“As many as wish to pay,” he assured her.
“How many haveyouagreed to?”
He lifted his eyes to the ceiling as if mentally counting and then shrugged. “I’m not certain.”
She wanted to growl her frustration. “We must keep track,” she said, struggling to keep her tone civil. “We can’t have half of London listed as patrons.”
“I can for our charity,” he explained as if it were obvious.
He’d saidour. She registered the word.
Except he’d also said “I.”I can for our charity.
Her temper ignited.
He wasalwaysmaking decisions without a word to her. Just as he’d changed the name of the charity. Just as he’d been going around London inviting dispossessed soldiers to join them—something she couldn’t do because single women of a certain class couldn’t approach men on the street without beingmisunderstood as to their intentions. Just as he was obviously making promises in meetings she could not attend.
It was not right. Why were men free to do whatever they wished? No one suspected their motives or branded them as too forward. Men also expected the world to bow to their demands while they ignored the women with ideas?—
“Mycharity.” The words flew out of her. “This ismyidea.”
“True,” he answered. He nabbed a soft, hot bun off the plate and talked around bites. “But I am your lead patron.“
“Apparently, you are one of what’s becoming a legion of patrons. However,I’mthe one who makesdecisions.” There, she’d said it. She had laid down the law. And it had taken all of her courage, all of her energy.
He hooked an arm on the back of his chair, completely at ease with himself. He enjoyed taking up all the space in the room, she thought peevishly. “You are upset,” he observed.
“You noticed, Your Grace.”
He pressed his lips together, thought a moment, and seemed to come to a decision. Sounding somewhat contrite, he said, “I fear what you will consider a truly major decision may have been made without you.”
Her back straightened. “What have you done?”
Salcombe glanced at her cooling tea. “You might wish to sit and take a sip of your brew before we discuss this.”
“Answer my question.”
A footman entered the room with her toast. He set it before her.
The duke said, “Enjoy your breakfast, my lady. We can discuss this later?—”
“Whatdecision?
He released a soft sigh, his brows rising as if in regret. “Well, I may have agreed to purchase a property. One where the men could live…along with their pets.”
For a second, Celeste didn’t believe she had heard him correctly. “Purchased a property?” she repeated, ignoring his soft jibe about pets. He had been hoping to deflect her attention from what he’d just admitted. “I saw you last evening. Had you purchased the property by then?”
“No.” He took a drag of his ale, his gaze moving away from hers. “And I still haven’t purchased it. Not until I see it. But the deal is fairly well done.”
“Howdid you make an agreement between last night and now? It is half past eight in the morning. Or did you do this at midnight? And why are you leaving me,the owner of the charity,out of the discussion?”
The footman shot a nervous glance at her. She frowned. “Please give us privacy, Stephen.” With a curt bow, the servant made a hasty retreat from the room.
Seemingly unperturbed, His Grace leaned over and plucked a piece of toast from her toast rack. He chomped down on half of it before saying, “It was around midnight when I talked to Masick. I came across him at Fromhurst’s club. Masick’s land borders my estate in Greenwich. He has been yapping at me for months to take it off his hands. He gambles. Poorly, I might add.”
He paused as if expecting her to reply. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Her nails bit into the palms of her clenched fists. The effort of restraining herself was mighty, and he must have sensed it. “I do wish you would sit?—"
“I’mfine.”
