Page 31 of The Truth About Love and Dukes

He smiled at that. “You’ve taken my mother’s words to heart, I see.”

That actually earned him a smile. It was a mere curve of the lips, but he’d take what he could get. “As she pointed out, someone has to do it. And if the goal is to bring you down a notch or two, I am happy to make the attempt.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

“But to answer your question honestly, I pictured your mother as tall, languorous, and very elegant, not as a petite and lively dynamo. So as you said, one’s preconceived ideas about a person can often be wrong. Other than her appearance, however, she is much as I imagined. Of course, we shared a correspondence of letters over a period of several weeks.”

“And in these letters—” He broke off, astonished at himself. “Forgive me. Your correspondence with my mother is no longer my business. It would now be quite uncivil of me to inquire.”

“And you are never uncivil,” she said, her voice suspiciously bland.

“I try not to be. Although,” he added, trying not to smile, for such a response would only serve to encourage her, “sometimes I just can’t help myself.”

“Rank having its privileges?”

Impertinent minx, to quote his own somewhat arrogant words back at him. “Quite so,” he said, refusing to be drawn. “But my rank has tremendous responsibilities as well as privileges, Miss Deverill. My primary one is my family, whom I would give my life to protect. That,” he added, watching her closely, “gives me at least one trait you can appreciate, I think?”

She made a rueful face. “Had anyone told me this morning that you and I had a thing in common, I’d have recommended that person for a stay in Bedlam.”

“I suspect I would have done the same.”

The discovery that they had a shred of common ground was one both of them clearly needed time to digest, for in its wake, neither of them seemed able to think of a thing to say.

It took several seconds before he was able to break the silence. “I hope you find your room comfortable?” he asked, deciding that small talk might be best to preserve what seemed the beginnings of a truce.

“Quite comfortable, thank you. But my bedroom can’t hold a candle to that bathroom. I was so impressed by the bathtub, in fact, that I had to have a bathe straightaway.”

Henry tensed, those words conjuring more provocative images of her and shredding any notion that there might be safety in small talk. Bathing, he reminded himself, was not a suitable topic to discuss with a young lady. He ought to steer the conversation toward something more appropriate—the weather, perhaps, or someone’s health.

“And did you enjoy your bathe?” he asked instead, demonstrating that the erotic pictures of his imagination were impervious to the dictates of good manners.

If she suspected any of this, she gave no sign. “How could I not?” she answered, seeming to take his question at face value. “Soaking in an enormous bathtub, lathering up with French milled soap, drying off with Turkish towels the size of lap blankets—that’s heavenly.”

She might be thinking about an earthly version of paradise, but Henry’s thoughts were much less reverent. The arousal inside him was deepening and spreading, despite his best efforts to check it. “Indoor plumbing,” he managed, “is most convenient.”

“Oh, indeed.”

“In fact, we have”—he paused, taking a deep breath and several blessed moments to count—“four bathrooms in this house. And . . . seven—I think—at our estate in Dorset. One at our hunting lodge in Scotland, and five at our seaside villa at Torquay. I had all of them installed four or five years ago.”

“Seventeen bathrooms?” She gave a laugh. “How deliciously decadent of you. It seems, if I may say so, uncharacteristic. I’d have thought you to be a man of much more ascetic tastes.”

If she knew what he was feeling just now, she would hardly liken him to a puritan. Still, despite the chaos in his body, Henry couldn’t help taking a bit of satisfaction in her reaction. “I seem to have managed to impress you at last, Miss Deverill. My family, unfortunately, did not have the same favorable reaction to the installation of bathrooms that you have displayed. Everyone kicked up the devil of a fuss.”

“But why? With our cold and dreary winters, who could object to soaking—”

“We’re an old family.” Interrupting was rude, but he was desperate. “Old families don’t tend to embrace modern ideas. Hot and cold laid on at the turn of a tap is a very modern idea.”

Unexpectedly, she gave him a wide smile. “I begin to think I am wrong and you are a hedonist at heart, Duke.”

She didn’t know the half of it. Her smile—the first full and genuine one he’d seen from her, was a dazzling sight that only made what he felt more difficult to hide. Frantic, Henry glanced around, and when he spied Edward nearby with sherry, he was so relieved that he didn’t even excuse himself before turning to snag two glasses off the tray.

“Ah, sherry. Thank you, Edward. Your timing,” he added under his breath, “is impeccable.”

Ignoring the footman’s quizzical glance, he returned his attention to Miss Deverill and held out one of the glasses to her. “Would you care for a sherry?”

“Thank you.” She took the glass and lifted it to take a sip, but then she paused, staring at him in astonishment as he swallowed the entire contents of his own glass in a single draught.

Henry was beyond caring about mundane civilities at this point. The wine, however, did the trick, enabling him to banish from his mind erotic pictures of Miss Deverill standing in a bathtub wearing nothing but a filmy layer of soapsuds. He returned the glass to the tray and gave the footman a nod of dismissal, and then, with his body once more under his usual stern regulation, he returned his attention to his guest and decided it was time to broach a delicate topic, one he knew his role as host demanded of him.

---