by Sue London
“Yes,” Quince answered automatically, still not taking his eyes off her. The butler and footmen organized the table and pulled out chairs for the duke and his guest. Quince finally released her after seeing that she was properly seated. He watched her as she settled into her seat, smoothing her skirts and fidgeting with the silverware.
“What?” she asked, smiling and looking at him from under her lashes.
“Nothing,” he answered, but still didn’t look away. She riveted him. Like a living, breathing painting that he couldn’t get enough of studying. This evening she had pinned her hair up, highlighting the delicate curve of her neck and jaw. The curls were not in evidence so they must be more artifice than natural. The candlelight softened her features, lending her a gentleness that he hadn’t previously noticed. She seemed more reticent than usual, but he supposed it was her tiring day of hiking around the countryside.
After the wine was poured he asked, “Are your rooms comfortable?”
She nodded. “Indeed. It’s a beautiful estate.”
“Thank you. Keeping Belle Fleur was one of my few vanities.”
She gave him a confused look. “What does that mean, your grace?”
“For all that you lived in Giddy’s pockets for a fortnight he didn’t speak of me?”
At that she rolled her eyes. “Oh yes, they spoke of you.”
Quince couldn’t help the burst of laughter. “Then what did they say that earned your disdain?”
“They made you sound boring and saintly.”
“Boring and saintly?” he mused. “When you add poor to that list it does make me sound rather like a vicar.”
“Poor?” she asked, looking around the room.
“Perhaps not compared to most, but for a duke? I am veritably in the poor house.”
“But…” she trailed off, obviously at a loss.
“Worry not. Gideon has taken it on as his mission to ensure that all is straightened out.”
“I thought… I thought that you and earl had been at odds for some time.”
Quince smiled. “If you think something like a political feud would keep Gideon Wolfe from helping his friends then I submit that you don’t know him.”
“That’s very odd.”
“There are some weeks where we spend all Monday shouting at each other across the House, but on Friday he still pesters my man of business to review the books. Perhaps some weeks he won’t talk to me, but he will always talk to my man of business.”
“Why do you even let him have such access to your accounts?”
“Why wouldn’t I? I detest paperwork. Gideon loves it.”
She looked puzzled.
“I’ve disappointed you now, haven’t I?”
“I’m just confused over why you wouldn’t want to have control over your own interests.”
He shrugged. “Ultimately I do.”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t be satisfied with that.”
He tapped his finger on his wineglass. “Yes, I think we may not be much alike, you and I.”’
“How boring would the world be if everyone were alike?”
Quince smiled, finding himself amused by her observation.
“Do you need me to look at your papers?” she pressed.
He cocked a brow at her. “What would you do with them?”
“That depends on what I find in them. But certainly some attention to the goings-on of your estates is better than none.”
Quince waved a hand. “I have men for that.”
“And the earl is their only oversight?”
“Why does this bother you so?”
“I’m hopeful that it bothers you.”
“Not in the least.”
She frowned. “You want to complain that you’re poor, but you don’t want to do anything about it?”
“Why do you think I’m not doing anything about it?”
“It seems evident. Do you have any idea how much the candles burning in this room cost?”
“Do you?”
She scanned the room, turning in her chair to see all of the candles that were burning. “Four pounds, provided that you burn them all down tonight.”
“Your talents run to pricing candles?”
“I was raised to run a household. Awareness of household expenses is a key component of that.”
“Somehow I doubt that a viscount’s daughter will need to run a household that scrimps on candlewax.”
She gave him a speaking look. “Well, I suppose one never knows.”
“I share these insights about my financial condition so that you may know how unsuitable a match that I am.”
“As though I couldn’t figure that out for myself?”’
“You seem a bit slow on the subject, yes.”
“You think that’s why I’m still here, to convince you of the suitability of our match?”
“I know that’s why you’re still here.”
“Really? It couldn’t be, as I originally said, to help you?”
“There has been nothing said on that front for three full days. Certainly you would have tired of waiting and taken yourself elsewhere by now if that were your only goal.”
“I thought you needed time to decide if you trusted me before you would share your issue with me.”
“And why should I trust you?”
“Why shouldn’t you?”
That was the question. She was Bittlesworth’s daughter, but seemed to have no particular affinity for her sire. And she was Jack’s best friend. Perhaps he could trust her. But she was still holding something back of herself. He could sense it.
She fidgeted. “You’re staring at me again.”
“My apologies.”
“Where do you go when you look like that?”
“Go?”
“You’re obviously not fully here, but somewhere in your mind.”
“I was just thinking about why I shouldn’t trust you.”
“It was a rhetorical question.”
He smiled and took another sip of wine. “Even rhetorical questions should be entertained for their potential truth.”
“And what potential truth might that be?”
