Page 41 of His Runaway Duchess

Daphne waited for a response, and when none was forthcoming, she was obliged to ask a follow-up question.

“And why not?”

He sighed. “Alex loves marzipan too. I don’t mind him eating them, of course, but he’s like me—he doesn’t know when to stop when it comes to sweet things. He fills up on them, and won’t eat his dinner. He eats until he’s ill—the sugar is bad for him, and then I feel so guilty. So, I pretended to stop buying marzipan and let him have a few on special occasions. It feels like a mature, grown-up thing to do, don’t you think?”

She chuckled. “Itismature. I like how you can understand that your son shouldn’t eat too much marzipan, but you don’t apply the same rule to yourself.”

He arched an eyebrow. “That’s one of the benefits of being a duke, I suppose. Here’s your chocolate.”

She reached over, helping herself to a marzipan. “Thanks. I look forward to being a duchess, and having my own personal stash of marzipan, too.”

The Duke winced. “Don’t think badly of me.”

“I won’t.”

He paused, eyeing her. “If we’re to be married, we should probably call each other something other thanMiss BelmontandYour Grace.”

Daphne tilted her head. “That’s surprisingly friendly of you. I thought you only behaved like a gentleman to other people.”

He pursed his lips, not meeting her eyes. “You areveryvexatious, Madam.”

“I take pride in it. My name is Daphne, as you already know. You can call me that if you like. My sister calls me Daff.”

She took a sip of her chocolate, still hot but rich and sweet and delicious. It was well-made chocolate. Daphne thought wryly of her father, who couldn’t even boil water, let alone cook anything or make chocolate.

“My name is Edward,” the Duke said, after a long pause. “You can call me… Well, just call me Edward, I suppose.”

“You don’t have a nickname? Edward lends itself to so many nicknames. Eddie or Ed, or even Teddy.”

The Duke—Edward—pressed his lips together, and she sensed that she’d said the wrong thing, or perhaps touched a nerve.

“No, I’ve never had a nickname. I’m happy with Edward.”

She cleared her throat. “Edward it is, then. I hope we’ll be friends. There’s no sense in being miserable, is there?”

On impulse, she held out her hand for him to shake. He hesitated, eyeing her hand, and for a moment, she thought he was going to turn his back.

He didn’t. He took her hand, almost abruptly, enclosing it in his larger, rougher one, his long fingers wrapping over her knuckles.

“Agreed,” he answered shortly. “We’ll be friends. If we can. Want another marzipan?”

She smiled. “Yes, please. You know, I never would have thought that a cursed duke would be so—” She broke off, suddenly afraid she’d gone too far.

Edward only smiled wryly. “So… what?”

She flushed. “Human.”

He nodded, saying nothing.

Really, there was nothing to keep them in the kitchen now. Edward had his chocolate and his marzipan. He should have taken his treats and left Daphne to seek out some food of her own. He made no move to leave, though. Staying where he was, his fingers curled around the steaming mug of chocolate, Edward sipped his drink, leaning back against the table.

“I didn’t mean to say that, by the way,” Daphne burst out. “About you being cursed. It’s just a silly thing that the scandal sheet said. I don’t know why I… I don’t know why I said it. It’s stupid.”

Edward eyed her over the rim of his mug. “You don’t believe it, then?” he asked. “That I’m cursed?”

She scoffed. “Believe it? Of course not. People don’t get cursed. It’s all just stories, isn’t it? Stories and bad luck.”

“Then I’ve been unlucky, indeed. You might as well know, Daphne, that the reason I’m said to be cursed is because no woman in my life survives.”

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