“Well,” she said, her honey gold eyes glinting in the soft candlelight, “is there anything I might say that you would find entertaining? I do find it difficult to remain silent.”
Their hands slid together above their heads, bringing their faces closer. “You may say anything you wish.”
“Anything?” She emphasized the word.
Goodness. Was she flirting with him? He honestly didn’t trust himself to know. “Does making people uncomfortable entertain you, Miss Morgan?”
With this, she laughed. “I suppose it could seem that way. Though I can promise you it is not intentional.”
He nodded, mulling over her words. What would it be like to have a conversation without considering every nuance? Envy fingered its way into his chest.
“Your Grace,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
When all other thoughts fled, he knew to cling to honesty. He met her eyes, blinking once before responding. “Yes.”
She tried to hide her smile, dipping her chin as she turned her face. “I see.” Her chest rose with a deep breath. “I shall try harder to behave myself.”
“I hope you will do no such thing,” he said, his hand stiff as her waist spun beneath it.
“No?” She turned surprised eyes back to him.
“No.” He didn’t offer any further explanation to her. It would only make her ask questions he preferred not to answer. Such as,why? But he could not ask Miss Morgan to mask her feelings and bury herself in a shell. It was her comfort that drew him to her—and for some reason, he didn’t wish to break that spell.
Chapter one
One year later . . .
Louisa stared at the man, her teacup suspended mid-air. She must have misheard him—shemusthave. There was no other explanation that would take root in her mind.
“Excuse me?” She lowered her cup to its saucer, only belatedly noticing how her fingers trembled. The motion created a faint clinking of china that filled the otherwise quiet room.
For several moments, all he did was stare at her.
Finally, his unflinching gaze moved to the floor while his finger tapped against his leg. “Do you wish me to repeat my question?” His eyes flicked to hers, but when she only nodded, he gave a quick dip of his head. “Very well. If you insist.”
A small part of Louisa wanted to stand and shout and tell him she wished for no such thing. To yell that his next words would prove unfruitful and he need only save himself the embarrassment. But how could she? While known for her loose tongue, dismissing a man of his station without giving his request consideration was simply out of the question.
“Miss Morgan,” he began once more, “would you do me the honor of accepting my hand?”
And there it was. The very question she expected to hear, all the while hoping it had been a dream. Or rather, a nightmare. For what on earth was she to do now?
Silence hung between them. It had been so long since Louisa had experienced such a tangible quiet, yet it wrapped itself around her in such familiarity that she questioned, for the briefest of moments, just how many years it had really been.
“Miss Morgan?” The man’s inquisitive tone jerked her back to the situation at hand.
Louisa leaned forward, placing her cup on the table in front of her. “I fear I had not been expecting such a question today. Especially—” Her eyes traveled over him as words lodged in her throat. Her first thought had been to say,‘especially not from you’—but she wondered if such a statement would seem rude to a man of his means. Perhaps another phrase would seem more polite. She clasped her hands in her lap. “Especially not from a man of your stature.” There. That would likely puff up his pride and soothe any ruffled feathers from her not immediately jumping at his proposal. For in the minds of many, she would be mad not to accept the hand of a duke.
“I apologize if this comes at a bad time.” The Duke of Boroux glanced about the room, his hair, similar in color to sand that was wet from being lapped by the sea, caught a ray of sun as he turned his head away from her.
Louisa still did not know what to say to the man, and so she remained quiet. Better that than make a quick quip about him only ever dancing with her once a year, then having the nerve to spring a proposal upon her on an unassuming Tuesday in June.
Apparently, it became clear she was content to be quiet, for he finally turned toward her. “Miss Morgan, does your silence imply you do not intend to accept me? In truth, I had not beenexpecting such a lengthy discussion about this. Though perhaps discussion is the wrong term, for you have scarcely spoken three words.”
“I have certainly spoken more than three, Your Grace.”
He raised his chin, looking down at her with narrowed eyes. “Are you mocking me?”
Blast her tongue. “I am not. As I already said, I am only attempting to make sense of all this. You must admit we do not know one another well.”
