After being that close to his chest, today it seemed like inside all that ice was a core of molten heat.
“Sorry about the curtsy.” There. Whether she’d made a terrible one or none at all, he deserved an apology either way. “Shall we remove to the library?”
“After you.” He stepped out of her way.
Carole expected to be able to breathe again, but the added arm’s length of distance only meant she could see him even more clearly.
Azureford had not procured a new coiffure. His dark locks curled over his forehead with careless abandon. He was a duke, she reminded herself. He did not have totryto be handsome. When he rolled out of bed each morn, his black waves did their careless thing, his soulful brown eyes did their…soulfulthing, and those gorgeous cheekbones—
“Or we can stand here in the corridor all afternoon,” came Azureford’s dry voice.
The library. She had forgotten.
Shoving past him to hide a fiery blush, Carole hurried down the corridor to the library. She was not Judith. She’d never been one to fawn or coo or giggle. And she wasn’t interested inAzureford, for heaven’s sake. She just happened to be awake, and conscious people found the duke’s randomly inherited features handsome. Flowers were pretty, too, and she’d never flirted withthem. This was going to be fine.
She headed straight to the first shelf and scanned the volumes in search of her sketchbook.
Azureford leaned one of his wide shoulders against the closest wall. “Are you afraid your earring somehow lodged onto the spine of a book?”
“You don’t know my methods,” she snapped. “Are you going to loom over my shoulder as I look?”
“Long-distance looming,” he mused, his voice droll. “I had no idea that was one of my talents.”
All right, fine. He was at least six feet away. Not far enough.
Carole scanned the rest of the tomes before her as quickly as she could, then turned to a different set of shelves so Azureford was no longer visible in the corner of her eye.
Too light a blue… Too dark a hue… The right blue, but not her sketchbook…
She heard scuffing from somewhere behind her. Then a thud. And another thud. Carole whirled around.
Azureford was piling books into a wooden crate.
“What are you doing?” She dashed to his side, heart pounding.
“Putting those books—” He pointed. “—in here.” He pointed again.
That much was obvious. How could she stop him before he accidentally stumbled across her sketchbook?
“Can’t you assign a servant to the task later?” she stammered.
“I can assign a half-dozen footmen to the task right now.” He reached for the bell pull. “Will that make you happy?”
No, it would not. Carole’s hand shot out to cover Azureford’s hand before he could signal his staff.
Both snatched their fingers away as if scalded.
She swallowed hard. “What’s the hurry?”
“I’m donating these books to the castle library tomorrow.” He arched a brow. “What’s your interest?”
He was giving all his books to a public circulating library?Tomorrow?Her stomach bottomed in panic. If she didn’t find her sketchbook in time, someone else would. Not only was the telltale Q embossed on the front cover, each illustration had been captioned in Carole’s distinctive handwriting. Her curly script would give her away to any who had ever received an invitation or quick note from her—which was essentially everyone in the entire village.
The only thing worse than His Grace stumbling across her irreverent illustrations would be him donating it to a public place where anyone and everyone in Carole’s village could find the sketches.
She pointed a trembling finger. “May I see those volumes?”
“I assure you, none of them are earrings.” He turned to the closest shelf and withdrew another armful of books. “Carry on with your search. I’ll do mine. I need to set aside my favorites before the castle footmen arrive.”
