastily arranged balls.

Invitations Anna knew he had so far neither accepted nor refused.

She fought a battle within herself for several minutes as she continued to watch Rufus, part of her wanting to continue on into the church and begin her flower arranging and forget that she had ever seen him, the other part of her drawn to somehow try to alleviate some of his loneliness.

The softness of her heart meant the latter easily won out.

Leaving her flowers in the vestibule, Anna came back out of the church to walk down the pathway towards where Rufus stood.

Rufus knew almost instantly that he was no longer alone, sensing—no, feeling—Anna’s presence behind him, at the same time as he smelled the faint hint of mint he now associated only with her.

He turned slowly to look at her from beneath the brim of his hat. “You should not be out here in the rain.” The shawl she had draped about her shoulders was already showing damp, as was her pale green gown.

“Neither should you,” she countered gently. “Were you very close?” She looked up at the crypt where the names of Rufus’s uncle and two cousins had been added these past three years.

“Not close enough.” He gave a sad shake of his head as he too glanced up at his ornate family crypt. “I suppose we all think there’s plenty of time, that next week, or next month, or next year, we will make an effort to spend time with family, with those we love. And then fate decides otherwise.” He turned to look at her, “No, I was not close to my uncle and cousins, Anna. But I now wish that I had been.”

“You have other family?”

“Oh yes,” he smiled. “I have an interfering mother, and a maternal cousin who can be just as interfering.”

“They both love you, else they would not take the time to bother.”

Rufus looked at her incredulously for several moments and then he gave a rueful smile. “You are very wise for one so young.”

She shrugged. “I am a parson’s daughter.”

She was the strangest parson’s daughter Rufus had ever met. The only parson’s daughter he had ever met.

Anna was only in her very early twenties, and yet there was such wisdom in her eyes, so much understanding for what he had been trying to convey with words that, to him, seemed too trite, too dismissive.

He did deeply regret that he had been too busy with his own life to allow him to be close to his uncle and cousins, because now it was too late.

Was all of life like that? he wondered.

Was life, time, so fragile that it had to be grasped with both hands?

Was that how Anna had felt when they’d spoken two days ago? As if time, life, was passing her by? That it would continue to pass her by?

Was that how he now felt, standing in this churchyard, gazing up at his family crypt, where so many of his ancestors lay, including his own father? Did he feel that if he did not seize life, seize the things he really wanted, that he would lose them forever?

Rufus had become very introspective over the past couple of days as his thoughts dwelled on just that problem. Knowing that he hungered for something.

Or perhaps someone?

“I—” He stopped as the heavens suddenly seemed to open up above them, a deluge of rain falling down on them both. “Let’s get you into the church out of the rain.” He took a light hold of her arm as they hurried down the pathway.

Even with her shawl pulled up over her hair Anna was soaked through by the time the two of them reached the church vestibule.

“Do you love the rain as much as I?” She laughed with happiness as she removed her shawl before looking up at Rufus. He removed his hat, sweeping the dampness of his dark hair back from his brow. “I always feel that it cleanses everything and makes it brand new.” She continued to smile as she looked out of the arched entryway at the falling rain.

“Would it cleanse me, do you think, if I were to stand out in it?” Rufus mused unsmilingly.

She turned to look at him quizzically. “You already look very clean to me.”

He smiled ruefully. “I am talking of my past, Anna. Do you think the rain would cleanse me of that?”

Anna’s breath caught in her throat at the intensity of his gaze. “A person’s past,” she spoke carefully, “is exactly that, surely?”

“Is it?” He grimaced. “And what if that past has been less than reputable?”

“But honourable? Always honourable?”

His mouth twisted into a grimace of a smile. “Oh yes, always honourable.”

“Then it must be accepted as the past.” She shrugged. “For the past cannot be changed, we can only hope for the future.”

Rufus felt something shift deep inside him, as if a key had just been turned to open a part of him that had been locked away.

“Anna,” he murmured gruffly as he moved to take her in his arms. “Beautiful, wise Anna.” He rested his cheek against the silkiness of her hair.

Anna had no idea what was happening. Did not fully understand what Rufus was saying. But she did understand that he was in need of warmth and understanding, possibly because of that visit to his family crypt, that she had not been mistaken in how alone he had seemed.

Her arms moved about his tapered waist as she rested her head against his chest, and she became instantly aware of the rapid beat of his heart.

