His words stirred her curiosity for she’d never met a duke raised in the underbelly of London. She had other questions for him as well. Heading to the tea cart, she poured them both a cup.
“How do you take it, Your Grace?” she inquired.
“Cream, please.”
Handing him his cup, she led the way to the settee by the fire. Knighton sat beside her.
“I apologize that we haven’t had the opportunity to finish our last chat,” she said.
“You’ve had a full plate.” Knighton sampled his tea. “Please know that I would be honored to assist you in whatever way I can.”
“I would not dream of involving a guest in such unpleasant business.”
Nor would she ever want to be indebted to a man like Severin Knight. While she liked him, she did not trust him. Especially since she did not fully understand his connection to her brother.
“Murray has a different take on the situation,” Knighton said.
She frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“He asked me to look out for you in his absence. Given that he and I do not see eye to eye on certain issues,” the duke said dryly, “he must indeed be concerned about the danger you’re facing.”
Knowing that Wick had enlisted his rival to protect her warmed her insides like a drink of hot chocolate. She was touched by his care for her, by the fact that he’d set aside jealousy and competition for the sake of her well-being. At the same time, she was a bit exasperated at his highhandedness: as she’d told him countless times before he’d left for Stoke, she could take care of her own affairs. She’d had plenty of practice at it, being an independent woman of five-and-twenty and not some miss fresh out of the schoolroom.
“On that topic, I am curious to know the exact nature of your differences,” she said.
“Murray didn’t tell you?” Knighton gave her an impassive look.
The truth was that Wick had been rather evasive about his dealings with Knighton. He’d said that the two had faced off over various negotiations, resulting in bad blood when he’d repeatedly trounced the other. In essence, he’d painted Knighton as a sore loser.
“I’d like to hear your perspective,” she said.
“We’ve found ourselves in competition on numerous occasions.” Knighton smiled thinly. “Murray does not enjoy losing.”
“The way he told it, he wasn’t the one who lost.”
“Murray was always prone to delusions.” Knighton raised his brows. “Are you certain you wish to keep company with a man like him?”
“I am.” As she was not a woman to play games, she wanted to make that point clear. She set her cup down on the coffee table. “Mr. Murray and I have an understanding, Your Grace.”
Knighton’s gaze flicked pointedly to her bare ring finger. “How firm is this understanding?”
“You will have to find yourself another duchess.”
“That is a pity because you happen to be the one I want.”
His intensity gave her an odd, shivery feeling. She attributed it to the strangeness of having not one, but two men after her hand when she’d believed that no one would want her after her scar.
“The more I know of you,” he went on, “the more convinced I am that you possess the rare wherewithal to manage my unique situation.”
“As delightful as shepherding your illegitimate half-siblings through Society sounds, I’m not the lady for the task. I have no interest in making a reappearance in thetonor London for that matter.”
“What do you want from marriage then?”
The question took her aback. But it was easy to answer: all the things that she didn’t think she’d find and that she was finding…with Wick.
“Honesty, respect, and a passionate connection.” She met Knighton’s gaze with a hint of defiance because while he might want to use her as a mother hen, Wick desired her for who she was.
“And you think you will find all of that with Murray?”
