Page 2 of Bride of the Fae Duke

But why? He couldn’t have heard of her unflattering opinions of him, could he? She was sure she hadn’t spoken those outloud to anyone but Anne. Then again, there really didn’t seem to be any other reason for him to still be in the building if Lord and Lady Eyestone were nowhere near, and surely a man of his stature would not be interested in Mrs. Radcliffe’s dressing down of a clumsy maid …

She had only been perspiring mildly before. Moisture itched between her shoulder blades now, prickling down the length of her spine; it took all of her manners and training to stand perfectly, unflinchingly still.

‘Yes, Your Grace,’ the housekeeper stiffly confirmed. ‘This is her.’

Locke didn’t respond. He merely turned back to Nellie, looking her up and down twice – an appraising look, as if she were a horse he was considering buying. His expression didn’t change. Resolute chin, nose like a marble sculpture’s, and then the strange, almost feminine contrast of his long blue lashes which framed grey eyes with unnerving, catlike pupils he must have inherited from his mother … There was plenty of strength in his features, but nothing that suggested even the smallest hint of softness. Offeelings.

Only after two, three heartbeats of excruciating silence did he give a brisk nod – a gesture that said,this will do. ‘What is your name, girl?’

He didn’t even know her name?

Then how had he possibly asked for her?

‘Nellie Finch,’ she stammered, and then, remembering who she was talking to, she hurriedly amended, ‘I mean, Eleanor, Your Grace. Eleanor Finch.’

‘Excellent.’ A curt, offhand word, and his expression didn’t soften with it. It wasn’t evencold, his face. There was no anger or impatience to be found in that strange mixture of bullish human and elegant fae features, only a stoic reserve that could have been carved from stone. ‘Are you healthy, Miss Finch?’

She stared at him, the heat forgotten.

Healthy? Why in the world would the duke of Locke, unconventional but a man of means and standing all the same, care a whit about a common housemaid’s health? And not even one of his own maids, at that? Had she been accused of carrying some devastating disease, perhaps? Had the duke been sent on a mission by the Princeps to eradicate all pox patients from Elidian, as well as all those who might be suspected of infection?

‘Nellie,’ Mrs. Radcliffe sharply said, ‘answer His Grace, will you?’

Drat.

Perhaps the facts didn’t warrant being quitesodramatic.

‘I … I think I am quite healthy, Your Grace,’ she managed to force out, clamping her damp hands together behind her back. ‘I haven’t been ill in years, Your Grace.’

‘Excellent,’ he muttered again, more quietly now, as if the word wasn’t intended for her ears at all. ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’

‘One sister, Your Grace.’ An accident, Mother had regularly muttered. They’d barely been able to afford a single child. ‘She’s eight years younger than me, Your Grace.’

He pursed his lips, seemingly content with that answer. ‘And are you clumsy, Miss Finch? Do you make a habit of falling down stairs, tripping over furniture, and the like?’

What in the world?

Perhaps he was going mad, she considered. Perhaps Mrs. Radcliffe was just trying to keep the poor lunatic calm and engaged until someone arrived to constrain him and take care of him. In that case, she should probably not wait too long to give him the answer he was looking for – so she straightened her shoulders, willed her voice to sound as though her thoughts weren’t falling apart behind her face, and said as calmly as she could, ‘I wouldn’t call myself clumsy, Your Grace. I havenever injured myself walking down stairs with full baskets or scrubbing the kitchen or … or …’

‘Thank you,’ he interrupted with a quick flick of his muscular wrist. ‘That is enough.’

She obediently snapped her lips shut, glancing at Mrs. Radcliffe. The housekeeper still looked as she always did: stiff, severe, and like there was nothing unusual going on. There was a touch of anticipation in her swift look at Lord Locke, though, as if she too was tensely waiting for the next bit of insanity to fall from his mouth.

‘Yes,’ Locke added slowly, sitting straighter so that his dove grey coat strained around the impressive hulk of his shoulders. ‘Yes, that will be sufficient.’

And again there was that glimpse of calculation in his eyes as he examined her, a look that made her suddenly painfully aware of her messy blonde braid and her rough servant’s hands and the dust mark she hadn’t yet brushed off her skirt. Half of her itched to start fidgeting. Half of her stood paralysed with fear.Somethingwas off – by now the facts did safely justify that conclusion – and why was he watching her like that, as if he was trying to estimate the cost and weight of her every flaw?

Then, abruptly, his lips curled.

It was a joyless smile. A performative smile. His mouth, too soft and sensuous for the square-jawed face around it, didn’t look like it was used to the motions, and not a glimmer of joy reached the shadows of his eyes.

‘Then I only have one last question to ask,’ he said, and with those words he rose to his feet, thoughtlessly tugging the cuffs of his coat back into place. He was tall.Muchtoo tall, forcing Nellie to tilt back her head as he took a measured step towards her, and another one … Sweet divines, why was he coming soclose? And why wasn’t Mrs. Radcliffe saying anything, when surely this crossed the lines of propriety and this was supposed to be arespectable household and dear Mother Ostara, she still had all that ironing to do—

The duke of Locke sank to one knee before her.

And said, with not the faintest trace of jest in his voice, ‘Eleanor Finch, will you marry me?’

Chapter 2

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