He cleared his throat, stood, then shook his head. “Do not trouble yourself. I will find another place.”
“No trouble. No trouble at all. Just a moment.” I spun around, desperately praying he would not look at my feet, nor my hair, nor myface. I searched for anything I’d left behind or done that might further inconvenience him. His cat, sensing my distress, bounded from the room, which only served to make me feel a hundred times worse.
“Georgiana.”
“I think I have it all—”
The teacup started to slip, and I dropped the sweet buntrying to free a hand, but the duke was faster. He reached out, catching the saucer and cup before it fell. “I insist.”
“It’s your chair,” I insisted. “I should retire, anyway, as the hour is—”
“Sit,” he demanded, and with that tone, I quickly obliged. My back was ramrod straight, book clutched to my chest with crossed arms, as I desperately tried to hide my feet.
“Read your book.” He dropped down to pick up the sweet bun from the floor.
He set the teacup down nearby, and I watched with bated breath as he stalked to a far corner, lifting another chair like it was air, and carrying it to my right, nearer the hearth.
He meant to stay.
I glanced to the door, which was still open, though certainly not enough to satiate propriety at this hour, and back as he took his seat and reached over for a sandwich. His eyes were fixed on the fire, and then they flicked to mine.
Heart jolting, I looked away, thoughtlessly openingUdolpho, not that I had any mind to read. My thoughts were anywhere but the page. He sat a few feet away, across the little table between us, and yet, I could hear every sound he made—his quiet chewing of a sandwich, the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed, his shirt sliding across the armchair when he rested his arm and again when he reached for another bite. He stretched out his legs, and we sat together, in silent companionship. Alone.
The feeling was decidedly different when we weren’t arguing.
I absently turned a page I had not read just todo something.
When he’d finished eating, he stood, and I watched his back as he moved toward a little cabinet by the window. He pulled out a bottle and a glass and poured himself an amber drink. He turned round and leaned against the cabinet. I pretended to be absorbed inUdolphoas he lifted his cup to drink. His large hand engulfed the glass.
Marlow was the sort of man women whispered to each other about behind their fans. Unaccountably handsome, and not because of any singular feature.Mysterious, they’d surely say.Ruggedandstrongandwould fight for your honorwith his bare fists.
Exactly the sort of man I meant to avoid. The sort that beckoned and tempted and made a girl trick herself into believing.
He cleared his throat. “I’d like your opinion on a matter.”
I looked up again, flushed, and found his gaze straight on mine. He quickly looked away, lifting his glass again for another swig of his drink. The set of his jaw made me wonder if he often asked for another person’s thoughts, or if this urge was against his nature. Either way, I was intrigued. I closed my book and sat up straighter.
“Very well.”
“How many times would you give someone money—decent sums of money, which they inevitably squandered—before you cut them off?” He watched the liquid swirling in his glass.
I pondered his question, wondering if it was in any way aimed at me. “That question is too vague. There are far too many factors that might influence my answer.”
“Such as?”
“What is your relationship with this person? How are they using the money? And is there any investment in it for you should this person eventually succeed?”
Our eyes locked once more, and I found surprise reflected in his features. When he wasn’t deliberately trying to hide his feelings, he was rather easy to read. “Family. Personal gain. And, no, no investment for me.”
I touched my bottom lip. Interesting. “Are you close with this person?”
The duke nodded slowly. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Gabriel. I could almost guarantee it. How I loved a mystery. “Last question, then. When you say ‘personal gain,’ do you mean gambling or business endeavors?”
He rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Likely a little of both, but primarily business.”
I nodded. “Then I should think, as his family, you’d strike one of your infamous deals. You give him money, and in return, whether or not he succeeds, you turn some sort of profit. Then, when heinevitably squandersit, you don’t feel the loss so acutely, while he feels supported and learns something along the way.”
