“That is not my name,” Donovan replied tersely.
“It ought to be,” Geoffrey parried back, as he always did.“You’re built like a Greek statue and you comport yourself like one, too.”
“You said to hold still,” Donovan growled.“Does my cravat meet your approval or not?”
Geoffrey produced a pair of spectacles and made a slow production out of peering up and down Donovan’s form at length, before bursting out laughing.
Donovan glared at him.
“Oh, you’re a fine package and you know it.”The valet dropped the spectacles back into his coat pocket with a chuckle.“And you hardly needmyhelp to be starchy and buttoned-up.”
“What about my shave?”Donovan asked.“Did the razor cut close enough this morning, or should we—”
Geoffrey’s warm fingers softly cupped the side of Donovan’s head.The valet lightly rubbed the pad of his thumb against the line of Donovan’s jaw to test for stubble.
This, too, was part of their routine.Before exiting his dressing chamber, the duke questioned every aspect of Geoffrey’s labor—upon which the valet ran his strong hands over every crease and seam in order to ensure not a single stitch was out of place.
“Your face is perfect,” Geoffrey said softly.“As is the rest of your strapping self.”
Donovan harrumphed.“Bollocks.You have to say that.I pay your salary.”
The valet lowered his hand to his hip.“I would wager that same salary that every woman in the ballroom tonight will have the very same thought when she claps eyes on you:What a fine and handsome duke.”
“More like,What a rude, condescending bore,” Donovan corrected him.
“Only because you choose to be,” Geoffrey chided him.The valet tucked his hands behind his back.“I’ve heard that all of the most celebrated beauties will be in attendance tonight.The angelic Miss Bromfield, the delectable Lady Cassandra, both of the buxom Musgrave twins…”
“And how doyouknow which nymphs of the beau monde are the prettiest, much less in possession of an invitation?”
Geoffrey scoffed lightly.“Do you thinkanythinghappens in this house without the servants’ full awareness?”
“No.”Donovan was very much aware that all the wealth and privilege in the world did not buy him a single ounce of privacy.The invisible eyes and ears of omnipresent members of staff arguably informed the duke’s actions and legendary self-control far more than any edict from his parents or his peers.
“Consider speaking to someone tonight,” said Geoffrey.“The evening might be more enjoyable if you don’t spend it entirely stern and silent.”
“There’s no one I care to speak to,” Donovan said bluntly.
“You talk to me,” Geoffrey pointed out.
“And perhaps if you were a debutante in frilly lace…” Appalled, the duke cut off his words with a choking sound, the back of his neck flaming with heat beneath his expertly tied cravat.“I meant…”
Geoffrey held his gaze.“I know what you meant.”
“Do you?”Donovan muttered, as he elbowed past his valet rudely instead of stepping politely around.“I have to go.Mother is waiting.”
“My best regards to her grace.”
Donovan rolled his eyes.“Mother hasn’t noticed a servant in fifty years.”
“Tell her anyway.For my own amusement.”
“Very well.”Donovan opened the dressing-room door and paused to glance back over his shoulder.
Geoffrey was still standing where Donovan had left him, hands behind his back, a small smile above his cleft chin, brown hair soft and tousled, looking every inch a proper dandy, and not at all like an overworked servant about to receive six hours’ reprieve from his master.
“Stop twisting about,” Geoffrey said softly.“Your powerful neck will crease my handiwork and we’ll have to start the process all over again.”
At this, Donovan was tempted to give an exaggerated nod and begin anew.Instead, he turned and stalked across the corridor and down the stairs to the cursed receiving line in the gilded salon.He’d have to stand at his mother’s elbow for the next hour, greeting each unwanted guest as they invaded his home.
