I offer my hand because that’s what you do, right?
You shake hands with dukes?
Do you shake hands with dukes?
What if you’re supposed to curtsy?
He looks at my hand for a moment—just a moment—before taking it.
His grip is firm. Warm. And he holds my hand just a fraction of a second longer than necessary before letting go.
“Miss Evianne,” he says, and the way he says my name makes me feel like he’s tasting it, testing it. “Welcome to Foxtown.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
His lips quirk slightly, like I’ve said something amusing, and—
“Veil prefers less formality,” Lady Hampton signs to me. “Just Veil is fine.”
I look at him. He’s still watching me with that unreadable expression.
“Veil,” I try, and it feels too intimate, too familiar, but he nods slightly, and—
The driver appears with our luggage, and Lady Hampton is signing something to her son that I’m too far away to catch, and Veil is responding verbally, and I’m just standing here on the stairs trying not to think about how this man is probably the most attractive person I’ve ever seen in real life.
Not helpful, Evianne.
Also, you just broke up with your fiancé approximately six hours ago.
Actually, you didn’t break up with him, you just caught him cheating and haven’t told him yet.
So technically you’re still en—
“Miss Evianne?”
I snap back to attention. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I asked if you needed help with your bag.” He gestures to my carry-on, which the driver has set at the bottom of the stairs.
“Oh! No, I can—” I start to say, already moving to grab it, but Veil is faster.
He picks it up effortlessly, slinging it over his shoulder, and—
“I’ll show you to your room,” he says. “Mother needs to make some calls.”
Lady Hampton is already disappearing into the house with her phone out, and I’m left standing there with the duke, and this is fine, this is totally fine, I’m a professional adult who can absolutely handle being alone with an attractive duke without making it weird.
“Shall we?” Veil gestures toward the door, and I follow him inside, and—
Wow.
The interior is beautiful. High ceilings. Crown molding. Artwork that probably costs more than I’ll make in my entire life. It’s elegant but not stuffy, lived-in but immaculate. I’m starting to understand why Lady Hampton says this place feels like a home.
“Has my mother explained what you’ll be working on?” Veil asks as we climb a sweeping staircase.
“Yes, Your—” I catch myself. “Veil. Yes.”
“Then you’ve probably noticed how excited she is about it?”
