Yes, she swayed him from concerns he thought were bigger, more important than thoughts of…love and devotion. He scoffed at himself and turned away.
She’d insisted she wasn’t affected by him. He intended to prove to her that he disagreed. Even if he lost, he’d still succeed in trying.
He led her to a table with a slanted bench, meant for a lady with a hooped gown to lean against and rest her feet, or eat comfortably.
Ben positioned her on the bench and lifted his hand for a server to bring him some food and drink.
“Your Grace.” An older woman pounced before he sat. “It’s so good to see you again.”
Lady Witham, wife of the Viscount of Witham. She was here with her husband and daughter. Ben almost groaned out loud.
“We enjoyed your birthday celebration last year,” she continued, ignoring the woman he came with.
“Lady–” Ben began.
“You remember my daughter, Miss Gwendolyn Hollister?” And as if on cue, her daughter appeared and stepped under her arm.
Ben stared at the girl’s mother, unprepared for her rude behavior. But it only took him an instant to recover. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. Let me introduce Miss Fable Ramsey, my…” He blinked at her, not sure of what to say.
“...his guest,” Miss Ramsey supplied, smiling straight at them, making him feel a little feverish. He tugged at his cravat.
His guest, he thought pensively. It meant nothing–or it could mean everything. Neither the mother nor her daughter knew.
“Where is your family from, Miss Ramsey?” Lady Witham asked her with narrowed eyes.
“Ipswich,” Fable supplied, putting down her spoon.
“Oh? What brings you to Colchester?” Miss Hollister asked her.
“I often wonder the same thing,” Fable told them candidly. “I think it’s the same reason you’re here. His Grace.”
Both women gaped and scoffed until they coughed. “You’re quite bold, Miss Ramsey,” Lady Witham said with distaste.
“She’s delightfully honest,” Ben was quick to defend her.
But he didn’t have to, for with her most radiant smile, Miss Ramsey put out the fire before it started. “Miss–”
“Lady Witham,” Ben interrupted in a low voice and with a warm smile aimed at Fable.
“Lady Witham,” she corrected herself, “Let’s face it, His Grace the Duke of Colchester knows he’s the most sought after unwed duke in all of Britain. He knows why you’re here with your daughter. It’s for him. He values honesty. So let’s be truthful, ladies, shall we? Our dear duke deserves that.”
“Our dear duke?” he repeated when the mother and daughter left them alone again.
“Of course.” She glanced up at him with a smile. “Should I have saidmydear duke?”
His heart jumped and skipped.Yes, you should have said that.He kept his mouth closed for another moment–just to steady his voice. “You did claim to be truthful, after all.”
Her smile slanted into a smirk. “Are you saying I lied by not claiming you as mine?”
“No,” he answered smoothly. “I’m not yours.” Did he want to be? “What you said was correct.”
Her suddenly easy smile returned. It made him light-headed. If one believed in magical beings, like faeries, she was what one would expect to find after peeling back the petals of a peony or a rose. He smiled back. He couldn’t help it if he wanted to, which he didn’t.
“So I’m still ‘delightfully honest’ then?”
He nodded, watching her take a sip from her cup.
“How can you be sure that there are still things about me I haven’t told you?”
