“I think not,” he said softly to Julia. “I do not feel inspired to do so.”
“No?” she asked. “Perhaps there are other things you’d like to do. Like meet Mr. Garland. He’s from Pennsylvania. Is that not exciting?”
The stranger dropped his linen napkin on the table, then gazed at Alonzo. “You are the Duke of Pridegate?”
Hearing an American ask such an uncivil question pained Alonzo but did not surprise him. “I am.”
“You are well known in Philadelphia, sir,” Mr. Garland said.
“Am I?”
“Those who have been fortunate enough to attend one of your performances in France and Italy are not shy about praising you.”
“Give my regards to your fellow Americans.”
Alonzo wished for their conversation to end there.
“Your Grace.” Julia leaned close to him, sending wicked sensations up his arm as her hand brushed against his on the table. “You seem out of sorts since our encounter in the gardens.”
“Julia,” he breathed out. “We seem to have a mutual affinity for gardens.” The two most important encounters of their acquaintance had happened there.
Thinking it impossible for her smile to be more enchanting, she proved him wrong again. This time the merriment in her expression reached her eyes. “Flowers have always been a favorite of mine.”
“And what of fountains with scantily clad nymphs?”
“That is an unfair question, Your Grace.”
“Is it?” He was pleased to have won back her undivided attention. Caring little for what anyone would think, he reached under the table and captured her fingers. “I believe you owe me something for rescuing you earlier.”
She did not withdraw her hand from his, but did let out a little gasp of surprise, which empowered him. He could not easily believe she was a silly debutante.
For Lady Julia was not silly.
She could play a pianoforte, speak French, likely paint, and do all the other thingsfinishedyoung ladies were expected to do. What she cared about was what interested him the most. Her accomplishments were found in her father’s library, not through a governess or tutor.
He had ridiculed her indirectly for being a bluestocking, but in all honesty, it made her more attractive—made his manhood painfully hard even thinking about her reciting some political theory while he pumped into her sweet body.
It went against everything he had been brought up to believe.
Whipped into believing by his father.
“Your Grace?” Julia looked increasingly concerned. “Are you unwell?”
“No,” he said. “I have never felt better, Lady Julia. And if I have my way, I will soon be able to demonstrate to you just how fit I am.”
She swallowed, her gaze flitting downward momentarily, then back to him. “Is that a threat, Your Grace?”
Before he could answer, the Duke of Stanhope rose from his seat at the head of the table, signaling for the men to follow him to his library for brandy and cigars. Alonzo closed his eyes and sighed. Could his host’s timing be any worse?
“Understand this,” he said ty to Julia with sincerity. “When I am able, we will finish our discussion from the garden.”
She didn’t deny him or give him a set down of any kind, simply nodded and watched as he departed the dining room with Mr. Garland following closely.
*
“You cannot denyit, Julia,” Willa said with some urgency once they were safely ensconced in Julia’s chamber. “The duke is a scapegrace.”
“Is this why you dragged me away from the drawing room, to discuss his reputation?”
