“Yes, Francis most assuredly would,” he gritted out.
Well, that had been Felicity’s aim with this. Find out something the Duke liked and use that to get herself in close proximity with him. Alone. Rocks, it was.
She smiled and hoped he could see that it was genuine. She didn’t want him to think she judged him for his hobby. Same as Pandora, she wouldn’t judge. Everyone had their quirks that made them happy. Goodness, her brother Felix’s latest obsession had been flushing toilets. Fortunately for her brother and the Duke, it was almost encouraged for lords to be eccentric.
Not so for women.
“I look forward to meeting them. I hope I can make a good impression on beloved Francis,” Felicity said. “Perhaps tonight after dinner?”
The Duke’s striking blue eyes widened, his eyebrows shooting up, and Pandora broke out in a toothy grin. Why on earth had her statement sparked such alarm for the Duke? And glee for his daughter…
“Francis is…ah…shy,” the Duke started hesitantly. “I will…let him know and give him time to warm up to the idea.”
The Duke seemed to warm up to this thought as well because he proceeded to blurt out more words than Felicity had ever heard him speak before.
“Yes, he will need to warm up to the idea. I will be sure to tell him tonight before our, ah, nightly bedside recounting. He and I are quite close, you see. Tell each other about our days every night. And then he can go back and inform the others. Though I will have to speak with Roxanne. She can sometimes be a bit stone-cold.”
Pandora sniggered, and the Duke’s lips tugged up at the corners.
Felicity’s smile faltered. Heavens, that small, subtle smirk. The Duke making puns. About his rock collection. Of which one was named Roxanne. It was so unbelievably endearing.
Her heart gave a rock-solid thump against her chest.
Oh, Fliss, that was horrible.
It might have been horrible. But what was truly horrible was that she was starting to fear that she wasn’t just developing a liking for the Duke. She was starting to fear it was something a tiny bit more.
13
Ash
Arockcollection.Thathe talked to. He almost,almost, laughed out loud as he made his way to the library.
When she had asked him if he had any odd habits, he knew he had just been presented with the perfect opportunity to scare her off. But his mind had gone blank, and he’d silently scolded himself for having rocks for brains. Well, he’d latched onto the rock part and rolled with it. He chuckled softly.
At first, she’d been so accepting of his eccentricity that, one, he feared his idea had gone awry and, two, he worried his heart would jump out of his body to cozy up next to her because she was so bloody perfect. But by the end of dessert, her smile had faded, and she had appeared genuinely concerned.
His plan was working.
He stepped into the library and—shite.There she was. Of course, Lady Felicity was here. And in a sheer night rail, which he was sure was part of herseduction a la Duke.
And just like the last time, he greedily drank in the sight of her. The ghost-white fabric rippled around her, clinging to long lean legs, to curving hips—the feel of which was still imprinted on his palms from the one brief moment his hands had come into contact with her. Her form was stark against the dark walnut built-ins that lined the two-story walls of the Devonford library. Like she was ethereal. Something elusive. Which was what she was. Because she wasn’t for him.
She turned, breaking him from his covetous voyeurism. Which was most definitely for the best—because he couldnotbe alone with her here. Not after her revelations the prior evening. How she touched herself after his hands had been on her.
Run, Ash. Now.
Fortunately, his feet listened. He spun on his heel and fled. How could it have only been one day? It felt like an eternity that he had been battling the pull she had on him. And instead of making progress against it, it was only getting worse, stronger, more effective. He thought he heard the light pad of footsteps behind him. He picked up his pace. Bloody hell.
His gaze landed on one of the many dark-wooden arched doors lining the hall. He surged forward and dipped inside. Bins and brooms thudded and clanged behind him. Darkness engulfed him, and he pressed his ear up against the wood door, trying to control his rampant breaths, straining for any sound, any hint of movement. Definitely light footsteps. They padded past, continued on, disappeared. He let out a relieved breath, his shoulders sagging.
And then the door flew open, and he nearly tumbled out. And let out an embarrassing squeak.
“Would you look at that…” His best friend stared back at him, dark eyebrows lifted. “I found a little ducal mouse.”
He frowned at Sam. “Be quiet,” he hissed.
He peeked out of the closet, looking in either direction—which wasn’t easy to do, considering Sam was about the same size as the doorway. He blew a puff of air through his lips. The hall was clear. Thank God.
