He gave her a quizzical look, akin to the sort one might offer a person who’d forgotten to comb their hair before leaving the house. “A drop of milk and a spoonful of sugar, please.”
Completing her task, she picked up her own cup and took a lengthy sip. Good lord! She hadn’t felt this muddled since her lessons in the “secret” language of fans, and all because of a duke who neither looked nor behaved anything like a duke ought to look and behave.
“You were saying?” Huntley prompted after a couple of seconds.
“Hmm?” What had she been saying? She searched her mind for the answer and almost groaned when she recalled what they’d been discussing prior to the tea’s arrival. “Oh, yes. These people—the ton, that is—will assess you and judge you. They will not forgive the way in which you—” She hesitated a moment before saying, “express yourself, on account of being a duke. On the contrary, they will likely condemn you even more because of your title.”
“Why?” Huntley asked.
Studying him—the glint in his eyes, and the firm lines of his jaw—she realized that he probably knew the answer already. So she decided to be completely honest. “Because you will not live up to their expectations. Instead, you will come across as an undeserving intruder—a man who, if I may make an educated guess, never attended a commendable school, who lacks proficiency in simple etiquette and who takes no issue with getting dressed without putting on a cravat.”
His lips parted slightly, his expression one of complete astonishment. “You dare to speak to a duke like that?” There was something about his eyes that suggested he might be a little impressed by her courage.
The thought made her straighten her spine. “No. Of course not. But your situation is different from the norm. You must learn what it means to have such an impressive title, and until you do, you won’t earn the respect or the status you require in order to see your sisters properly settled, as I imagine you wish to do.”
“You seem to share me . . . my . . . servants’ opinion.” His eyes shifted to Richardson before returning to Gabriella. “They want me to take all sorts of lessons. An’ you’ll be ‘appy to know that I’ve agreed.”
“Oh.” Gabriella was pleased by how simple her suggestion now seemed. “Well, that is excellent news.” She took a deep breath before adding, “I would like to offer my assistance. If you like.”
His mouth dropped open. He darted another look at Richardson, stared at Gabriella for a fraction of a second and finally leaned forward in his seat. “Your ladyship wants to teach me ‘ow to be a gentleman? Ain’t that a bit inappropriate?”
Good Lord!
“That is not what I was proposing,” Gabriella managed to say while heat rushed from the top of her head all the way to the tips of her toes. “I was offering to help your sisters.”
“I see.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “And yer parents approve of this idea, do they?”
Gabriella bit her lip. “No. They’ve forbidden me from socializing with all of you.”
Richardson made a groaning sound that suddenly made Gabriella doubt her resolve. If her parents ever found out about this . . . She’d rather not think of how they’d react.
“Then why did ye come? Why do ye—you—care so much about me an’ me sisters that ye’d risk yer parents’ wrath?”
Glancing at him, she saw that he looked genuinely curious, as though he’d never before encountered someone who might be kind toward him or his sisters for no other reason than to simply be kind. And in that instant Gabriella knew that the chance she was taking would be worth it.
“Because I know how challenging it can be to satisfy Society’s many demands.”
He scoffed at that. “I find that very ‘ard to believe.”
Rising to his feet, he left her no choice but to look up at him. The force of his masculinity was overpowering in its straightforwardness—the strength of his body so skillfully harnessed beneath his perfectly tailored clothes, crowding her until she felt like shrinking away into nothingness. It was overwhelming . . . frightening . . . and unlike anything else she’d ever experienced before. Because, in spite of everything, she felt an inexplicable urge to move toward him, rather than to flee.
“Well, it is the truth.” She forced the words out past the thickening of her throat, disturbed by the gentle quiver in her voice.
Huntley frowned. He seemed to assess her once more with uncanny precision, until she was certain that every inch of her was permanently branded in his mind. “I’ve decided to accept the Fielding invitation.”
Gabriella blinked. “What?”
“It’s not in me nature to run away with me tail between me legs.”
“My,” she said, pronouncing the word with deliberate emphasis on the ‘y.’
For a moment, he looked a bit baffled, but then he collected himself and said, “Right.” He then repeated the word just as she had spoken it. “My.”
She couldn’t help but smile, which, if she wasn’t mistaken, made the edge of his mouth twitch. The reflex sent a wave of warmth through her, like a welcome fire on a cold winter’s day.
“I mean to prepare myself instead. The servants ‘ave offered to ‘elp, but if ye . . . ou’re truly willing to assist my sisters, I’d be mighty grateful.”
The distinct discomfort with which he spoke made it clear to her that he was pushing aside his pride for his sisters’ sake, and Gabriella couldn’t help but admire him for it.
