“Did she?”
“You sound as if you do not believe me.”
“I do not,” she said plainly. A wiser part of her told her to keep her tongue, but she ignored it. “You are not nearly as convincing as you imagine, Your Grace. Still, I cannot imagine why you would feel compelled to invent a tale—though I believe I have figured out your intentions.”
The Duke tilted his head slightly, a lock of hair falling over his brow. Her traitorous heart gave a flutter.
“Go on, Miss Tremaine,” he said. “Tell me what my intentions are.”
“You wished for this outing to be private,” she said evenly. “To have me to yourself. Why that should be, I cannot fathom. I have nothing you could possibly want.”
Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or offence. “I do not require anything from you, Miss Tremaine. I am quite accustomed to managing on my own.”
“In wealth, certainly,” she replied, her tone still measured, “but I am a disgraced lady without influence or consequence. There are many others this Season more suited to your attention. It defies logic that you would single me out—unless there is another purpose behind it.”
“I do hope this is not your manner of speaking to prospective suitors, Miss Tremaine,” he murmured, amusement colouring his tone.
“I have no suitors, Your Grace,” she said flatly. “If that was not already evident, allow me to make it plain now.”
He regarded her for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
“At least tell me your reasoning,” she said at last.
“I will,” he said, “if you call me Lucas.”
There was no stopping the scowl that instantaneously overtook her face. “This is not a negotiation, Your Grace.”
“Nor is it an interrogation,” he countered with ease.
Were her mother present, she would have been forced to school her features into serenity. As it was, she allowed herself the luxury of glaring at him outright. To her increasing annoyance, he only looked faintly amused.
“Never mind, then,” she muttered, turning on her heel. He fell into step beside her effortlessly.
“You don’t wish to know any more?” he asked.
“Not particularly.”
“Now, who is the one being dishonest?”
She pressed her lips together. “I do not care for deception, Your Grace. Observing it in others is one thing; being its subject is another.”
“Look around you, Miss Tremaine. There is not a single person in London who is not pretending to be someone they are not. The civility, the conversation, the manners—all masks, worn to perfection. You are no exception.”
That stopped her cold. “I beg your pardon?”
He arched a brow. “You know it yourself. Though I daresay it wounds your pride to have me point it out.”
“If your intention was to make me like you, Your Grace, you are failing rather spectacularly.”
“Am I making you hate me, then?”
“Hate is rather a strong word—but you do seem determined to earn it.”
To her further vexation, the Duke laughed. His low chuckle seemed to reverberate through her chest, entirely against her will.
“This is not at all how I expected the afternoon to unfold,” he said.
“I suppose you thought I would be easily led,” she retorted.
