“Perhaps,” he relented. “Yet panic can be quieted by art. I have a little to hand.”
She wished to askwhatart.
She wished to ask if he had brought shackles concealed in velvet.
She wished to run.
But she remained.
She remained because she had a purse to fill and a mother to save, and because last night, when he had moved toward her,careful as a surgeon, she had felt not fear, but the strange relief of being read by someone who could actually read.
“I am not panicking,” she declared, but it felt like a lie.
“Youare, but not as much as I’d thought,” he replied. “You have decided, then.” His voice had softened by a hair.
He didn’t ask a question, but made a statement. It should not have steadied her, but it did.
She drew in one slow breath and let it go. “Very well, give youroneinstruction.”
A tinge of satisfaction flashed across his face and was gone just as quickly. He looked not pleased, but determined, like a man to whom a difficult mechanism has just yielded.
“First,” he began, “we will confirm that no eye is upon us.” He tilted his head toward the path. “Listen.”
She listened. The square answered with its pale, ordinary music. Further away, a carriage rattled in search of home. Somewhere, a gentleman laughed, already drunk on his own stories. Here, the hedge breathed, the gravel lay hushed, and the air smelled faintly of damp earth and winter roses that had outlived their season.
“Second,” he continued, “we will change your view of the world for half an hour.”
She frowned. “My view?”
“Yes,” he said. “It is too wide for comfort. You are bravest when you see too much. I wish you to see only what will keep you safe.”
“How do you propose to accomplish that?”
“By obscuring the unimportant.”
She could not help it; she smiled. “You speak like a mathematician.”
“I speak like a man who prefers useful proofs to theatrical risks.”
“You have not always preferred the former,” she said.
“No,” he answered. “I am learning.”
The odd confession passed between them and lodged somewhere warm beneath her ribs. She looked away at once, for warmth was treacherous. She had come to trade, not to thaw.
“I will try,” she agreed. “But I will also run if I must.”
“Run,” he said, almost kindly, “and I will let you.”
She nodded and folded her hands to still the tremors in them. She could do this. She had crossed rougher roads with less to gain.
“Proceed, Your Grace,” she forced out, steeling herself.
The Duke slipped his right hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a length of dark silk. It lay like a tame river over his palm.
She recognized the sheen. It was his cravat. Not the starched day length, but the softer evening one that men tied when they wanted their throats to remain unencumbered.
Her mouth went dry. “What use do you mean to make of that?”
