She wondered if it was rude or gluttonous of her to ask for a third bowl of soup. “My lord–” Fable began.
“You’ll address him as Your Grace,” the evil villainess of Fable’s Harrowing Adventure Into the Past snapped at her.
“I will?”
“That’s correct. He’s the Duke of Colchester, His Grace Benjamin West.”
“Wow, that’s a mouthful,” Fable let her know, glancing off to the side, doubtful that she’d remember it all.
“Your Grace will suffice,” the duke told her in a gruff voice.
A duke. Wasn’t that pretty high on the social ladder? Fable smiled at him. He didn’t smile back.
“I’m Lady Prudence West, His Grace’s sister. Who are you?”
Oh, good. Not his wife. “Fable Ramsey.”
“Ramsey? The duke’s sister hissed. “You’re a Jacobite?”
“A what?”
“Supporters of the Stuart Pretender,” she went on. “A wild, rebellious lot that should be dealt with with more force.”
Oh, Fable thought wryly while the villainess spewed. She really was lovely then, wasn’t she. “No, I’m not one of those. I’m on the same side as you.”
The duke’s sister folded her arms across her chest and glared at her. “And what side is that?”
Fable tried desperately but she came to the same pathetic conclusion she’d been arriving at for at least four days. She didn’t know anything about British history.
“Prudence, that’s enough questions,” the duke said in his sorcerer’s voice. “The physician wants her to rest, and so do I.”
“What about where she–”
“Leave,” he said with a low, warning thread that moved his sister’s feet.
“Miss Ramsey.” He moved closer to the bed when his sister left. “If you’re here to cause any trouble, you’ll make an enemy of me.”
A cold thread trickled down her spine, cooling her blood. She doubted this man didn’t mean what he said. Maybe he wasn’t such a nice guy.
“I’m not here to start any trouble,” she assured him. “But just so you know, I’m also a pretty scary enemy to have.”
He said nothing but stared at her good and long, then he finally turned away.
Fable thought she saw the slightest trace of a smile on his lips.
She felt Edith take her hand and then slip it into the duke’s hand. “She feels warm now, Your Grace.”
Fable thought she should pull back, but she wouldn’t reject the hand that fed her. Besides, her heart was pounding too much for her to move without him seeing her trembling. His hand was large, his fingers, broad and elegant. “You’re warm,” she told him while he cupped her hand in his.
He lifted his eyes to her. Were they dark blue or black? “So are you,” he said without giving away a clue about how he felt about his conclusion.
“Edith, continue to see to her,” he ordered then pivoted on his heel leaving the alluring scent of sandalwood with hints of papyrus and violet behind. “When she’s well enough,” he calledout, turning at the door to set Fable’s blood on fire with his gaze. “Send her on her way.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Edith responded.
“But…” Fable murmured when he left. “I have nowhere to go.”
She wished he wouldn’t throw her out, but in case he did, she should fill up on food to keep her going. “Umm, Edith?”
