horrendously, and he gaped at the bouncing, clattering items on the tray. He'd never seen anything like it in his life, and he waited breathlessly for the moment when everything would crash to the floor.
She whimpered suddenly, and the sound galvanized him into action. Hugh closed the space between them, plucked the service from her hands, and set it down. Turning to face the maid, he saw that her entire body shook as if she stood in the back of a cart traveling a very bumpy lane. Pretty, in a plain sort of way, with flyaway brown hair and pale blue eyes, she offered a smile as shaky as the rest of her.
Hiding his reaction with practiced ease, Hugh realized the young woman suffered from a pitiable nervous affliction of some sort, not surprising considering the residence in which she lived and made her livelihood.
She stammered something unintelligible, dipped an odd, crooked curtsy, and fled the room, as if he posed some grave threat to her person.
Hugh shook his head in wonder. Were all the servants plagued with some ailment or another?
Glancing at the service, he was relieved to see the tea had already been prepared. He poured and drank, appreciating the warmth, which chased away his chill. So much time passed while he waited, he nearly finished the pot before the door creaked open again.
Hugh turned to face the newest arrival. He was so amazed at the graceful glide with which the figure entered, he forgot to set his cup and saucer down and merely stared.
Black-clad from head to toe, her face veiled with lace, the duchess swept in with haste and halted just as quickly. She stood a few feet away, her figure short and petite. Because the darkness of her gown blended with the shadows, he could see very little of her, but something about her gave him pause. His body tensed, turning hard all over, and his fingers held the delicate china saucer far too tightly. Sweat misted his brow despite the cold. It wasn't nerves or apprehension that held his attention so completely. No, it was far worse than that…
Good God, he was becoming aroused!
Shooting a horrified glance at the tea in his hand, he quickly deduced that the infamous madness must spread through the water. Hugh dropped the cup and saucer on the table with such haste, the remaining liquid splashed over the rim and stained the dusty cloth below.
'Is there something wrong with the tea?' the duchess queried, her voice muffled by the thick veil.
He shook his head. 'No. I apologize for the-'
'What do you want?' she snapped suddenly.
'Beg your pardon?' He, of the dry wit and ready retort, could think of nothing more clever to say, his brain feverishly trying to comprehend why his body was ready to mate with an elderly duchess suffering a mental malady.
'Why are you here?' she repeated slowly as if it were he that suffered the brain affliction. 'What have you come for?'
Hugh gathered his wits. 'My carriage wheel was damaged in a rut. I require the use of-'
'I'm truly sorry, but I haven't the means to help you.' She fled the room with as much haste as the maid.
Mouth agape, he decided something truly heinous polluted the water hereabouts. There was no other explanation for this craziness. Flushed, slightly disoriented, and quickly becoming mad as hell, Hugh strode out the open doorway, bearing down on the dark figure who scurried away.
'Oh, Your Grace,' he called out with deceptive courtesy. 'Another moment, if you please.'
Her pace quickened. So did his.
His legs were longer.
She hit the steps, hiking up her skirts, and he lunged forward, catching her elbow. She gasped. He almost did, too, but restrained himself. Her arm was firm and well-formed under his fingers, not at all as he imagined.
'Perhaps I misled,' he said dryly. Her lace-covered face turned to his. 'I wasn't
She stiffened.
'You're ill; I collect that.' His gaze narrowed as he attempted to discern the facial features hidden behind the veil. 'It appears you are unaware that a blizzard is fast approaching, and this is one of the coldest winters on record. My servant's arm was broken in the fall, and one of my horses is lame-'
'Lame?' she repeated, her voice tight.
She stood silently for a long moment, her damaged brain seeking something to say, he was certain. Finally she gave a jerky nod of agreement and turned, taking the steps with remarkable agility for a woman of her vast years.
Relieved, Hugh turned and bellowed for Artemis. He had no notion if the madness was permanent or not, but he had no desire to catch it in any case.
'Go with him.'
Charlotte looked out the upper-floor window and watched the dashing earl hitch the horses to a cart. He was a tall man, broad of shoulder, with the most glorious shade of dark-honey hair. He stood silhouetted by the snow, his elegantly dressed body moving with latent power, his shoulders bunching and flexing beneath the velvet of his coat. She couldn't see his face from here, but she guessed he would be handsome. Or at least she hoped he would be. A man blessed with so fine a form should have a face to match. 'It wouldn't be proper.'
'Who cares about proper?' came the laughing rejoinder. 'We've never done anything properly. And the earl appears quite… interesting.'
Turning, Charlotte allowed the heavy velvet drapes to fall back into place. Her gaze moved around the spotless, well-appointed room, with its damask-covered walls and Chippendale furniture, before settling on the trim figure who waited with an arched brow. 'I don't know. I'd like to help him, but the more assistance we extend, the more he may discover about us.'
'Keep him busy then. We can't leave them out in the cold. The horse is injured and must be tended. The footman could use your healing touch. They'll catch their death, and neither one of us could live with that. You've done well enough protecting our secret these last years. I've every faith that you will continue to do so.'
Charlotte moved toward the armoire. Opening the mahogany doors, she withdrew a dinner gown and spread it out carefully on the end of the bed. 'I still think it's ill-conceived. The duke's orders were clear. The others can help him and send them on their way.'
'Neither Henry nor Tom can set a broken bone, and well you know it. Go on now. You are better with those horses than anyone. The earl could use your help.'
'But it's late!' she protested.
'Excuses, excuses. It's not late at all, and since Montrose mustn't see me, I won't be eating dinner with him, so you can put that away. You will have to entertain him alone, but you knew that already. Now hurry up and change, before you're forced to chase after them.'
Charlotte sighed. 'If you insist.'
'I do.'
Damning the fates for sending him out in this godforsaken weather, Hugh adjusted the harnesses and chanced another glance at the sky. It was growing dark quickly, the storm clouds rolling in with portentous haste. He worried about his injured footman and his horse. Risking the journey had been foolhardy at best, but his sister, Julienne, had invited him for the holidays. He'd declined at first, but in a fit of boredom had changed his mind and decided to go anyway.
And this was the result, of course. Julienne would point out all the ways he'd handled the journey irresponsibly: He should have written to accept her invitation so she could expect him. He should never have waited so long to
