Page 22 of A Deviant Spinster for the Duke
He unlocked his mouth again. “I was reminiscing.”
“Pardon?”
“Reminiscing about that gown last night,” he elaborated, pinching his lip between his teeth for a moment. “You really were the most beautiful woman in attendance, Miss Maxwell, but that, of course is not your problem.”
He jumped up, circling her slowly as he had done in the library. She, in turn, stayed perfectly still, uncertain of what he might do if she moved so much as a muscle. Pull her to him again? Kiss her? Make her wonder even more what it was he was so famed for, and why those ladies endured so much to get to him?
That lady in the gardens was ready to throw her life away for him…
“This isalla game to you,” she said thickly. “I do not care for it, creeping through the shadows like a common thief.”
He paused in front of her, tilting his head as his striking eyes drifted from the tips of her shoes to the green of her own eyes. A slow observation that left her feeling as if he had physically peeled away her cloak.
“If you have a better alternative for a meeting place, do tell me,” he said in that deep voice of his.
She racked her brain. Her own residence might work, considering its emptiness, but that was almost as bad. And if her father suddenly returned, that would be very bad indeed. The Maxwells no longer had property in London, so that was out of the question, and all the cottages on her father’s land were rented out.
“I thought not.” He smiled. “You wanted my help, Valeria. This is what it takes. Secrecy, discretion, and privacy.”
She turned her gaze away. “At the very least, you could have let me come in through the main entrance.”
“Where countless little rats from the papers have been known to hide, lying in wait for my next indiscretion?” he challenged, his jaw tensing for a moment. “I made that mistake just once. It almost cost a friend everything.”
Valeria resisted the desire to look at him as she retorted, “Yes, well, perhaps if your ‘friend’ had more sense, she would not have come sneaking to your manor in the middle of the night.”
“I am aware that you are an intelligent woman who evidently knows a great deal about a great many things,” he replied in a tone she had not heard before: a warning. “But do not be so quick to judge the actions of others. Do not proclaim to know things of which you are ignorant.”
Her head snapped toward him. “Ignorant? How dare you.”
“How dare I? You are the one making assumptions.” His eyes hardened. “My friend was fleeing cruelty, and came to this house for sanctuary. She was seen, and had her driver not caught the wretch who would have ruined her life in the scandal sheets, I fear she would still be in the clutches of that cruelty. Instead, she is happy and alive and flourishing in Spain.”
Valeria hesitated, surprised by his words. “And… the man from the papers?”
“I can be very persuasive,” Duncan replied, a slight smile lifting the corner of his lips.
“He is not… buried in one of your meadows, is he?”
A warmer laugh slipped from his lips. “He, too, is still alive and the comfortable owner of a bookshop. Although, I suspect he shall always be looking over his shoulder, just in case.”
Wringing her hands, Valeria stared down at the floor in thought. Amelia kept popping into her head—the cruelty she had experienced from her father and brother, before she had Lionelto protect her. If Lionel had not come to his senses in time, Amelia would be in the Americas by now.
Happy? Perhaps. Alive? Certainly. Flourishing? Hard to say.
Uneasiness prickled up the back of Valeria’s neck, but it was not the kind she should have been feeling, considering she was alone with a rake. It was the discomfort of realizing that there might be more to Duncan than met the eye. And, more than that, that he might be right—shewastoo quick to judge the actions of others, particularly men.
“Was… this ‘friend’ a… um…” Her cheeks warmed, her throat too tight to squeeze out the words.
He shook his head. “No, she was not. She was more like a sister.”
She squinted at him, certain she had heard his voice catch for a moment, but he had begun circling again. Maybe, she had imagined it.
“Now, what do you say to a drink?” He peeled away to a side-table, laden with carafes of liquor and cut-crystal glasses.
She sniffed. “No, thank you. I do not think it would be wise to imbibe with you.”
“Afraid you might relax too much and lower that guard?” he teased, pouring a small measure of brandy for himself. “Afraid you might decide to change the terms of my debt?”
There he was again, covering up his hidden layers, playing his flirtatious games, becoming the man it was easy to be annoyed by. She groaned inwardly; it was going to be a very long night and, now that she thought about, she had no idea what she was there for.
