Page 20 of The Truth About Love and Dukes

That last bit of instruction was wholly wasted, for though Clara complied, the duke countermanded the action by shutting the door again after he had entered the room and Clara had departed.

Irene opened her mouth to demand he open it, but then he started toward her, and any thoughts about the door vanished as she remembered Clara’s remark from two days ago.

Handsome as sin.

With those words running through her head, Irene couldn’t help but notice the athletic grace with which he moved, the perfect way his elegant clothes fit his long legs, lean hips, and the wide shoulders Clara had so admired. As he halted before her desk, she noticed the pale, clear gray of his eyes and the black lashes that surrounded them, lashes far more opulent than any man ought to have. He might very well be, she realized in dismay, the handsomest man she’d ever encountered. How could she not have noticed that fact the day before yesterday? Maybe she’d been working too hard.

He gave a slight cough, reminding Irene that she was staring. Not that all her scrutiny had done her much good, for as he lifted a slim portfolio of black leather and placed it on her desk, she realized she hadn’t even noticed until that moment he’d been carrying such an item.

Irene gave herself a little mental shake to bring herself out of this sudden and most aggravating appreciation of the duke’s masculine assets. “I prefer the door of my office to remain open.”

“And I prefer it closed.”

With that, any momentary appreciation of his good looks vanished, and she was reminded that although he might very well be the handsomest man of her acquaintance, that fact hardly mattered, since his good looks took a distant second place to his arrogance.

“I am an unmarried woman,” she pointed out. “Isn’t a closed door rather improper?”

“Indeed, but since you made it clear in our previous conversation that what other people think is of no consequence to you, why should that matter? And,” he added before she could reply, “in addition to your sister, there are presently three other young women seated on the other side of this door, women I have no doubt are gossip columnists.”

“Journalists.”

He shrugged as if that were a meaningless distinction. “I would prefer not to have them listening in.”

“I see. So eavesdropping on other people’s conversations is acceptable only when you do it?”

“Rank,” he said, smiling a little, “does have its privileges.”

“If it’s gossip you’re worried about, I can assure you that I have no intention of providing the readers of my paper with the knowledge that you came to see me, much less the details of our conversation.”

“Just the same, I would prefer not to risk it.”

Irene heaved a sigh and gave up. “Just why have you come to see me?”

“I have a business matter I should like to discuss with you.” He gestured to the chair beside him with the other. “Shall we sit down?”

She wanted to refuse, but she couldn’t help being a bit curious. “I’d say no,” she said as she resumed her seat, “but I doubt it would matter.”

“You are beginning to develop an understanding of dukes, Miss Deverill.” He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, then pulled the portfolio from her desk and placed it on the floor beside him.

“Whatever the reason you’re here,” she said, glancing at the clock on the wall, “it had best not take long, for I have a luncheon appointment at two o’clock. You have twenty-five minutes to come to the point.”

“That amount of time will be ample, but first, I wanted to tell you that since my visit to you two days ago, I have had news of my mother, and I thought perhaps you might wish to hear it.” He paused, one dark brow lifting in that haughty way of his. “Or perhaps,” he said after a moment, “your interest in those who write to you comes to an end once their stories are published?”

“Of course not!” Irene could feel her face and her temper heating up, and she wondered in exasperation how this man was able to flick her on the raw so easily. Whatever the reason, she would prefer not to let him see that he had any effect on her, and Irene strove for equanimity. “You mistake disinterest for knowledge. I own a newspaper, so I probably already know any news you may wish to tell me.”

“And yet you could not convey what you knew to me two days ago?” He did not wait for a reply, but went on, “Either way, you must then already be aware that she has not yet taken your advice and married Foscarelli.”

“I am, though I confess, I’m a bit surprised. Usually when one elopes, the marriage follows immediately. Is the delay due to your efforts?”

“I’m afraid I can take no credit. Until the day before yesterday, Mr. Foscarelli had been a man without a residence. Now that he has obtained a flat in town, he must wait fifteen days to secure the license.”

“I see. Either way, I cannot see that you came here for the purpose of keeping me informed as to your mother’s marriage state. Perhaps you could come to the point of your visit?”

“I am happy to do so, but first, I should like to ask you a question, one to which I would appreciate an unequivocal answer.”

Irene took a moment to brace herself before she replied. “What do you want to know?”

He reached into the portfolio beside him and pulled out a copy of Society Snippets. “I see that in your reply to my mother, you advised her to follow her heart and her passion and not allow superficialities such as position and class to bar the path to true love and happiness.”

---