Page 24 of A Spinster to Reform the Duke
“I owe you an apology,” he said, his voice a deep rumble against the cheers.
“No, you do not.” She snatched her hand from his grasp again and hurried into the tea tent, away from him. Still, he did not let her escape, following closely behind her.
“I have offended you,” he said hurriedly, stopping at her side as she poured herself a tea.
“You have not. I was simply thirsty.”
“You are a poor liar.”
“On the contrary, I am an excellent liar,” she said, trying to offer a false smile. “You have not yet discovered all of my lies.” To her surprise, she found herself pushing the teacup into his hand, giving him the first cup before pouring a second for herself.
“I see, do you pretend to like me? Is that the way in which you are a good liar?”
“Perhaps,” she teased him, keeping her gaze down on the teapot.
“No, I do not believe that,” he said, his words coming fast. “I am confident you like me.”
“I am beginning to think you are a much vainer man than I first gave you credit for.”
“No, my Lady, I am sure you like me.”
“And why is that?” she asked, jutting her chin high in a challenge.
“Because you have given me a cup of tea even whilst we are arguing. That is the sign of true care, a mark of kindness, even if you wish to deny it.” At his words, Rebecca flinched, jolting the teapot so much that she poured tea over the table. He laughed, the sound irritating her all the more. “Here, let me help.”
The teapot was quickly taken out of her hands as he poured her a separate cup, then set about cleaning the mess up with fresh napkins.
“Why are you helping me?” she asked.
“Because I wish to,” he said, though he didn’t look at her as he spoke. It was an odd moment, with his voice deepening to such an extent that Rebecca found her body leaning toward him.
What am I doing!?
“Now, may I give you that apology?” he asked, passing the teacup into her hand and lifting his blue gaze to meet hers. “I am defensive of my friend, because he is the greatest friend I have. That doesn’t give me the right to make comments of your own personal experience, wounds I can know nothing really about, apart from the few short scraps of poetry I managed to read that day at your house.”
Hearing the mention of her poetry, Rebecca busied herself with drinking from the teacup.
“I am sorry.” His words were so heartfelt that she found it very difficult to be angry at him.
“Apology accepted.”
“Thank goodness. Would you smile at me, so I know I am truly forgiven?”
“What is so important about a smile?” she asked, looking up from her teacup.
“I do not know, really. I can’t put my finger on it. I find I rather like your smile, perhaps that is all.” His words brought a smile to her cheeks, giving him a triumphant look, before she worked hard to make it vanish.
“That was not a smile,” she said hurriedly.
“I think it was,” he chuckled.
“No, it wasn’t.” She turned away, trying to busy herself with something else. “We are missing the race.” She hastened out of the tent, still carrying her tea, aware that the Duke followed at her heels, clearly reluctant to let her go.
“I rather think you are running away from me, Lady Rebecca.”
“I’m not,” Rebecca said.
“There was another lie. No, you are still not convincing me you are a good liar.”
