Page 21 of A Deal for the Duke’s Virgin

Hooves nodded again, sketching a neat bow, and then melted away in the effortless, soundless way that butlers seemed to manage.

Christian let out a sigh, smoothing down his waistcoat.

She’s here, then. I wish I had not had that third glass of whiskey.

Down the hall he strode, eyes flickering this way and that. While most servants would be in bed at this hour, one could never rule out a sleepless scullery maid or a bored hall boy.

There were no such lurkers, and he reached the study door without seeing a soul. Pausing, he curled his fingers around the doorhandle and leaned forward, listening intently.

He was not entirely sure what he expected to hear. Paper rustling, perhaps? Instead, there was silence.

The well-oiled hinges did not creak when the door inched open.

Sure enough, a woman sat in the chair before his desk. At least, he assumed it was a woman. It was not clear because of the bulky cloak she wore, hood up.

He closed the door with a gentle click, and she started, leaping to her feet.

Yes, those were Lady Thalia’s eyes, poking out of several truly ridiculous layers of scarves and fabric wound round and round her head and face until only her nose and eyes were visible.

“My, my,” he drawled, leaning back against the door and folding his arms. “I wonder how you’re not suffocating in all of that.”

She flushed and reached up to her hood, flinging it back. Christian bit back a smile. A scarf lay underneath, hiding her hair and wrapping around her face.

“One cannot be too careful,” she said, voice muffled under all the fabric. “After all, I didn’t want your driver to recognize me.”

“My driver collected you from your house, my dear.”

“Well, he might have thought I was a maid.”

“He might. I doubt it, however. I don’t pursue maids.”

He was fairly sure that she blushed, but again, it was hard to tell.

“You are not pursuing me. At least, I hope you are not. That was not our agreement.”

“No, it was not,” he conceded. “Will you take tea? You have already offended my butler by refusing a tray, and I compounded the insult by refusing again, but I daresay if I ask…”

“I don’t want tea. I want… Oh, heavens, it’s so very hot in here.”

“Actually, it’s rather cool,” he sighed, gesturing at the dying fire. Only embers remained. The fire would continue to fade away to nothing and would be quite cold by the time the scullery maid made her way into his study with her clanking coal scuttle.

Lady Thalia narrowed her eyes at him, before her fingers rose to the thick silver clasp at her throat. Undoing it, she threw back the heavy, rough cloak from her shoulders, tossing it onto the chair.

“Good God,” Christian scoffed.

She was wearing a second cloak underneath.

Lady Thalia scowled. “I didn’t want anybody seeing my dress. They might recognize it.”

“In the dark?”

She ignored his comment and set about removing the second cloak. This one had several buttons down the chest, small and tight and rather threadbare. He suspected that she’d clawed the ratty old garment out of the back of her wardrobe.

He suppressed a smile at the thought of her dragging out this ridiculous collection of clothing and piling it on her bed.

The buttons resisted for a moment but ultimately gave. She tossed the second cloak onto the chair and began to work on the profusion of scarves.

Christian let his eyes trail down her figure. She wore a plainly cut dusky-pink dress that was probably more suited to a quiet evening in the house than a midnight adventure.