“I shouldn’t trust you because you’re keeping something from me.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sabre set her wine down. “What makes you say that?”
The duke shrugged. “Just a feeling I have.”
“Is that how you run your duchy, then? On feelings?”
“Primarily.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
He shrugged again. “Be that as it may, I feel we are at an impasse.”
“Do you want me to tell you my entire life history in hopes of uncovering what is giving you this feeling?”
“No. Whatever it is, it’s bothering you. Otherwise I wouldn’t be aware of it.”
Sabre paused. Was the duke as keen an observer as she knew herself to be? It was hard to feature since he was often not paying any attention at all. But he seemed quite confident in his assertion. She quickly thought through her options. “Well,” she said, “it is true that my goal is to be your duchess.”
He was quiet for a long time, absently swirling the wine in his glass as he looked at her. “That’s unfortunate,” he finally said.
His choice of words made her choke out a laugh. “Unfortunate? In what way is that unfortunate?”
“You’re a lovely woman of many fine qualities. But I will never marry Blaise Bittlesworth’s daughter.”
The duke used such a tone of finality that for just a moment Sabre faltered. But, she reminded herself, she always persevered and won out in the end. This would be no different. “Well,” she said. “I suppose we will see about that.”
He smiled at that, gazing at her as though he was considering something. “I suppose we will,” he said.
He turned his attention to cutting his roast and the conversation flagged for a moment. Sabre was contemplating what general topic to converse on when he spoke
again.
“I went to see your brother because I’m being blackmailed.”
She was surprised, both at his revelation and the fact that he’d shared it, but tried not so show it. “I see I’m not the only one uninformed about your poverty.”
“Not over money. Over papers they believe I have.”
“That you do not?”
At that he paused to stare at the dark windows. “No,” he said quietly. “I don’t believe that I do.”
“Based on your interest in paperwork I have a hard time believing you know that conclusively.”
Her acerbic comment brought his attention back to her. His habit of looking at her intently was becoming unsettling. “Here is a thing I wonder,” he said.
“What?”
“How did you and Giddy spend a fortnight together without killing each other?”
Sabre flashed a knowing smile. “My incredible forbearance.”
“Yes, I’m quite sure that was it,” the duke said drily.
“What papers do they believe you have?”
“Something of my father’s. Unfortunately they were not specific enough for me to be sure what the papers might be about.”
“Was this threat in a letter then?”
“Yes.”
“Let me see it.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Why?”
“I burned it.”
“You… Why did you burn it?”
“It is one thing for a duke to be blackmailed. It is quite another for it to be known that a duke is being blackmailed.”
“Well, what did it say?”
The duke stared at her again for a bit. Finally he said, “It simply said ‘It has come to my attention that you are in possession of papers from your father that you have been discussing with others. I will give you a fortnight to gather them.’”
“What did he threaten?”
“I would rather not discuss it.”
“How am I supposed to help you if you won’t share the details with me? Did you tell Robert all the details?”
“I did share the full text with Robert. He has a bit more of a reputation with this sort of issue than you do.”
“You have no idea about my reputation.”
He raised one golden brow. “Since you don’t balk at eating alone with a man in his quarters I can only imagine.”
“Not with just any man. With a duke.”
“I see. So at least you have standards.”
She sniffed. “I was far more impressed with your fighting skill than your title, if you must know.”
“Your skill was impressive as well.”
“Thank you very much. I will admit to being confused that you do not appear to be practicing. Certainly you don’t go more than a few days in order to maintain your proficiency.”
He smiled. “Sometimes more than a few days. But yes, I do practice often.”
“As do I. Perhaps, as I said before, we could practice together.”
“Perhaps.”
Perhaps was better than no. Sabre realized that with the wine, food, and company that she was finally recovering from her confrontation with Robert. What would the duke do, she wondered, if she told him about her morning? Would he remain as placid as he typically seemed to be? Would he demand that she leave because there was obviously more afoot with her brother? She had yet to fully deduce what motivated the duke. He did not appear to fit the mold of anyone she had known before.
His voice called her back from her distraction. “Shall we snuff some of the candles and save the duchy’s coffers for another extravagance?”
Thinking that it was a gently placed ducal command, Sabre rose to do his bidding. However, the duke rose as well.
“I could ring for a servant, your grace,” Sabre said.
“No need.” The duke shook his head. “It becomes tiresome having someone hover over you.”
Once they had both located snuffers they began dousing the lights in the room
“How long has it been since you received that letter, your grace?”
“Almost a fortnight.”
“Oh!” Sabre said, pausing in her work. “You could receive the second letter any day.”
“I already have.”
“What does it say?”
Now the duke paused. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I haven’t read it.”
Sabre was fairly sure she stood there with her mouth open for a full minute. “How could you not have read it?”
