The words were out before he could stop them, chasing his sister into the hallway beyond as she left his study without answering the question.
It certainly gave him something to think about during the ride over to the Park View.Josephine. The name haunted him while he watched her converse with his sister, as he helped her down from the carriage – their hands briefly touching, separated by gloves--when he led the way into his hotel, and while he guided both women about. She liked him but not as a duke, which presented him with a problem. He’d no idea how to separate one from the other or if such a thing were even possible.
It had to be, or Rowena wouldn’t have suggested as much. Which meant Josephine must have seen something in him, something apart from his title and all the restrictions it carried with it, something morehim. He scarcely noticed the food they were served in the hotel restaurant, he was so deep in thought. She liked him. Not the duke, simply the man. Going over every moment they’d shared and every conversation they’d had, he tried to make sense of.
The duke had responsibilities. He was bound by social rules and etiquette and would never attend to menial tasks. Devon considered this idea more thoroughly. Had she found his ability to light a fire or make a pot of tea appealing? Those were simple chores—a servant’s chores—but perhaps the unexpectedness of a duke carrying them out, of him ensuring her comfort in such a basic way, had touched her somehow? Perhaps the lack of fanfare, the simple stripping away of social mores, had allowed her to see something in him others rarely witnessed.
She’d certainly seemed appreciative. More so than when his title had compelled him to take away something important to her, her employment. He popped a piece of something or other into his mouth. Of course she disliked the duke. The duke had demanded she bend to his will, while the man was humble and kind. Which meant in order to win her, he’d have to force the duke into the background and bring the man to the forefront.
The idea struck him at the exact same moment he realized the meat he chewed was not getting any smaller. “This is like eating a shoe,” he muttered, staring down at his plate.
“I agree,” Rowena told him. “And the vegetables are the soggiest I’ve ever had. Bland, too, in terms of flavor.”
“What is your opinion, Miss Potter?” Devon asked, deliberately forcing her to speak, not only because he valued her thoughts but also for the pleasure of hearing her voice. It was the loveliest he’d ever heard.
“The food does not live up to the standard one might expect from a restaurant this expensive. It is also bound to have a negative effect on the hotel, because even if the rooms are comfortable, no guest will want to eat here more than once.”
Devon nodded. “I agree.” It did not escape his notice that she blushed or that she hastily averted her gaze the moment their eyes met. “Let us try a few more items from the menu before inspecting the rooms, shall we?”
They did so, only to be increasingly disappointed. “This is awful,” Devon said, tossing his napkin aside after swallowing a bit of dry cake. He considered his wineglass and elected to drink some water instead.
“There is certainly room for improvement,” Josephine said sympathetically.
Wincing, Devon pushed back his chair and stood. “Let’s hope the rooms are better than the food.”
Each bedchamber appeared to be presentable at first glance, but Josephine quickly ascertained the bed sheets were not the high quality cotton Devon had asked Mr. Roth to purchase. The price had certainly been high enough, however, as evidenced by the accounting books. After leaving the bedchambers, they’d stopped by the office so she could show them to him. “It appears Mr. Roth is not the man you thought him to be,” she said, the hesitancy with which she spoke suggesting she wasn’t quite sure of how he’d react to such news.
“Letting him go was the right thing to do. He treated you abominably and took advantage of me,” Devon leafed through other pages in the book. He would have to check all the wines too, because the one he’d had with his meal was not deserving of any cost listed in the account book. “I will call on my solicitor tomorrow and ask him if legal action can be taken. Mr. Roth is about to discover I won’t accept thievery.”
“Nor should you,” Josephine murmured.
Her hand went to his arm in a gentle show of solidarity and comfort. One second and it was gone, returned to her side as she went to speak with his sister. But it had been enough, enough to expand his heart and enough to strengthen his resolve to win her. So he slammed the accounting book shut, determined to focus on a more enjoyable matter.
“I think we’re done here,” he said. “May I suggest an outing to Hyde Park? The air is crisp but at least the sun is finally shining.”
“Oh yes, that sounds like a wonderful idea,” Rowena said. She turned toward Josephine with a cheerful smile. “Do you not agree?”
“I cannot recall the last time I visited a park, so yes, by all means, the fresh air and exercise will be most welcome.”
It was settled. Devon asked the remaining office clerk to pack up the account books so he could take them with him for further study. He then led the ladies back out to the carriage so they could set off for the park.
* * *
Try as she might, Josephine could not resist casting the occasional glance in the duke’s direction. He was as handsome as ever, his black hair slightly tousled, his eyes looking inward as if he were lost in deep contemplation. There would be a lot for him to think of too, considering what he’d discovered today with regard to Mr. Roth’s treachery. She did not envy the task the duke faced, of having to set everything to right, trying to win back the customers he’d lost, and the potential lawsuit he’d have to endure.
Unable to stop herself, she’d reached for him, hoping to offer some small piece of consolation. But it hadn’t been proper, an overstepping of bounds so personal, she’d been forced to snatch her hand away for fear he might see the truth: that she was falling for him in every impossible way. So she tried not to look, and she tried not to think of how happy she was in this moment.
Because it was destined to end.
Eventually, her sister would return, and Snowdon would realize his responsibility toward her had come to a conclusion.
“Miss Potter?”
She flinched, alerted by the deep timbre of the voice now speaking from outside the carriage. Blinking, she realized they must have arrived at the park. The duke peered at her, and his hand reached toward her, ready to help her alight. Drawn by the light in his eyes, her gaze locked with his, narrowing space and time to a fine little point in which only the two of them remained. Catching her breath, she allowed her hand to settle firmly against his palm, allowed herself to revel in the feel of his fingers tightening over hers. And then she climbed out, descending onto the pavement and dreading the moment when he would release her.
He assisted her slowly, so slowly she felt his reluctance to let her go in the unhurried slide of his hand— palm against palm, fingers against fingers, then subtlety followed by nothing. Or perhaps she simply imagined it. Perhaps he wasn’t as affected by her as she was by him, and she only saw and felt what she wished to. After all, he was a duke, a powerful man who could have any woman of his choosing. So what would he possibly want with her? Was it not more likely she lived in a fantasy of her own creation, a fantasy built on longing and broken dreams?
They set out along a wide path on which a few riders steered their horses along at a moderate pace and other pedestrians walked. “The snow is so pretty here,” she found herself saying. “It looks like frosting on a cake, completely undisturbed by carriage wheels.”