They stood like that for some minutes. Long, delicious minutes, when Anna simply enjoyed holding and being held. A time out of time.

A time that surely could not last.

“Would you be ready to do the church flowers now, Miss Anna?”

Anna pulled sharply out of Rufus’s arms, her face blazing with colour as she turned to look at Mrs Faulkner, the baker’s wife. She had arrived to help arrange the flowers. As she did every Saturday...

Something Anna had completely forgotten in Rufus’s company.

“His Grace was sheltering from the rain, and I was keeping him company,” Anna announced brightly as the elderly lady looked at the duke suspiciously. Unlike some in the village, Mrs Faulkner was not a gossip, thankfully.

Anna quickly made the introductions before announcing that it really was time for the two of them to go into the church and see to the flowers.

Rufus eyed her with amusement as he took his leave. “A pleasure to have met you, Mrs Faulkner. We will meet again soon, I hope, Anna,” he added huskily.

Anna was too embarrassed to reciprocate, too mortified at being caught in the duke’s arms by Mrs Faulkner, to even be able to look at Rufus again before he turned and left them.

* * *

“Did you arrange this deliberately?”

Rufus looked at Anna as she sat to the left of him at the mahogany table in the smaller dining-room at Banbury Hall, her head bent as she looked down at the folded hands on her knees, the softness of her voice sounding hurt rather than imbued with her usual fire.

No doubt that was because of the presence of Rufus’s butler who, having served their meal, now stood in attendance near the door.

Rufus motioned for Watkins to leave them, waiting until the other man had closed the door behind himself before answering her. “I am responsible for calling upon your brother after our meeting at the church this morning, and also for issuing the invitation for you and your brother to dine here with me this evening,” Rufus acknowledged. “But I certainly had nothing to do with your brother being called away to tend to one of his flock the moment our dessert had been served, leaving the two of us alone here together.”

Although Rufus accepted that he was guilty of persuading the young parson to allow his sister to stay and finish her meal, after which Rufus had promised he would see she arrived home safely.

Anna looked so beautiful this evening, her gown a pale lemon, with matching slippers on her feet, her hair shining like burnished gold in the last of the evening’s sun streaming through the dining-room windows, her eyes a deep and sparkling blue in her beautiful heart-shaped face.

“You are a duke, sir,” she answered him waspishly as she finally raised her head to look at him, “and no doubt capable of arranging anything you please.”

Ah yes, and there was that sharp little tongue that could amuse and arouse him in equal measure.

“Are you angry with me because of this morning?”

Anna eyed him impatiently, knowing it was not Rufus she was annoyed with, but herself. This morning she had allowed herself to forget who she was for a few pleasurable moments of being held in his arms. A pleasure she had paid for by suffering numerous questions from Mrs Faulkner as they’d arranged the flowers together, the elderly woman at last accepting that Anna had merely been comforting the duke, who had been overcome with emotion after visiting his family crypt.

“You did not have to come here this evening, Anna,” Rufus spoke quietly. “You could have used any number of excuses not to accompany your brother.”

Anna knew that.

But that part of her, which was wilful as well as impetuous, the part of her that so longed for adventure and excitement, had refused to allow her to do so.

Because she had wanted to see Rufus again. To know if her legs would once again become weak just at the sight of him. If her body would become aroused just by being near him...

A single glance at Rufus in his evening clothes and Anna had known without a doubt that she did indeed feel all of those things towards Rufus.

Achingly.

Futilely.

She was a parson’s daughter, and Rufus Drake was a sophisticated London gentleman, not to mention a duke, and at least ten years older than she.

“Anna?” He frowned as he stood up to stand next to her chair, his eyes holding hers captive.

Her heart raced. “What are you doing?”

“I believe you are well aware of what I want, what I have wanted since the moment you arrived here this evening.” His eyes gleamed with desire. “What we both want.”

It was indeed a desire, a need, that Anna echoed. With all her heart.

She swallowed. “But we should not.”

“I must, Anna.”

He bent to swing her up into his arms and carried her over to a chaise in front of the window, laying her down upon it before joining her, the heat of his body pressed close against her own, a pleasure Anna had never thought to know with him again.

“You have no idea how much I have longed, hungered, to hold you in my arms, to be with you like this again, Anna,” he murmured throatily as his head lowered and his lips captured hers.

If his hunger was even half as much as her own was for him to hold her, and make love to her, then Anna did know.