Cimmerian Sunrise

Chapter 4 pt. 1 - ***REVISED***

Breanne rose early the next morning. She knew of only one person that could help her with her predicament. She had to see him immediately. After traveling through a misting rain that turned the streets of Liverpool damp and muddy, she finally reached her destination.

"I need to see the Duke of Manchester, please."

"Do you have an appointment, Lady Torrington?"

"No. I do not have an appointment...but a dire situation compels me to speak with him at once," she replied, wringing her cold, wet fingers.

The man who answered the door nodded once. "I will inquire whether he may see fit to meet with you today...though no one sees the duke without an appointment," he informed her stiffly.

Gently biting her trembling bottom lip, Breanne tried her hardest not to cry.  "I understand."

Nodding again, the man invited her into the foyer and, directing her to wait where she stood, he went to search out the duke.

Breanne stared down at her hands, fiddling with them, trying to still the tremors passing through her. If he didn't help her, what would she do? Would he be angry with her for causing a scene in his home? Breanne truly didn't know what to expect. To this day, the man still intimidated her. She'd grown more comfortable than she once was, but not enough....not when he was in his own realm, as he was here. He'd long ago given her permission to use his given name, and when Alla was around she did so. But, never had they been alone. Would he kick her out of his off—?

"Lady Torrington?"

Breanne quickly glanced up at the portly man who had returned and now stood in the doorway before her.

"He will see you. Follow me."

Breanne drew in a steadying breath, and followed.  He led her down a corridor paneled with rich colored wood, and near the end of it, ushered her through a door on the right.

As soon as she stepped over the threshold, the door behind her closed with the sound of a kettle drum. Breanne whipped around, jolted by the ominous boom, and then reluctantly turned to face the duke. You are such a coward, she told herself.

The Duke of Manchester glanced up from the neatly stacked paperwork on his desk, his expression giving nothing away. With an unsettling ease, he leaned back against his leather chair after plopping his pen back into the inkwell without sparing it a glance.

With the small twitch at the right side of his mouth, the battle lines were drawn--Breanne saw it immediately. Which of them would speak first?—Was this what Alla went through? If so, the woman was a saint.

Breanne swallowed nervously, taking a small step forward.

"Your grace—"

"Please, sit," he interrupted, motioning to the chair stationed across from his desk.

Breanne immediately complied and stared down at her lap as she tried to gather her thoughts.

"Your grace, I—"

"I've given you leave to use my name, Breanne. Please do so, and look at me when you speak."

A flittering irritation flashed across Breanne's face, prompting amusement to shine in Brandon's eyes and cause the minutest softening to the rest of his features.

"Very well," Breanne whispered, looked down, caught herself, and with effort, met Brandon's eyes. "First, I would like to apologize for the scene I made at—"

Surprise showed on Breanne's face as Brandon lifted an impatient hand motioning for her to get on with it.

"I do not care about the stir you caused last night, Breanne. What I would like to know, however, is why you are on the verge of tears, and why you look as if you haven't slept all night."