He’d concede the mint helped. He’d not hold such brazenness against her, but neither would he thank her.
“You were looking green again,” she offered. “It would be quite unpleasant if you were to—"
“Please don’t concern yourself with that.” He would not discuss his intestinal fortitude with this woman and would have straightened away from the door if he’d been able.
“Quite right, Your Grace.” But she was laughing softly at him.
This time, when she touched his fists, he opened his fingers to accept the hard candy. Her skin was soft, her hands efficiently cool but also feminine.
When she went to pull away, he did not allow it.
Her touch had the effect of reassuring him that the walls were not, in fact, closing in around them.
“How will she read—if she is blind?” he asked, closing his eyes.
“Oh! It’s the most incredible invention!” She neither commented on his grasp, nor did she attempt to pull her hand away. In fact, she squeezed his fingers back. “It’s all very new. Chase has learned of a Frenchman named Monsieur Braille who developed a code for people who cannot see. Rather than use ink, the code is written with raised dots. So Sarah is going to read with her fingertips.” She was all but cradling his fist in both hands now. Fanning his fingers out, she proceeded to draw imaginary circles, almost mesmerizing him. “Monsieur Braille is a leather-worker’s son. Punching holes in the leather gave him the idea.”
All of Addison’s attention homed in on the lines she traced softly in his palm. His chest loosened and the lightheaded feeling faded enough to where he could open his eyes.
“I apologize—” The feel of her fingertips took over his entire world. “You don’t have to...” And yet he did not release her hand.
It had been poor judgment of him to conclude that she was annoying and boring. Not that she hadn’t been boring—initially, that was. And she wouldn’t be a teacher if she wasn’t at least a little annoying.
But he had been ill-mannered with her and there was no excuse for it, her cheekiness notwithstanding.
Although it had been her idea to lead him up this ridiculously cramped stairwell…
She drew a line along the back of his fingers to his wrist, where the cuff of his shirt and jacket ended, and then dragged her fingertip back to the end of his middle finger.
“Her teacher has brought along a specially trained dog and is showing Sarah how to learn to depend on him to find her way around the estate. Sarah has always been able to maneuver around our home, but only inside, never outside. The dog is supposed to be able to guide her.”
Listening to her, Addison simply breathed. She was stroking her finger back and forth in tandem with the beating of his heart. By accident?
“Do you have a dog?” she asked, sounding quite practical and matter-of-fact.
It ought not to have surprised him but summoning the image of Zeus and Hera almost brought a smile to his lips. “Two, actually.”
“And you like them,” she said as though she’d discovered something quite significant.
“Of course.” Over the years, he’d always had a dog for companionship. He’d learned that losing one was more painful than he ever could have imagined, but living with them made life rather tolerable.
“Hunters?”
“I’ve had Zeus—my border collie—since I was seven and ten, but took in Hera, my two-year-old English foxhound, more recently.
“From the Greek wordDyeus… meaning shine or sky—the highest of the Gods. Is he noble?”
“That’s the way Zeus sees himself. At least where Hera is concerned.” Although Hera was coming into her own.
“Well, you cannot be as horrible as you seemed earlier if you appreciate dogs.” The woman did not know her place.
Intent upon sending her a scathingly disapproving glare, he opened his eyes and…
All thoughts of reprimanding her fled.
Because she was standing closer to him than he had realized, and he’d not expected to be so easily trapped in her gaze. Furthermore, a glimmer of hilarity in that gaze teased him.
The only person who ever got away with teasing him was his older brother, and those times were far and few between. Addison was a duke and could not afford to be taken lightly by others. Growing up, his tutor had instilled in him that such behavior was an insult to the title.
