Ruan frowned as he waited for someone to answer the door he had just knocked on. He felt like a fool standing on the front step of the boarding house, with a bouquet of posies hidden behind his back. He was gripping them so hard that he was certain the stems would have turned to mush by the time he handed them over to Olive.
The door creaked open and Polly's familiar face peered out, wreathing into a smile as she saw that it was he.
"Good morning, your Grace," she sang brightly, ushering him inside. "'Tis another beautiful sunny day, is it not?"
"It is," Ruan tried not to sound too impatient; he was not there to discuss the weather. He followed Polly into the drawing room that he had stormed into blind with rage the night before. Today, in the late morning sunshine, he saw that the room was elegantly appointed with fine furnishings and dozens of framed paintings lining the walls. Polly gestured for him to sit and turned to leave to fetch Olive, but stopped when the Duke addressed her.
"I take it the Duchess holds no ill will against you for your deception?"
"Only a small bit, your Grace," Polly bit her lip nervously, "And I hope that you hold no ill will against me for the way that I asked you to leave?"
"You're not the first person to point a loaded pistol at me," Ruan replied with a short laugh, "And I dare say you won't be the last --but Polly?"
Polly glanced at him nervously.
"Don't do it again."
Ruan hid a smile as the young woman bobbed her head and positively fled the room. He truly was not annoyed with Polly, he had known that she would not actually shoot him, and she had merely been doing the job he had instructed her to do -- protect his wife. Ruan stood and began to pace the drawing room as he waited for Olive to arrive. He felt like a complete and utter dolt; his heart was racing, his palms were sweaty and he was as jumpy as young blood about to attend his first ball. Honestly, he shook his head in annoyance, it was ridiculous to feel this nervous -- he was a Duke for goodness sake!
The self-affirmation fled his head however, when Olive slipped into the room and gave a discreet cough to let him know she was there. Ruan whirled around, and instantly his mouth went dry. She was dressed in a simple day dress, with her red curls piled atop her head, and the vision she created was mesmerising. His eyes strayed to her plump lips, which were slightly open as though she wanted to speak but could not find the words.
"I brought you these."
He crossed the room in two long strides and thrust the rather sorry looking bunch of posies toward his wife.
"I'm sorry they're not more grand," he continued, feeling slightly abashed as he glanced at the flowers, which were now visibly wilting in Olive's hand. "But Deveraux does not have a hot-house, and his gardener was reluctant to allow me to take anything else from the flower beds."
"You picked them yourself?"
Ruan flushed slightly as Olive perfectly arched an eyebrow in question, she had succeeded in making him feel two inches tall with just one movement. "Well yes, I was rather going for the 'it's the thought that counts' approach to flower giving, and ordering one of the servants to fetch them for me seemed to be missing the mark somewhat."
"They're lovely, thank you," she finally replied, walking over to the sideboard and carefully arranging the posies into a vase. "And thank you for the thought, it was most kind."
She turned then to look at him, and she appeared to him like an angel, bathed in soft morning light. Her green eyes were inquisitive, and she unconsciously bit her lips nervously, rendering Ruan speechless with desire as he observed her. Oh what he wouldn't give to bite down on that lip.
"Why are you here?" she finally asked, turning to the sideboard to fiddle with a small ornament.
"I had rather hoped that we could start again, from the beginning." Ruan cleared his throat, wishing he could make his request sound more like he was asking, and less like he was demanding. Ducal habits were hard to shed, and he knew that he sounded a tad commanding, but he continued on none the less. "It is customary for a gentleman to call on a lady he desires the morning after they have met at a ball. I was hoping, that perhaps, you might deign to pretend that it is the morning after we first met at Lady Jersey's, and allow me to court you properly, as I should have done from the off."
"How intriguing," Ruan tried not to scowl as Olive's eyes danced with amusement while she spoke. "There is only one problem your Grace, I'm not sure that after your abominable behaviour at Lady Jersey's if I would have been at home to you, had you decided to call..."
"So you are suggesting that we must go even further back, and pretend we have never met at all?"
Ruan had the definite feeling that Olive was making fun of him. She seemed to be fighting back a smile and turned her gaze away from his, as she pondered his suggestion.
"Oh yes," she said very seriously, so seriously that Ruan knew she was definitely making fun of him. "They say one only gets a single chance to make a first impression, and I rather fear that the one you made that night was most alarming. Perhaps if we could orchestrate a faux formal introduction, we could start again. Though how we could manage that when there is no one here to introduce us is beyond me..."
"Are you mocking me?"
To Ruan's surprise Olive gave a giddy laugh, and nodded her head. She covered her mouth, to hide her wide smile, as she glanced at him almost affectionately.
"Oh, I am, your Grace," she laughed, "And I pray you forgive me, but your face is a picture. I dare say not many people ever tease you."
"They don't," Ruan grumbled, but inwardly he felt a jolt of pleasure. It was true, few people had ever teased him, bar the ribald comments that men often made to each other, yet Olive's light tone and dancing eyes made him wonder what he had been missing out on all this time.
"Would you like me to stop?"
His wife arched an eyebrow again, and she seemed to be holding her breath, as though his answer might make or break her.
"No," he shook his head slowly and held her gaze, "Though I'd rather you take your unique brand of humour outside with me for a ride. I have a Tilbury outside that I borrowed from Deveraux, as well as a picnic basket filled with cold meats and the like."
"A Tilbury?"
She was teasing him again, and this time Ruan felt genuine embarrassment. He had not driven a Gig since he was a young lad, but Deveraux and Payne had taken the much more fashionable Phaeton off to Truro for a spin.
"It's not my usual mode of transport," he muttered, "Though it will get us safely to the cliffs, which are a magnificent spot for taking lunch."
"As long as you promise not to push me off them," Olive said, apparently in agreement with his plan, for she made for the door. She paused as she reached the door, her face awash with horror at her faux pas; "Not that I think you would, of course. That wasn't what I meant."
"I didn't kill Catherine," he replied simply, and much to his surprise she gave him a compassionate look and whispered; "I know."
His heart skipped a beat at her words.