“Louise?” Lady Merrow’s knowing voice interrupted. “You’re woolgathering.”
“Just tired,” Louise lied.
“Hmm.” Lady Merrow’s expression suggested she wasn’t fooled for a moment. “Well, we’re dining together tonight. All of us. Aaron promised.”
Louise’s stomach made a peculiar flip.
Dining with the duke.
This was going to be a very long evening.
CHAPTER 8
“Do you ever laugh?” Emily’s question dropped into the formal dining room like a stone into still water.
Louise’s fingers tightened on her soup spoon as she watched the Duke of Calborough pause mid-motion, his own spoon hovering above his bowl.
“Emily.” Louise kept her voice gentle but firm. “That’s rather direct of you.”
“But it’s just a question.” Emily turned those innocent green eyes toward her sister. “We’ve been here for days, and I’ve never seen him smile. Not even when Buttercup wore the bonnet.”
Aunt Cecilia’s shoulders shook with suppressed mirth. “Out of the mouths of babes …”
The duke set down his spoon with deliberate precision. “I laugh when something amuses me.”
“What amuses you?” Emily leaned forward, genuinely curious.
Louise watched the duke’s jaw work as he searched for an answer appropriate for a six-year-old. The candlelight played across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, the dark sweep of his lashes. He’d changed for dinner into evening clothes that emphasized his broad shoulders, and Louise noted the way his hands moved with controlled grace.
“Books sometimes contain amusing passages.” His voice carried careful neutrality.
Emily’s nose wrinkled. “Books? That’s what makes you laugh?”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?”
“Emily, please.” Louise touched her sister’s hand. “His Grace doesn’t need to submit to an interrogation.”
“I’m not inter … inter-o-gating.” She frowned at the word. “I’m just talking. Lady Merrow said good talking is nice at dinner.”
“She’s quite right.” Cecilia beamed at the child. “And I find your questions delightful. Don’t you, Aaron?”
His gaze shifted to Louise, something unreadable flickering in those dark depths.
“Fascinating,” he muttered.
Heat crept up Louise’s neck. She focused on her soup, supremely aware of his attention even when she couldn’t see him. The weight of his regard felt physical, like warm fingers trailing along her skin.
“We never had men at dinner before.” Emily’s announcement broke the charged moment. “Just Louise and me. And George, but only a couple of times because he usually came home too late.”
Louise’s chest tightened at the mention of her brother. Days without word. Days of Aaron’s men searching while she sat here eating off fine china, wearing a borrowed dress, playing at being something she wasn’t.
“How fortunate for us that’s changed.” Cecilia reached over to pat Emily’s hand. “Though I must warn you, my dear, most gentlemen aren’t nearly as interesting as they appear. They talk endlessly about horses and hunting and their clubs, saying very little of substance.”
“His Grace doesn’t talk endlessly about anything.” Emily studied the duke with the intensity of a naturalist examining a new species. “He barely talks at all.”
“Some might consider that a virtue.” The duke’s voice held the faintest trace of dry humor.
