Justlookingat his valet was a balm to Donovan’s soul.They were seated across from each other, Donovan facing forward and his valet facing the rear.Geoffrey’s bulky shoulders and ridiculous height made the cavernous carriage feel cozy and intimate.The windows were unobstructed, but thus far the men only had eyes for each other.
Proper posture had flown out the door, and both men leaned back with their legs sprawling forward casually.Both had opted for pantaloons, which meant the form-fitting material stretched across their large, muscular legs.Because of the limited space, their limbs had no choice but to intertwine.
Donovan tried his best to pretend disinterest in the firm muscles of his valet’s log-sized legs, or in how Geoffrey’s thick arms and muscled chest might look if they were not hidden by layers of cambric and superfine.
He scrambled for the deck of cards hidden in his traveling bag instead.“Shall we play cards to pass the time?”
Geoffrey arched an amused brown brow.“Bored already, your grace?”
Anything but bored.Donovan could happily stare at Geoffrey’s leg muscles and speculate about the rest of his form for the entire journey.
But he was resolved to fulfill the responsibilities of his title.Which meant choosing a wife, not lusting after his staff.
Or in this case, after Geoffrey’s staff.
“We left the last game at a tie,” the duke said briskly, as though that were the cause of the thick tension inside the moving carriage.
“God forbid I should leave my post as your equal in any way,” Geoffrey murmured.
Donovan looked at him sharply.Though it was true that the duke tended to win at Casino… Though it was also true that Donovan was the employer and Geoffrey the mere servant… Though it was true that dukes outranked every Englishman save the royal family…
Damn it all, he was not attempting to exert dominance in some playing-card fueled display of power!
“Forget the cards,” Donovan said, tossing the unopened deck aside.
“What else do you have in there?”Geoffrey teased.“Lemonade?Watercolors?”
“A gag,” the duke replied coldly.
Rather than cower with chagrin, his valet leaned forward with interest.“Can I see it?”
Donovan tossed his bag at him.
Geoffrey caught it easily and sorted through its contents with comical horror.“Carrots and oranges, rather than sweetmeats?Three flasks of tea, rather than whiskey?An almanac and your ledger to balance, rather than a torrid gothic novel to read?”
“I have my duty to consider,” the duke bit out.“I told you.”
Geoffrey snorted and tossed the bag back.“Have you never considered considering something else?”
Donovan fought the urge to cross his arms defensively.“What could be more important than duty?”
“Youare,” Geoffrey answered, his brown eyes locking on the duke with surprising intensity.“Trust me, I do understand that no matter what you do, you will always be a duke, with all the responsibilities and pressures that title entails.But you are also a person.Aman.You are more than a means to fulfill an obligation you never asked for.”
“You make the privilege of peerage sound horrid.”
“Isn’t it?”Geoffrey asked softly.“For you?”
Donovan glared back at him without responding.
Yes, damn it all, the privilege of peerage was the worst punishment God could have devised for a man only interested in other men.Not even Other Men, plural.One man.Geoffrey Vachon, the big infuriating hunk of handsome insolence seated across from Donovan in the carriage.
“Promise me something,” Geoffrey said.
“No,” Donovan answered flatly.
Geoffrey carried on as if this interruption had not occurred.“Promise me you’ll at leasttryto treat this holiday like a holiday.”
“It is not a holiday.”Marrywell was a prison sentence.“This is a business errand to select an appropriate bride.”
