Page 3 of His Unwanted Duchess

She nodded tightly. “Yes, that is I.”

He remembered her now, albeit vaguely. She had been one of Anna’s bridesmaids and darted here and there during the wedding breakfast, making sure everything was perfect for her friend. He could recall a hint of sourness.

I’m sure sheis not distraught over the loss of her closest friend.

Which was a foolish thing to think, naturally. He was notlosingTheodore. He had advised him to marry, for heaven’s sake. If the reality was not quite what he had expected… well, that was his fault.

He remembered that Miss Haversham had earned a few disdainful looks from a trio of fashionable ladies, their collarbones sticking out sharply. That had annoyed him. Bodies, after all, came in many shapes and sizes, all entirely serviceable. Those ladies were probably just envious of Miss Haversham’s bosom. She had more than all three of them put together.

He cleared his throat, focusing on the now. Miss Haversham was glancing about warily as if expecting monsters to leap at her from every corner. She kept playing with the string of her cloak—a nervous habit. The cloak was a dull gray, he noticed, with a similarly drab gray dress underneath. Clearly, she did not want to be seen. She wanted to blend in with the night.

“You have no maid, Miss Haversham,” he noted, deciding that she had had quite enough time to regain her composure. “That is not exactly proper.”

The girl bit her lip. “Yes, I know.”

“Your reputation would be in tatters if anyone knew,” he pointed out gently as if it might not have already occurred to her.

She met his eyes squarely. “Well, I don’t intend to tell anyone. Do you?”

He blinked. “You are remarkably forward, Miss Haversham, I must say.”

He hadn’t exactly meant to say that. It just… Well, it just came out.

Stephen was not sure how pleased he felt about that. He preferred to weigh every word before it left his mouth. Words could not, after all, be taken back any more than one could recall a bullet after firing it.

She lifted her gingery eyebrows, fixing that cool, hazel gaze on him. “Would you prefer if I demurred a little more? I could have an attack of shyness for about ten or fifteen minutes if you like, and you could coax me out of it. I could even have a fit of the vapors if you like. Do you have smelling salts, or shall you simply tap my hand and worry about my health? Or I could simply tell you what I came here for. What do you say?”

He held her gaze for a long moment, then let out a slow, deep chuckle.

Stephen was aware that his smile—wide, white, wolfish—and his laughter tended to be a little disconcerting. It was mainly because his smile and his laughter did not quite reach his eyes, or so people had said.

Miss Haversham looked suitably nervous, shifting in her seat.

“I always enjoy being surprised,” he said, at last. “And you, Miss Haversham, are a welcome treat from the monotony of Society. Congratulations.”

Before she could respond, the door opened and Mouse appeared, bearing a tea tray. He set down the tray on the desk and melted away without another word.

For the first time, Stephen noticed that Miss Haversham was not wearing gloves. An oversight, he thought, considering how cold it could get at night. Her fingers were white with cold, the nails blue. She inched eagerly towards the steaming teapot, then hesitated, glancing up at him.

“You may pour us each a cup if you like, Miss Haversham,” he remarked, adjusting his cuffs. Best not to let her know he was doing her a favor.

She said nothing, only pouring two cups. As she was adding the milk, Stephen glanced down and froze.

The neckline of her gown was rather low, curving far below her collarbones, and when she leaned forward, he was afforded quite a view of her generous milky breasts.

She carefully stirred the tea in both cups, never once glancing up.

“If you don’t stop looking down my dress, Your Grace, I shall throw this cup of tea in your face,” she warned, her voice even and entirely placid.

He blinked, coming back to himself. “I have no idea what you mean.”

She said nothing, only pushing one cup and saucer towards him, taking her own back with her when she leaned back in her chair.

“Well, Miss Haversham,” Stephen said, “you have talked a great deal about forthrightness and honesty, and yet I have no more idea of what you want from me than when you entered my home. Am I any closer to getting the answer?”

She flushed, looking away. “You must think terribly of me.”

“I don’t form opinions until it suits me to do so,” he responded.

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