“How are you so sure?”
Joan’s breath caught. Her heart hammered so loudly she was certain he must hear it. “Doesn’t Your Grace have a much younger woman he’s engaged to?”
The Duke looked confused, his brow furrowing. Then his hand moved to the back of her neck, pulling her closer still. “You don’t have to be so cunning about asking if I’m engaged.”
“Rumor has it she is your friend’s sister,” Joan whispered.
Understanding crossed his features. “Yes. She is my friend’s sister. She comes only out of concern.”
Joan leaned in, searching his face for any sign of deception. But his expression was open, honest in a way she’d never seen before.
He tilted her chin up further. “Your Grace,” she breathed. “Are you telling the truth?”
“I am an honest man.”
He was so close now. So impossibly close. Joan’s eyes fluttered shut as he leaned toward her, his breath warm against her lips?—
She pulled away suddenly and she staggered back, putting distance between them, her hand pressed to her racing heart.
“I apologize, Your Grace,” she stammered. “I should return to my work.”
She fled to her seat and bent over the ledger, seeing nothing through the haze of confusion and want that clouded her vision.
Behind her, she heard the Duke release a slow breath.
“My eyes are improving,” he said after a long silence. His voice was carefully neutral once more. “In a few weeks, I should be able to see well enough not to need the covering. Not perfectly clear, but enough.”
“I’m very glad to hear it, Your Grace.”
“It won’t be pleasant to look at. The scars.”
Joan’s pen paused on the page. “I’m not scared. There’s nothing to be scared of.”
Another silence.
“Perhaps,” Joan continued carefully, “when your eyes have healed further, you might consider attending more outings. Visiting the townspeople. They seem to be quite frightened of you, though I believe they have the wrong idea entirely.”
“What if they don’t?” His voice was quiet, almost contemplative. “What if I am as horrible as they say?”
Joan opened her mouth to respond, to tell him that she knew better, that she’d seen his kindness even when he tried to hide it behind coldness, but a knock at the door interrupted her.
Jenkins entered and bowed. “Your Grace, the lady is here to see you.”
Miss St. Vincent, Joan thought, and hated the way her stomach clenched.
The Duke whistled softly. Archimedes immediately abandoned Joan’s side and trotted back to his master, who scooped the cat into his arms as he stood.
“Jenkins will escort you out when you’ve finished for the day,” the Duke said without looking at Joan.
Then he was gone, taking Archimedes with him, leaving Joan alone in the study.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Joan! You’re home!” Victoria called as she walked back into. Fairfax Manor. Her mind was still reeling from what had almost happened in the Duke’s study—the way he had pulled her close, the heat of his breath against her lips, the undeniable pull between them that she could no longer pretend didn’t exist.
What was I thinking?she chastised herself.
She entered the manor to find Victoria in the small parlor they had managed to make habitable, surrounded by children’s slates and papers. Her sister sat at the worn table, carefully reviewing the homework assignments Joan had given to Percival, Imogen, and Edmund.
