“Then there is nothing to worry about, is there?” she grimaced innocently.
He is so prickly, I dare say I will be a mass of splinters just being near him!
“So, did you mean to spy or did you have some purpose for your intrusion into my bedchamber?” the Duke inquired. He glided over to a wardrobe adeptly, tossed it open, and selected a silk shirt.
“I… I did not realize it was your bedchamber,” Georgia murmured, embarrassed, really seeing the place for the first time. “The door was open, or I would not have come in.”
“Ah, so I must lock doors wherever I do not wish you to snoop in the future,” the Duke put in acidly.
“Or you do not bring me into your house in the first place,” she whispered to herself.
“You would prefer Emsworth's house?”
“No,” Georgia spluttered, astonished by the fact he had overheard, “that would be… unpleasant.”
He smirked in victory—a wholly dashing expression. “Silverton, then? Living off the charity of your relatives?”
Georgia felt a sudden spark of ire at his curtness. Not just his curtness but his entire devil-may-care façade he had exhibited since they first met at Almack's a couple of weeks prior.
“May I ask a question?” she began.
“Ask away.”
“Why are you being quite so unpleasant?” she demanded, stepping deeper into the room.
The Duke's nakedness was covered now, and she felt a tinge of regret. The shirt was not laced fully, revealing a tanned chest.
Does he parade about his grounds half-undressed like some feckless Lordling to receive so much sun?
The image was agreeable, and it took effort for Georgia to dispel it.
“Because I have been trapped into bringing you into my life. You are a distraction,” he remarked.
“I will try not to distract you then, Your Grace—”
“No, not a distraction, anintrusion,” he corrected.
Georgia glared daggers at his marble-cut chest that was quickly being hidden by an adeptly tied cravat. “I will try not tointrude,then, Your Grace. In fact, I will endeavour to keep entirely out of your way and be compliant with your rules in every way.”
“You came here to tell me that?”
Georgia’s mouth fell open at his constant displays of impudence. She shook her head and forced herself to the present, then put on a pleasant smile, remembering her place.
“No. To make you an offer,” she began, hesitating at the final word. “I wish to... to ask for help and seek a compromise.”
The Duke heaved on a large coat and set about buttoning it. He raked his other hand through his tousled hair. A tiny white blossom had settled in it. He might have felt it, but missed it with his hand by inches. A window on the far side of the room was open, and the blossom likely had carried in on the breeze, she deduced.
Georgia's attention was captured by it.
“You have a blossom in your hair,” she murmured.
“I felt it. Where?” he asked.
Georgia tried to point him in the right direction, stepping closer to direct his hand, but the Duke kept missing it. Finally, she stood on tiptoes and plucked it free.
“I have it,” she said.
It was as though she had not realized how close she was getting until now. As she settled back on her heels, she was looking directly up into his sightless eyes. Her breath caught; she could not look away.