“How will reading it help me? I don’t have the papers. I have no clue as to what the papers are or where they would be.”
“But… if you don’t read it then you have no additional clues whatsoever!”
The look the duke directed at her was nothing short of obstinate. Well, she knew how to deal with that. She walked over and put a hand on his arm, schooled her mouth into a sympathetic moue, and said in her most compassionate tone, “I’m only concerned that you be able to navigate this, your grace.”
Rather than look mollified he seemed intrigued. The last time she had seen such a keen eye turned on a subject was the summer George had become enamored of bugs. The entire hot, disgusting summer every time they came across a fallen log her friend had turned it over and dug around, investigating every crawling, rolling, flying insect she could find. It had been disturbing. But far more disturbing was the intense silence as the duke stared at her.
He finally broke the silence by murmuring, “Aren’t you an interesting little chameleon?”
She drew back a bit. “What do you mean?”
“Most people… How can I explain this?” He looked off towards the dark windows for a moment, and then brought his attention back to her. “Most people are consistent. Predictable. Enslaved to the habits of their own minds. The only thing predictable about you is that you will change your tactics.”
“I…” Sabre didn’t really know what to say to that.
“Don’t worry,” he said with a glimmer of a genuine smile. “It’s something of a compliment.”
Her expression must have amused him because the small smile broke into a grin. All of the reserve and hauteur cleared away like clouds parting to let the sun shine down. As she gazed up into his spring green eyes she felt an odd sensation, like a tiny bubble bursting in her chest. Part of her wanted to reach toward him. To trace the dimple revealed in his cheek. Another part, perhaps even a greater part, wanted to run away. It was a moment of indecision and near-panic like she had never experienced before.
“Your grace, I-”
He interrupted. “Do you like the stars?”
Her mind was surprisingly slow to track his change in topic. “I suppose?”
He took her hand and began leading her to French doors that opened to the balcony. “When I dine here, which I do often, if the night is clear I spend part of the evening stargazing.”
Stepping outside she discovered that the evening had cooled off nicely. Of course, she thought, being left to walk home in a heavy velvet riding habit in the afternoon had altered her perception of the heat of the day. The balcony was stone with a semi-circle overlook to the garden. He led her to the balustrade and released her hand to grip the railing, breathing deeply of the fragrant air from the gardens below. It was indeed quite lovely here, with the stars sparkling above them and the warm glow of the candlelight in the room behind. It was charming. Intimate.
“Thank you for a lovely evening, your grace.”
That turned his attention to her again. After a pause he said, “Quince.”
She couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on her face. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Quince.”
Chapter Fourteen
When she smiled up at him, said his name in her light, musical voice, Quince felt himself physically sway toward her. As though his body refused to follow the orders issued by his mind. She was, to put it simply, trouble that he didn’t need in his life right no
w. But every time he told himself to send her on her way, to have her carriage packed and ordered off his estate, he found himself hesitating. Found himself wanting to hear her voice one more time. To see her. To watch how her facile mind leapt from topic to topic. She perpetually intrigued him. Endlessly attracted him. Just now he was almost dizzy with his desire to kiss her. She would let him, he knew, still convinced that she was to be his duchess. Every moment she spent alone at his estate with him she risked her reputation. With his position and power he could undoubtedly ruin her, in fact, without fear of repercussion. It frightened him to know what he could do to this girl. What she seemed bent on inviting him to do. He broke eye contact before his instinct to lean down and cover her lips with his own overwhelmed him.
“Which is your favorite constellation?” he asked. The huskiness of his own voice surprised him.
She looked out across the horizon. “A favorite? I’m not sure I have one.” She wrapped her arm around his, leaning into him. “Which is your favorite?”
Even though he knew that everything she did was calculated, she was having what was undoubtedly her desired affect on him. His thoughts were evaporating faster than he could form them, his being focused instead on the warmth of her twined against him, her soft breast pressing against his arm. He cleared his throat. “I suppose your education didn’t run to astronomy.” Although he regretted saying it almost immediately, he knew that most likely nothing would push her from him as quickly as questioning her intelligence. And right now pushing her away seemed imminently wise.
She surprised him by laughing. “My education runs to anything that Jack could get her hands on when we were children. The only thing that she enjoys more than learning something new is explaining it to someone else. Sadly, much of it has remained resident up here.” She tapped her forehead with her free hand.
He chuckled. “So that included astronomy?”
“And associated mythology lessons in Greek.” She looked out at the blanket of stars. “Jack teases me by calling me Athena, so she says I should understand all the poor souls I cast into the sky.”
“It sounds as though you were enthralled.”
Sabre shrugged. “Some of it was interesting. Like Auriga there on the horizon, to symbolize the four-wheeled chariot that Erichthonius used to become King of Athens.”
