“Come now, there must have been something entertaining at one of the events you attended.”
Rose grinned slyly. “There was. Apparently, you are the catch of the Season.”
Sinclair pulled at his cravat and grimaced. “I’m the catch of every Season.”
She gasped. “So modest.”
He fixed a lazy, confident smile on his face. “I’m a duke.”
Why did that smile make her heart beat faster? Annoyance shot through her. “If you can pick anyone, why aren’t you married? I heard you are in your mid-thirties.”
“Are you asking about me?” He cocked a brow.
She flushed. “Of course not. Just curious, what makes a bride perfect for a duke?”
He was momentarily silent but finally said, “A woman who can manage multiple homes, host society events, and ensure our children are cared for and raised well.”
Dull. Dull. Dull.“What will you and this paragon of society do for enjoyment?”
“A dukedom comes with great responsibilities.”
She cocked her head and studied him. “Does that mean you can’t have fun? What do dukes do for enjoyment? Would you want her to enjoy antiquities as much as you?”
“Of course, we can have fun, but the priority is always the dukedom. It would be beneficial if she enjoys some of my interests, but it isn’t necessary.”
Then why wasn’t he married? “I’ve met several ladies since arriving in London that adequately meet your criteria, yet you seem to be wooing none of them.”
He sighed, tired of her questioning. The carriage stopped, and he shrugged. “A discussion for another time, perhaps?”
She laughed. A short while later, they walked through the market. This one wasn’t by the Thames but in Piccadilly, and again in the evening.
“Are most antiquities auctions held at night in London?” she asked.
“Most of the disreputable ones are.”
They turned a corner, and once again, a section was blocked off by a curtain with two burly men standing in front of it. Unlike the auction from a few days ago, these men only nodded and stepped aside as they approached. The area was smaller but seemed to hold more relics than the previous one. She headed towards a table.
“Rose.”
She halted, sighing. “I promise not to leave this room or go somewhere that may seem improper.”
He frowned at her. “I’m not asking this because I’m worried about propriety. I need to make sure no harm comes to you.”
Rose flushed, knowing she was being bratty. What was wrong with her? “Thank you. I will be just over there.”
“I will look on the other side.”
She made her way to several tables containing stone tablets and studied them. They all had inscriptions etched in modern Persian and hieroglyphs.
“Aren’t they lovely?” an older man asked.
Rose smiled. “Yes. Do you understand what they say?”
“Would you like me to tell you?”
She shook her head. “No. This one is a memorial to a pharaoh, and this one outlines laws for a region.”
His eyes widened. “You can translate ancient languages?”
