She silenced him with a sharp glance.
He cleared his throat. “If you will accommodate Mrs. Small, I would quite frankly be in your debt. As Mrs. Whitby pointed out, Mrs. Small would never have forgiven me if I hadn’t requested her help. And you can hardly wish to damage me in the eyes of my own dear nurse.”
She snorted. “Not possible, from what I’ve already heard.” She shook her head and then turned up her palms. “Well, then. I have no occupation at present. What am I to do?”
The laughter returned to his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve succumbed to ennui after a mere quarter hour?”
“It took me a quarter hour simply to find you. Although now that I have done so, I expect to succumb at any moment.”
“Succumb?” he asked in a purr.
“...toennui.”
They locked gazes. Then, his dropped to her lips. A shout from a workman sounded from the baily beyond. Then, the workman’s shadow passed across the room.
The duke bowed slightly and then folded his arms behind his back. “What would you like to do? You have an entire ducal estate at your disposal. And, at present, theduke.”
“Entire?”
“Anything within the walls.”
Fleetingly, she wondered what lay beyond the walls. She dismissed his words as a figure of speech. “Most indulgent of you.” She curtsied.
“A curtsy, no less! And a prettily executed one at that.”
She blinked in exaggerated innocence. “I aim to please.”
“You?” His expression turned wolfish. “Never.”
She recognized an echo of her own insult.
“Oh, do stop pulling that face,” he laughed. “I’m sure it stops Delmare in his tracks, but you’re punching above your weight.”
“About twice my weight, I’d say,” she replied with excessive sweetness. “And remember Goliath? Glory does not always go to the blessed-by, ah, girth.”
His laugh ripped through her as a wave of delight.
“Now there’s a better expression,” he said. “No, don’t stop smiling. Please. You enjoy besting me. And I wish you nothing but joy.”
He could not be serious, and yet nothing in his face belied his words. The lines around his mouth had softened and he was gazing down at her with something terribly like tenderness, something that warmed her all the way to her toes. She was suspended, as if she’d just been thrown from a moving carriage and was flying.
The landing was going to hurt.
“Hurtheven, I—I?—”
“I” —he stepped closer—“find myself unaccountably drawn to you, too.”
Her heart made an unwise leap.
“Grant me a boon, would you?” he asked.
“Whatboon?” she asked warily.
“Tell me your name—your real name.”
Her throat dried. “Mrs. Montroseisthe name I intend to use henceforth.”
“Mrs. Montrose, I’ve assured you of my trust in you. Can’t you return the favor?” Can’t you, at least where your well-being is concerned, permit me the presumption of good intent?”
