“And you want my help finding the Velvet Duke.”
“I did,” she said. “But since you’re being difficult?—”
“I haven’t refused yet.”
“You haven’t agreed either.” She stepped past him towards the door. “I have work to do. If you will not assist me, I will manage alone.”
“Deena.”
She paused and put her hand on the doorknob.
He moved closer to her until she felt the warmth of his body mere inches away from hers. He did not touch her, but a part of her waited to feel his fingers brush against hers.
“You’ve changed,” he said quietly in her ear. “But not entirely. You are still as stubborn as ever.”
Deena whipped around and pointed an accusing finger at him. “And you’re still far too sure of your own charm.”
His low laugh brushed against her skin. “Perhaps. But if you are hunting the Velvet Duke, you might find he’s closer than you think.”
She glared at him. Their faces were inches apart.
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” he said roughly, “be careful what secrets you dig for. Some men guard them closely.”
“I’m not afraid of anyone.” She squared her shoulders.
“You should be.” Austin lifted a finger and brushed a stray curl away from her cheek.
Deena held his gaze a moment longer than necessary and shivered at the slight contact. She did not understand the newfeelings that stirred within her, but she backed away from Austin and drew a steady breath.
She willed her voice not to betray the tremor she felt. “I have business to attend to, Your Grace,” she said. “And since you seem disinclined to assist me, I shall manage quite well on my own.”
She turned towards the door, chin high, refusing to grant him the satisfaction of a backward glance.
His low chuckle followed her into the corridor. “It was good seeing you again, Dee.”
The words were soft and sincere. They hung in the air behind her like a caress, but Deena did not slow her stride. She felt the weight of his gaze on her back until she rounded the corner and the library door clicked shut between them. Only then did she allow her shoulders to sag and calm her racing heart. Deena had scarcely rounded the corner when a familiar, booming voice echoed down the corridor.
“Deena darling! There you are! I have been looking everywhere for you!” The Dowager Duchess, her grandmother, swept towards her like a galleon in full sail, cheeks flushed with triumph, silver curls bouncing beneath an elaborate turban adorned with ostrich plumes.
Deena hastily tucked the small notebook deeper into her reticule and summoned a smile. “Grandmother. I was only… fetching a book from the library.”
“A book,” the dowager repeated, eyes twinkling with suspicion. “At a house party? My dear, you are far too serious for your own good. Come along with me now. There are at least three gentlemen waiting to claim dances, and I have promised Viscount Duncan the supper waltz on your behalf.”
Deena’s stomach tightened. “Grandmother, truly, I am not?—”
“Nonsense!” The dowager linked their arms and began steering her back toward the drawing room. “You have hidden in Paris long enough. It is time you remembered you are an Archdall. And Archdalls do not spend evenings with books when there are dukes and lords to be danced with.”
They had nearly reached the doors when a liveried footman appeared at Deena’s elbow.
“A note for you, my lady,” he murmured discreetly, offering a silver salver with a single folded paper resting upon it. “Delivered just now.”
Deena’s heart stuttered, a cold prickle racing down her spine. She took the paper with fingers that felt suddenly numb, the wax seal plain and unfranked.
The dowager’s sharp eyes missed nothing. She leaned closer, voice bright with curiosity. “A note? Already? My dear, you have barely been home for a day.”
Deena managed a tight smile. “Likely from Selina or Dominic. They mentioned arriving soon.”
