A chuckle. An infernal sound crafted to throw simpering women at his feet. Not Prim. She looked at him, obviously conveying the message that she finds nothing in the situation amusing.
“You have been in my home for,” he checked the clock on the fireplace, “five minutes, and you have insulted me twice. Surely one for the books.”
“I will try to do better next time,” she quipped. “Now, regarding the problem at hand-”
“Do you plan on being a frequent insulter, then?”
“Depends. Do you plan on being this insufferable?”
He tilted his head in interest. Which, for a man like him, was very akin to an open threat to one’s sanity. Still, Prim mirrored his gesture, and they stayed locked, measuring each other.
“Thrice in the span of ten minutes,” the Duke commented.
“I commend Your Grace’s ability to count while keeping track of time. Must be copious. We need to-”
“That was the fourth time. Sarcasm counts, am I correct?”
Prim took a deep breath and looked away for a few seconds like one does while trying to exercise patience with a toddler. Her look when she focused on the Duke again was the one she had when ready to chastise said toddler.
“I don’t appreciate being rudely interrupted, Your Grace.”
“Miss P.J.,” he said, his deep voice dripping peril, “I think that we are past formalities, wouldn’t you think? You invade my study, you insult me, and I interrupt you.”
“On the contrary, Your Grace. Given our situation, I think formalities are a necessary civility.”
“As you wish, Miss Jenkins,” he bowed his head, his eyes still in hers.
“If entertaining you has concluded, can we talk about the problem at hand? A discussion that we could have had over tea, in broad daylight, in civil hours in my drawing room, by the way.”
“I prefer my study, broad daylight is overrated. As for tea, I can arrange for that.”
Prim felt the feelings she harbored all day, with every passing minute, every moment, every heartbeat leaping to her throat, rise to rightful indignation.
“Why didn’t you come?” She asked sharply.
It was the Duke’s turn to avoid her eyes. But not to retain his calm. He was clearly avoiding her. His gaze fixed right over her shoulder, his hands hiding in the pockets of his breeches, his jaw ticking, his eyebrow raised.
Oh, no, Prim realized in dread.
The Duke believed that she was responsible for the sheet. He thought the same thing that her parents thought. He knew, of course, that every little thing on the sheet was a blatant lie, so he could only surmise that she provided the faux scandal to force his hand. And here she was, in his study, after hours.
Now that she has seen him up close, she was certain that the entire ton was thinking the same. There wasn’t a woman in all of England who could coax tender names from a man like the Duke. Least of all her. He was impressive, she was not. Everyone knew that the Duke wouldn’t waste his time with someone like her.
Prim’s resolution crumbled. That is why he didn’t come. He accused her of this, he thought of her as an opportunistic schemer. He was not going to help her. She was alone in this. She had to protect her sisters at least. How? In the eyes of everyone, she was either a shameless seductress or a malicious trickster.
Her lungs squeezed painfully. Something inside her tightened so fiercely it hurt to breathe. All her confidence gone, her anger evaporated by the fortitude of her shame and despair. She couldn’t bear to look at him anymore.
“Miss Jenkins?” He must have seen the sudden change in her disposition.
Prim didn’t know what to do.
“Are you feeling well, Miss P.J.? Five minutes passed, and you have yet to insult me.”
Prim looked at her gloved hands that tightened around her reticule. She didn’t dare look up and see the same look her own parents gave her this very morning.
“Look at me.” His voice was commanding, a deep, naturally hoarse timbre.
Prim didn’t comply, not out of defiance, but out of pure fear. She was at the edge of the cliff, and seeing his accusatory look would tip her over.
