Celeste kept pace with her. “He isn’t interested in me.”
“He kissed you.”
“He was forced to.”
“Cece, no one forces a man to kiss a woman.”
“It wasn’t his choice.”
“Mm-hmm,” her twin answered as they turned on the last landing before the entrance hall, and then they both came to a halt.
No duke cooled his heels in their foyer. He must be in the receiving room. In silent agreement, they lifted their chins and then regally took the last steps side-by-side, like the gentlewomen they were. They moved to the door of the receiving room.
Still no duke.
“Where did he go?” George whispered.
And then Celeste heard a low-throated sound of masculine appreciation coming from the direction of the family breakfast room. The scent of beef and ham wafted down the hall toward them, a beaconing if ever there was one. Her brother was not in residence. It could be a servant, but she thought not.
She marched down the hall, George at her heels, and strode into the private room to see the Duke of Salcombe opening the covers to the array of breakfast dishes on the sideboard and helping himself to small nibbles with his ungloved fingers. He looked more handsome than ever in the room’s late morning sun, his blue-black hair ruffled into wild curls as if he’d just been out riding.
He smiled in greeting, brushing off his fingers, as if he was very pleased to see her. It was a good smile. A winsome one.
Under her breath, George whispered, “Oh, my.”
Oh, my, indeed.
Celeste struggled not to show how happy she was to see him, or to recall how she had enjoyed being pressed against his chest the other night. Even from where she stood, she caught the hint of sandalwood and soap. She gathered her wits and asked, “Does this mean you will be my charity’s lead patron?”
“Absolutely,” he said, and in that moment, Celeste felt as if the heavens had opened and the angels were singing. He was going to help her. She was going to succeed, and she was humbly grateful. In fact, she was so appreciative, she was in danger of weeping with relief.
Rodman entered through the pantry with a tankard of ale for the duke. Salcombe smiled at the offering. “Your chef is excellent,” he said. “I’ve never tasted beef with such flavor. And it is tender. I like tender beef.”
Celeste covertly caught a tear before it escaped and embarrassed her. “I shall tell Cook. She will be flattered.” She turned to her sister. “I’m certain you have something you should be doing, George?” It was a pointed hint.
“Nothing is more important than chaperoning you, dear sister.” George walked up to the duke, who was hovering around a dish of bacon. “I’m Lady Georgiana. However, please, call me George, and did you really kiss my twin last night?”
“George.” Celeste could have happily murdered her sister, especially when the duke ducked his head as if to hide his embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. George has terrible manners.”
“The better to chaperone you, Cece,” George replied, unrepentant.
“I don’t need a chaperone.”
“Obviously, you do if you are kissing a duke at a ball,” George whispered brightly.
The duke made a humming sound as he piled a plate high with bacon and beef. “Did you tell herallof it?” He carried his food over to the table where he’d set his tankard. “Including Lady Redhill?”
“I did. But Georgiana is a troublemaker.”
“That is what sisters are for,” George assured her blithely.
“Well, you needn’t worry, and please, leave us. His Grace and I have much to discuss.”
“Yes, about Our Brave Soldiers.”
Celeste frowned, confused. “Our what?”
“Our Brave Soldiers. It’s the name I’ve given to the charity. I had my man Peters send out announcements of my patronage to all the papers. We needed a name, and I like the sound of that one. Would you ladies like to sit?” He asked because he was obviously ready to enjoy his breakfast but wished to be a gentleman.
