“You are very gracious, Your Grace,” April said, unable to suppress a grin.
“I find adventure preferable to predictability,” Stone said, setting his cup aside.
Dorothy, still recovering from the fiery scone and the disastrous lemonade, dabbed at her lips and leaned forward slightly. “And do you often indulge in such adventures, Duke?”
The Duke regarded her. “When the company is as interesting as this, Duchess, I make a point of it.”
“How very flattering,” Dorothy replied with a slight smile and a glance at April, who tried to give her a warning look. Her mother ignored it. “And forgive me, but I must ask… are these calls entirely social? It’s not every day that a duke graces my daughters’ tea table.”
April’s hand froze on the edge of her napkin. “Mama?—”
“It is a reasonable question,” Dorothy continued, still smiling. “If a gentleman appears more than once, one does begin to wonder where his intentions lie.”
April’s eyes darted to , but he offered no immediate reply. Before the silence could stretch further, she rose quickly and smoothed her skirts.dress “Shall we walk, Your Grace?”
“With pleasure,” Stone said, rising and offering his arm.
They strolled along the path by the lake, the sunlight dancing on the ripples.
April kept a careful distance from the water’s edge, her steps tightening whenever the path veered too near.
“You dislike the water?” Stone asked, his gaze flicking to her with unsettling precision.
“Of course not,” April said lightly, forcing a laugh and adjusting her grip on his arm. “It is merely… damp.”
He said nothing, but the way he held her eyes made her feel as if he could see every secret she thought hidden. April hastily looked away, her heart beating a little too fast.
April glanced up at him, searching for any cracks in that impenetrable calm. “Surely,” she said, “you thought our picnic quite ridiculous.”
“Not in the least,” he said easily. “It was refreshingly unusual.”
She huffed. “And my mother—you must have found her exhausting?”
“Perhaps a trifle… verbose,” he allowed, his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly, “but very devoted.”
April shook her head, half-exasperated, half-amused. “You cannot truly mean that the scones were edible.”
“They were,” he said gravely. “Bold and unusual. Like their maker.”
Her cheeks flamed. “You are incorrigible,” she muttered.
“And yet,” he said softly, “you find my company agreeable.”
April stumbled over a loose stone, catching herself awkwardly.
She dropped her gloves in her flustered state. Before she could reach for them, the Duke knelt smoothly, picking them up.
Without rising, he took one slender glove and slowly, deliberately, helped her hand into it, his fingers brushing against hers with a deliberate, almost lazy slowness.
April forgot how to breathe.
“Are you trying to unsettle me, sunshine?” he murmured, his thumb lingering at her wrist. “I warn you—I am not easily shaken. But I welcome your attempts.”
April opened her mouth—and promptly forgot whatever she meant to say.
She fidgeted with the edge of her dress, her cheeks burning.
“You are—utterly insufferable,” she managed at last.
