Somehow, the thought of him as a little boy made her heart soften. Had he always been proper and staid and serious, even then? Or had his life experiences and his duties molded him into the man he was today? She desperately wanted the answers to these questions. These, and so many more.
“You were fond of Mittens?” she asked hesitantly.
“I was.” He stroked Dandy’s head yet again, his countenance turning contemplative. “For three years, she was my favorite companion. She was forever at my heels, following me wherever I went. Until one day, she wasn’t.”
“What happened to her?” she asked, dread cramping her stomach.
His gaze returned to hers, his eyes sad. “She was struck by a cart in London. She wandered from the house without anyone taking note until it was too late.”
“Oh, Marchingham.” Her heart ached for the dog taken too soon, for the young boy he must have been. “That’s truly awful. I’m so sorry that happened. You must have been inconsolable.”
“My father…didn’t tolerate weeping, and particularly not over a mere dog.” Marchingham swallowed. “I was punished forthe excessive emotion I exhibited and was never allowed another hound.”
What manner of man would reprimand his young son for being sad that his beloved pup had been killed? Addy was horrified. No wonder the duke was so reserved and frigid. He had been raised that way, and then he had taken over his ducal duties at an early age when his father had died. Addy knew that much from what Letty and Lila had told her. They had been girls of seven and eight at the time, their older brother only eighteen. His revelations certainly put his reaction to Dandy in a different light.
Before she could think twice, she reached for him, settling her hand over his on the armrest of his chair. A jolt skipped up her arm and slid down her spine. Touching him had been a mistake. He turned to her, their gazes colliding, and it was as if the bottom of her stomach dropped out. In his eyes, she saw the man within Marchingham’s frosty, impenetrable exterior. She saw the same man who had kissed her until she’d been breathless.
And she longed for that man.
Addy leaned toward him, wanting to kiss him, to banish the unpleasant memories haunting him, to give him comfort. Wanting things she should never want from the Duke of Marchingham, who had made no secret of his scathing disapproval of her.
But he hadn’t seemed nearly so disapproving when his mouth had been on hers in the music room.
“That is dreadfully unfair,” she said, her voice thick.
“Life is unfair, Miss Fox,” he countered, his head angling toward hers.
It was as if they were magnets, drawn together. Marchingham turned his hand so that their palms were aligned,their fingers entwined. Addy was suddenly hot everywhere, but not because of the hearty fire.
“I suppose it is,” she allowed, unable to look away from his eyes.
Was he thinking about what had happened between them? Was he wanting more too?
“Miss Fox,” Marchingham began, only to be interrupted by a determined bark from Dandy.
Dandy pawed at the duke’s knee, apparently jealous and seeking his undivided attention. Addy bit the inner corner of her lip and considered her dog.That makes two of us, Dandy, she thought grimly.
Marchingham withdrew his hand, using it instead to point at Dandy in an authoritative fashion. “Sit, Dandy.”
Dandy promptly settled on the carpet, gazing up at him adoringly.
Addy clearly needed to procure some cheese, though she hadn’t a pocket to store it in. Marchingham withdrew yet another hunk and tossed it to Dandy, who caught it in her mouth and swallowed it whole.
“Little beggar,” Addy said without sting, deciding that it was past time for her to flee the duke’s presence before she did anything reckless.
Like kiss him again.
She rose from her chair. “Come, Dandy. A quick stop outdoors, and then it’s time for rest.”
The duke stood as well, his full height overwhelming Addy. When he was seated, it was easy to forget how wonderfully tall he was.
He offered her an elegant half bow. “Good evening, Miss Fox.”
His formality felt wrong. But she knew that clinging to it was for the best. They could forget the music room had everhappened. It was apparent that Marchingham didn’t wish to revisit their lapse in judgment. He hadn’t even spoken of it.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” she returned, because, like his formality, needling him about his form of address felt wrong. “Come, Dandelion.”
Dandy looked from Marchingham to Addy.
