Page 24 of Guilty Pleasures

Daphne drew a deep breath of relief, but she could feel his eyes studying her as he circled the table to stand on the opposite side. “It seems you are not quite what I thought you to be,” he said, “and I find that a bit disconcerting.”

Daphne fitted two pieces of fresco together and did not reply. She lifted her gaze a notch as she waited for the cement to adhere, watching him roll up his sleeves. As the white linen rolled back from his tanned skin, she could see the strain of sinew and muscle in his forearms, and his long, strong fingers. Warmth began radiating out from her midsection, and an image of him without his shirt flashed through her mind. She fought to focus on what he was saying.

“I find that my preconceived ideas about you are falling away, Miss Wade. One by one.”

She was human, she was not a machine, and she could not stop herself from asking, “What preconceived ideas are those?”

The moment the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back. She did not want to hear him utter flattering, false opinions of her because he wanted her to stay and finish his project. She returned her gaze to the plaster pieces in her hands and tried to throw herself back onto solid ground. “Never mind. I do not need to know.”

“I shall tell you anyway. I thought you were a meek and mild little miss, willing to run here and there and everywhere to do my bidding.”

You also thought I was a stick bug . Daphne did not make that resentful addition aloud, though part of her wanted to make him feel guilt and remorse for what he had said about her when he had not even known she was listening. “You were wrong.”

“So I was,” he admitted. “I am discovering that you are neither mild nor meek. In fact, Miss Wade, I have discovered that you have a temper, for you have no compunction about throwing tools when you are cross. Nor have you been hesitant to speak your mind of late. You certainly expressed your opinion of me quite eloquently two days ago. All of this after five months of quiet compliancy baffles me, and I cannot help but wonder at the reason for this change in you.”

Daphne’s entire body tensed at those words, and she vowed he would never find out. It would be too mortifying. She drew a deep breath. “I cannot think what came over me the other day. I do not usually speak so harshly.”

“I accept your apology.”

Daphne’s chin shot up, and she found that he was smiling at her. That alchemy at work. “That was not an apology,” she said emphatically. “I never apologize when I am provoked into giving an honest opinion.”

Anthony rested his palms on the table and leaned a bit closer to her. Laugh lines appeared at the corners of his eyes, though he did not smile. “Miss Wade, do you not know when you are being teased?”

“You are teasing me?”

“Most assuredly.”

She did not want to be teased. It caught her off guard and made disliking him harder to do. He knew it, too. “Do you enjoy teasing people?”

“I am enjoying teasing you at this moment. I confess, I am finding it... intriguing. I might have to do it more often.” He straightened away from the table and clasped his hands behind his back. “Dine with me tomorrow evening, Miss Wade.”

“Is that a request or a command?”

“It is a request.”

She looked away, feeling trapped. She did not want to have dinner with him. She did not want to become better acquainted. “I do not believe it would be proper.”

“I shall ask Mr. and Mrs. Bennington as well.” Though his face remained grave, the laugh lines were still there, and a glimmer of amusement flickered in the hazel depths of his eyes. “I will even say please, if that would persuade you.”

Daphne did not want to be persuaded. Still, as he had pointed out a week ago, if they could at least be pleasant to one another, the next three months would be much easier for both of them. “For the sake of civility, I accept your invitation.”

“Excellent. We shall break bread together, Miss Wade. If we continue in this fashion, we might even become friends.”

Daphne stiffened. “I advise you not to place any wagers on that, your grace.”

Chapter 9

Eviction of tenants was always a difficult matter. It was the one part of his position Anthony truly despised. Most peers left all decisions about such things in the hands of stewards, and he could have chosen to do the same, but to his mind, that was a cowardly way of handling one’s responsibilities. He looked across the desk at his steward. “The man is ill. I refuse to believe there are no other options.”

Mr. Cox, who had been Anthony’s land steward for only six months, was not yet cognizant of his master’s little eccentricities in dealing with the yearly tenant rents, but he did know the duke preferred honest opinions to tactful evasion, so he spoke plainly. “Your grace has already given him a year gratis. He has not paid his rent for last year, and because he is bedridden, he will be unable to bring in his harvest this year. By allowing him and his family to remain, you are setting a precedent—”

“Mr. Cox,” Anthony cut him off with some impatience, “with the husband so ill he will not be able to bring his crop in and half a dozen children to feed, I am not going to turn them out of their house. There are other options.”

Cox gave him the resigned look of a good steward. “What is it you wish me to do about this matter?”

“His wife is in health. Have Mrs. Pendergast find work for her and her eldest daughter in the laundry until her husband’s on his feet again, and have some of the other tenants watch his younger children. That will suffice as their rent for last year.”

“Your grace, the wages of a laundress could not possibly cover—”

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