“I cannot believe we’ve managed to get this far.”
“You are a skilled chocolatier, miss. There’s no reason why the duke shouldn’t fall at your feet with the very first taste.”
That wasn’t exactly what Amity was hoping for, but it bolstered her nevertheless. Delia was a kind soul in her middle years, who’d helped out the Rare-Foure family for a decade. After taking it all in, her maid handed her back the tin of chocolates and wandered down to the end of the room where she took a seat in a comfortable-looking winged chair. She waved at Amity before drawing a penny-dreadful from the pocket of her coat, slipping spectacles on her nose, and beginning to read.
After a very few minutes, the Duke of Pelham entered the room. Her stomach twinged at the sight of him, without a hat or gloves and in more informal clothing than she’d ever seen him wear. Even after her insides settled, her heartbeat continued to race. He was so very appealing, and her reaction still caused her a tremendous sensation of guilt. He was not hers to admire and never would be.
Amity lowered into a deep curtsey.
“Please don’t do that. I do not deserve it,” the duke said. “I came to your shop two days ago to speak with you, but you were not there.” He ran a hand through his hair, and she realized his dishevelment wasn’t simply because her visit was unexpected but because he was in some distress.
“I have been berating myself more strongly than you or your father — if it came to that — ever could. I behaved terribly.”
She was surprised, for while floundering in her own guilt at having enjoyed his kiss, she’d nearly forgotten how ungentlemanly were his actions. It truly was his fault. Yet, in light of Lady Madeleine’s threat, she could hardly spare a thought to anything else.
“What’s more, Miss Rare-Foure,” the duke added, “I know why you’ve come.”
Chapter Thirteen
Had Lady Madeleinebeaten her to the Duke of Pelham’s elegant door?Amity had been prepared to confess her sister’s rudeness, but perhaps there was no need.
“I don’t think you can possibly know why I am here,” she told him, then waited to see if he mentioned the earl’s daughter.
“I expect you would like an apology and only out of your desire for discretion did you not ask your father to come demand one, which would be his due. I willingly tell you, Miss Rare-Foure, I am deeply sorry, and I hope you will forgive me.”
She glanced at Delia, whose gaze remained fixed upon her magazine, knowing her maid would probably wonder what His Grace had been apologizing for. How Amity wished that had been the cause of her visit.
“I do forgive you, my lord,” she assured him while wishing she could ask him why he’d done it and what the kiss had meant to him. Yet men and women did not have such a conversation, not when they didn’t have a prior understanding.
Even when they did, such discussions were oft fraught with emotion and confusion. Amity had spent an entire day pondering her difficult encounter with Jeremy in her father’s study the night of the duke’s kiss. In the end, she’d taken Bea’s advice and asked him to kiss her. Despite Jeremy doing so with enthusiasm, Amity had felt strangely indifferent. He’d sensed it, too. And with him already looking wounded, she’d decided against easing her own conscience by confessing to the duke’s kiss and hurting her beau further. Instead, she’d suggested they take a little respite from their close association, which had hurt him anyway.
Shaking her head of these painful thoughts, Amity took a deep breath and plunged ahead.
“I did not come here for an apology, my lord. I came to offer one.”
The duke looked stunned. “Dear Miss Rare-Foure, although your smile and your sweet nature beguiled me into my reckless behavior, you can hardly take the blame.”
