An orange glow radiated from the cracked-open door to the library, and quietly, I snuck inside. Jane must have told the servants to expect me, for they’d stoked up the fire and ... was that a tea tray?
Cheesecakes, strawberries, sweet buns, and similar sandwiches from this afternoon waited on a two-tiered platteralongside a little pot and teacup, and it all smelled utterly divine. Having a duke for a friend was luxury indeed. Sighing, I sank into the warm, cushioned chair, tucking my feet behind me, my book to my side, and poured myself a cup.
After a few sips, I picked a sweet bun and leaned my weight against the right arm of the chair to get comfortable. I opened my book to the marked page, and, after a bite, started reading, losing myself in the pages.
In the mysteries of Udolpho.
Then, though I earnestly believed this evening could not get any better, I heard a distinct purring and looked down.
The whitest, fluffiest, roundest feline I had ever seen sat at my feet and flicked her bushy tail lazily from side to side. Her green eyes looked up at me with blank expectation.
“Well, good evening. Who are you? And just where have you come from?”
She mewed. Commanded, more like. I missed Mercutio fiercely. I scooted over and patted my chair.
Immediately she jumped up. She wore a diamond-crusted collar and was obviously beloved. She must belong to the duchess. Cautiously, she raised her nose at me, placed a paw on my hip, and looked over her domain—the tea things.
“Milk?” I reached for the small creamer. She mewed again. I held it for her as she drank. Then she lay at my side, warm and heavy, and nosed my hand.
“Mercutio loves when I do this.” I scratched between her ears. Like magic, she closed her eyes and rested her chin on my thigh.
I grinned and smoothed out her soft, fluffy coat. With my free hand, I opened my book and continued to read.
I did not hear the door open. Nor the footsteps approach, until a voice said, “I beg your pardon?” and I startled upright.
His hair was mussed, brow furrowed, lips parted until he recognized me, and I him.
The Duke of Marlow.
But disheveled. For he’d neglected his jacket. He’d loosened his cravat. A shadow had formed across his jaw. He almost looked ... comfortable. And it suited him.
My heart started to thrum. What was he doing awake at this hour? I’d thought for certain he’d come home from the club and straight into his bed.
I’d been wrong.
His piercing blue eyes bored into mine with surprise, like he’d locked me away and caught me out of my quarters and was trying to decide what to do with me. Unfortunately for me, he was standing in the doorframe, blocking any escape.
The cat stood lazily, half on my lap, and stretched out her back. Then she hopped down, brushing through and around his legs.
“Your Grace,” I breathed, acutely aware of the sugar crumbs on my lips as his gaze washed over me. I looked down at my stocking feet.
“Miss Wood,” he said with a little bump in his voice. He looked at the cat, who mewed loudly at him. Like she wanted something fromhimtoo. “You are sitting in my chair.”
Well ... yes. What, was I supposed to sit on the floor? This wasmynight. Gads, he ruined every good thing. But as far as I could tell, I was doing nothing wrong. Her Grace had told me to enjoy the many rooms in the house, and here I was.
I made a show of surveying the room. “Is there a chair in this house thatisn’tyours, Your Grace?”
He raised his brows as though to saywhat nerve you have, his eyes dropping to the sweet bun in my hand. “This is where I sit in the evenings.” His voice was low and raspy from the hour. “I just stoked that fire myself.”
And then, like a puzzle, it all clicked together. “This is your ...” His chair. His fire. His tea tray. My lips parted, and I could not have been more humiliated. I grasped the arms of the chair. “You sithere. But I told my maid—”
He gave me a tight smile. Then, he crouched to pet the cat.Hiscat.
Jane hadn’t said anything to anyone, had she?
I could have thrown myself in the flames and felt the same burning.
I stood, sweet bun in one hand, snatching my book with the other. “Your Grace, I ammortifiedto say the least. Let me just”—I quickly swiped the crumbs from the armchair, balancing my used teacup atop my book—“call for another cup of tea.”
