The Duke was silent for a long moment. “You speak of it with pride.”
“Should I not?” She met his gaze. “I give people what they most desire. Connection, companionship. Love, if they are fortunate. There are worse things to build a life upon.”
He studied her as though seeing her for the first time. “No. I suppose there are not.”
She focused on Oliver, who was counting the legs of a sphinx with intense concentration.
“Four!” He held up his fingers. “The lion thing has four legs!”
“Very good.” She crouched beside him. “But look closely. What else does it have that lions do not?”
Oliver squinted. “A person head!”
“Exactly. It is called a sphinx. The Egyptians believed it guarded important places, like a very fierce watchdog.”
“Can it bark?”
“I imagine it would roar. Very frightening roars that scared away anyone who did not belong.”
Oliver considered this. Then he threw back his head and produced the most fearsome roar a four-year-old could muster.
Several nearby visitors jumped. Mrs. Palmer looked mortified. The Duke pinched the bridge of his nose.
Sophia laughed. She could not help it. The sound bubbled up from somewhere deep in her chest, bright and unguarded.
Oliver beamed at her reaction and roared again, louder this time.
“Oliver.” The Duke’s voice cut through the noise. “That is quite enough. We are in a public institution.”
Oliver’s face fell. The joy drained away, replaced by the guarded wariness that seemed to descend whenever his uncle spoke.
Sophia reached for the boy at the same moment the duke did.
Their hands collided over Oliver’s shoulder.
Heat shot through Sophia’s arm, radiating outward from the point of contact. His fingers were warm, solid, and unexpectedly gentle where they brushed against hers. She looked up and found his eyes already on her, something flickering in their depths that made her breath catch.
Neither of them moved.
The moment stretched, suspended in time. Around them, the museum continued its bustle, voices echoing, footsteps clicking, the world carrying on as if nothing had changed. But something had changed. Sophia felt it in the quickening of her pulse, the warmth spreading through her chest, the sudden difficulty of drawing breath.
The Duke withdrew his hand first. He stepped back, his expression shuttering, the familiar mask of control sliding into place.
“Forgive me.” His voice emerged rough. “I did not mean?—”
“No need to apologize.” Sophia gathered Oliver close, using the movement to steady herself. “We both simply wanted to comfort him.”
Oliver looked between them, confusion creasing his small brow. “Why are you both red?”
“The museum is warm.” Sophia forced a smile. “Shall we find more animals? I believe I saw something with wings in the next gallery.”
Oliver brightened and tugged her toward the doorway. Sophia followed, acutely aware of the duke’s gaze on her back, the phantom warmth of his fingers still tingling against her skin.
Her mother fell into step beside her, a knowing look in her eyes that Sophia ignored.
She could not afford to think about what had just happened. Could not afford to wonder what it meant, why his touch had affected her so deeply, why she wished it had lasted longer.
He was her arrangement. Her obligation. A duke searching for a bride who was not her.
