“Since I was out of university. My father was his father’s man of affairs. I took up the reins for Lord Kendrick before he inherited the title.” His breath turned choppy from descending the stairs while talking.
“You are of a similar age?” I knew from my mother that Lord Kendrick was thirty. Colt appeared to be around the same age.
“I’m older by a year and six months. Give or take a day. We will cut across the grand foyer. We repurposed the old drawing room for the studio.” He strode across the marble floors with quiet footsteps. Lord Kendrick must pay well for Colt’s clothing was topnotch; his leather shoes of fine quality.
My heels made a steady click click on the surface. The entrance was devoid of the typical bric-a-brac most grand houses showcased. A diminutive man in a plaid suit exited from a door hidden in the wall. He sported an enormous walrus mustache. He offered me a bow in greeting. “Lady Lillian.”
“Frank is the butler,” Colt said.
“However do you get your mustache to curl in such a manner? You appear to be smiling, even though you are not.” I was staring and unable to stop. In the duke’s household, I was bombarded with the bizarre, and I found I enjoyed it.
“Wax, my lady, and thank you for the generous compliment.” He smiled at me, and the mustache lifted higher.
“We are on our way to see Lord Kendrick.” Colt’s eyes twinkled with amusement, and he glanced down at his feet, but not before I saw the wry grin on his lips.
Frank opened a simple wooden door to what I assumed was Lord Kendrick’s inner sanctum. The large room was filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves. An earthy aroma of clay and wood smoke pervaded the space. Unglazed pots rested on clay-stained shelves just ready to come to life.
Lord Kendrick was bent over a pottery wheel. I had seen a local man in my home village make household pottery like plates and cups, but the large factories drove them out of business. The potters had been old and paunchy. The duke worked the vase, his fingers covered beige with clay wash. With his sleeves rolled up and his hair pulled back, he looked like the artisans I had seen depicted in old paintings.
“Your Grace,” Colt said, approaching his employer with sure steps.
I lagged behind. The overwhelming content I had absorbed in my reading saturated my mind. In forty-eight hours, my entire life was turned upside down. It was surreal yet exhilaratingly real.
He looked over his shoulder and nodded in greeting. The clay pot on the wheel was short and squat. The surface was smooth and a deep rusty color. “Lady X, how goes the research?”
If anyone had told me I would be reading salacious literature in a duke’s home so I couldwritesalacious literature, I would have died of laughter. Yet here I was, doing the unthinkable. Worse yet, I wished to experience what I was reading. The bigger question was would I have the nerve to go through with it. “I’m almost finished with the book.”
Eyebrow lifted, he cast me an inquisitive stare. “How do you like it so far?”
The flush that had died down returned in a flash. I willed it back, wishing for once to maintain my dignity. I glanced at Colt and fought the uncomfortable shyness from making an appearance. It was a hard subject to discuss with the duke, but I had become comfortable in his company. Colt was still a stranger, albeit a kind one. “It is very good. The story, well, it is well thought out. I’ll have to finish it another time. I have to go.”
“I understand. I’ll be out tomorrow, but you are welcome to come to finish the book. Simply send a note around to Colt.” He cocked his head, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Before you leave, I have one question to ask.”
“And that is?” I instantly had a sense I should never have taken the bait. Too late. I maintained eye contact, although it was torture. He was more experienced in the ways of the world than I was, which gave him an advantage. It was an unfair benefit men had over women.
“Do you have the fever?”
“Lord Kendrick ...” Colt chastised, his brow furrowed at the inappropriate ribbing.
Mortification raged inside me at the crude question. Tears blurred my vision, adding to my anger. I turned on my heel and stormed across the floor.
“Lady Lillian,” Lord Kendrick called out.
I ignored his repeated requests to stop and kept moving. The room was impossibly large. I had known the conversation would be awkward, but I hadn’t expected him to be so cruel as to humiliate me in front of Colt. I made it down the hall and outside to the back garden when the duke caught up with me.
“Lady Lillian, please stop. I’m covered in clay, and if I touch you to stop you from running away, I’ll get you dirty.” He walked beside me, his strides matching my furious ones. His plea was spoken with exasperation and contriteness. “Please, I need to apologize. I was out of line.”
In deference to his apology, I halted near the gazebo, a few feet from where the pedestal the model had stood on was located. The rich red highlights in the duke’s hair showed in the sunlight. It was early spring, and a chill still rested in the air. “Yes, you were.”
“You are crying,” he said. Wiping his hand on his trousers, he lifted a long finger and removed the moisture from my face.
“I am, but not for the reasons you think. I cry when I’m upset.” My explanation was convoluted. I wouldn’t run into such embarrassing issues if I was normal.
“That’s the usual reason people cry, but I’ll concede the battle on this one. I have upset you enough. I’m sorry for my crudeness.” He smiled at me, the dimples in his cheeks hard to resist. The earthy scent I first associated with him was the clay he used for his craft.
“I cry when I’m mad. And when I’m sad. And sometimes when I’m happy.” I shook my head, my earlier temper deflated by his overwhelming presence. Shoulders slumping, I sighed.
He lifted my chin and looked deep into my eyes. “You are a sensitive soul.”
