“Not at all. Lord Trenton has told me enough about you to know that you are far too intelligent—and far too strong-willed—for that.”
The mention of her father tempered her annoyance somewhat, though she refused to let her scowl slip entirely. She resumed walking, mindful of the eyes that must surely be upon them.
“But,” he added lightly, “he did fail to mention how very stubborn you are.”
“I am not the only stubborn one here, Your Grace.”
“Ah, but you do not deny it.”
“I see no reason to deny the truth. Unlikecertain people, I prefer honesty.”
“So do I—though mine is better offered at the proper time. For now, I only wish to enjoy this afternoon—with less quarrelling, if we might manage it.”
“Then tell me why you have sought me out.”
“It will not be so simple.”
“Then neither will this afternoon.”
He laughed again—utterly unbothered by her sharpness. “It is just as well I persuaded Catherine not to join us.”
“Aha!” she exclaimed, turning toward him. “So you admit it.”
“I never denied it.”
“You did not admit it, either.”
“Where would be the amusement in that?”
Under different circumstances, she might have enjoyed the museum, as she always had. But today, she could see none of it—only the infuriating Duke beside her, commanding her attention no matter how she tried to look away.
“I do not mean to upset or anger you, Miss Tremaine,” he said at last, his tone gentling.
She scoffed softly. “You have a peculiar way of showing it.”
His grin deepened. “And that, I assure you, is the absolute truth. I simply feel I must wait for the right moment to tell you what I wish to say.”
“Forgive me, Your Grace, if I am not eager to serve as a pawn in your unknown plans.”
“You are no pawn,” he said quietly. “If we are to speak in chess terms, you are the queen.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she murmured. Yet warmth crept up her neck all the same.
“It is no flattery—it is truth. I have no wish to offend your intelligence. Only to ask that you be patient with me, for now is not the time to reveal my true intentions.”
“Then when?” she demanded, whirling toward him. She hadn’t realised how close they stood until the faint scent of sandalwood enveloped her, setting her heart to an unsteady rhythm.
The Duke inclined his head, his voice lowering to a murmur that sent a shiver along her spine.
“While I do wish to speak with you, Elowen, about something of great importance, at present I would simply enjoy your company—as I have wished to do for far too long.”
Elowen swallowed, her fingers tightening against the fabric of her gown. Just like that, every sensible thought scattered. His eyes held hers with quiet certainty; his nearness unsettled her more than she cared to admit. It was the sort of moment that might turn a foolish mind to dreams of romance.
And because she refused to think herself foolish, she took a deliberate step back. She did not remark upon his use of her given name—he had done it so naturally, as if the barrier between them no longer existed. To call attention to it would only invite another vexing exchange, and she had had quite enough of those for one afternoon.
Instead, she drew herself up and said, with careful composure, “Very well.”
As she turned away, she caught the faint curve of amusement at the corner of his mouth before he fell back into step beside her. Somehow, she could not shake the feeling that she had just conceded a battle she had not even realised she had walked into.
