But she mustn’t spend too much time inspecting him. She needed to entertain his whims and then send him on his way, never to return and plague her with his scandalous presence.
Miranda clasped her hands at her waist and refused to sit, not wanting him to make himself comfortable for this interview. “Please, Your Grace. Relay whatever message you are intent upon delivering.”
His gaze was a striking, dark shade of blue that reminded her of a summer sky after a storm had passed, and it was settled upon her now, inspecting her in a way that felt far too familiar.
“You are a lady,” he said, ignoring her request.
Not truly. She had surrendered her titles, her marriage, and most of her respectability. All for the chance to escape Ammondale and begin anew.
“I am the owner of this establishment,” she said primly instead of directly answering the unspoken question in his observation.
“And a lady,” he pressed. “The servant woman in the entry called you my lady just now.”
She exhaled, holding his stare. “Does it matter?”
“Hmm.” He stroked his jaw with ungloved fingers, drawing her attention to how nicely formed his hands were. Masculine, large, long-fingered. They weren’t the pale, thin, elegant fingers of so many gentlemen in her old life. “I suspect it does. I know of no other ladies in my acquaintance who are owners of cookery schools.”
Why was there somehow an implication of intimacy in his words?
She clenched her jaw. “We are not acquainted, Your Grace.”
“Not well acquainted,” he said agreeably, his lips turning farther upward, into a sinful smile. “I’m happy to rectify that problem, however.”
His silken words were like a caress.
She forced herself to think of something dreadful. A snake, slithering around her ankles, poised to strike and end her life. There. That banished the unwanted, peculiar feeling rising within her.
“I, however, am not, Your Grace,” she informed him coolly. “Please, tell me what it is you have come here for, and I will do my best to answer.”
His regard warmed considerably, his smile deepening, and good heavens, why was her office so dratted overheated? Her palms were sweating. The look he gave her was nothing short of smoldering, a blatant invitation.
“I begin to think I came here for more than I realized, madam,” he said, arching a brow. “Please, won’t you have a seat? It isn’t done for a gentleman to sit in the presence of a lady, but I do so hate to conduct a private conversation whilst standing.”
She didn’t mistake the sensual intent in his deep, pleasant voice. He was a wickedly handsome man, and his reputation preceded him. The Duke of Whitby was a voluptuary. But of course he was. One need only take one look at him to know he could charm a lady out of her petticoats with nothing more than a promise and a coaxing smile.
Fortunately, she was immune to his charms.
Snake, she thought.Hissing, vile snake. Venomous, poisonous, dangerous serpent.
“I would prefer to stand,” she told him, forcing a tight smile in an effort to show him just how unaffected she was by his masculine beauty and rakish wiles.
He shrugged with an elegant ease, his gaze still burning into hers. “As you wish. But before we continue, perhaps you would deign to tell me your name, lovely.”
He had called her lovely.
How achingly embarrassing it was that his compliment—meaningless and likely the same he had given to many before her—should make her feel such a deep and abiding sense of longing. Should bring warmth to her cheeks and a tingle in her belly, as if a spark had settled there just waiting to burst into flame.
“You may address me as Miss Lenox,” she said frostily, banishing those unworthy thoughts and feelings.
“Miss Lenox,” he repeated, thelin her surname lingering on his tongue as if it were something to be savored. “If you are a mere miss, why did your servant address you asmy lady?”
Oh, why was he here, prying into her affairs, taking all the air from the room, making her drown in his eyes?
“I hardly think the vagaries of the proprietress of a cookery school should so concern you,” she pointed out tartly. “Now, kindly tell me what it is you require so that I may attend to the many matters awaiting me today.”
He chuckled, as if her daring amused him. “Prickly as a rosebush. How delightful.”
She had come too far to become a duke’s source of diversion.
