Page 17 of His Runaway Duchess

“I think my son can hardly be described aswild. He sketches and plays the pianoforte, and likes to read poetry.”

Clarissa’s lips tightened. She wisely kept her opinions to herself, however.

“Well, whatever you like,” she said, flashing him an insincere smile. She reached up and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I would be more than happy to take a more active role in his education and care if you prefer. I do have a good deal of time on my hands these days.”

Edward shot her a sideways glance. “No, thank you. I have it in hand.”

Clarissa’s expression was skeptical. “It’s your choice, of course.”

Her hand slipped off his shoulder, but she continued to stand behind him.

Edward cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Was there anything else, Clarissa? It’s just that… well, it’s late, and I do have work to finish before bed, and…”

“Of course,” Clarissa said, taking a step back. She smiled benevolently at him. “I take it that my usual room is prepared?”

“Of course. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Edward.”

She slipped out of the room, leaving him alone.

He sighed, leaning forward and resting his forehead against the cool glass.

She told me not to think of the ‘conniving girl’. By that, I suppose she means Miss Belmont.

But I cannot stop thinking about her.

What is wrong with me?

CHAPTER 5

Daphne nearly cried when she sank into the hot bath, at long last.

The room she was shown into was bigger than any of their spare bedrooms back home, and it had a washroom attached to it. When she emerged, cloaked in steam, from the bath after a good, long while, she found that a fresh, clean gown was laid out for her, along with some underthings and a shawl. Her bridal shoes, entirely wrecked, were gone, and a pair of neat, feminine boots waited for her instead. A folded nightdress waited on the pillow of the huge, four-poster bed.

Oh, and there was a robe too, made of the softest silk. Daphne wrapped herself up in it, beaming so wide that her cheeks hurt.

At least I’m safe. I’ll stay here tonight, eat a large breakfast, and then go home in the morning. The Duke will be glad to be rid of me, and the feeling is certainly mutual.

Perhaps if she kept telling herself that, it would become true. Daphne was uneasily aware of a strange sort oftuglow in her gut whenever she thought too hard about the Duke, about his serious, sharp face or his remarkably broad shoulders.

I can admire a handsome man as dispassionately as if I were looking at a pretty bird.

This was not entirely true. When Daphne thought of the Duke, she could not honestly say that it wasornithologyon her mind. She had admired men before, finding them good-looking.

Society was full of good-looking men. She wasn’t entirely sure what was so different about this occasion. Or this man, specifically. Nobody else had conjured up that odd, little ache in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t unpleasant, exactly, but it certainly was distracting. It was not convenient to be attracted to him.

The sooner I get home, the better, I think.

A knock on the door served as a welcome distraction from these disquieting thoughts. She hurried to answer it and found none other than a beaming, round-faced Alex waiting there.

The stocky woman from the terrace waited behind him, smiling benevolently.

“I’m so glad Papa let you stay!” Alex enthused. “Mrs. Trench says that gentlemen aren’t generally permitted to visit ladies’bedrooms, but since she is here and I am only eight, we might make an exception.”

Daphne laughed. “I am glad to hear it because I am leaving straight after breakfast tomorrow, and I might have had to leave without saying goodbye.”

Alex’s smile faded. “You’re leaving?”

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