Page 4 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
The man hummed speculatively, and when she risked a peek, was staring at her.
Damn it!There went her blush again! She pretended great interest in the wool trousers.
“Ye’ve noticed my eyes, Kit? I’m flattered. Ye’re right, blue it is.” He tossed the purple over a handy chair. “And I can’t help noticing ye missed my joke earlier.Cumming. As in—”
“Yes, my lor—Your Grace!” she bleated, tossing down his trousers and swinging her eyes toward the back of the closet as she began to dig through his collection of small pants. “I got it.”
Christ Almighty, she was going to have to stand here, still all hot and bothered thinking of him naked in that tub, and listen to him makesexual innuendos?
Although that one had been so blatant it was likely an out-uendo.
Chuckling, the Duke straightened, shaking his head. “No’ if ye’re blushing like that. But I like a lad who can catch naughty japes like that.” When she flashed a cautious glance his way, he winked. “I dinnae meancomingas infinding sexual pleasure, Kit. Cumming’s my clan name. We’re descended from the traitorous Comyns, did ye ken?”
With that, the man untucked and dropped his towel, and Kit made a noise somewhere between a yelp and a gasp as she whirled around. As she searched about for something to occupy herself, neck burning, she heard him bending to pull on his smalls.
Thank God.
“Ye’re going to have to get over this missishness, lad,” he teased. “A man’s valet is in charge of his wardrobe and dressing him.”
The purple waistcoat! She could hang that up! “I—I’ve never valeted before, Your Grace,” she managed to choke out, her attention on the waistcoat until she could be certain he was covered. “I’m just a footman.”
A technical lie.
Nay, a complete and utter lie. You’ve never been a footman before either.
“Well, ye’re no’ a footman any longer. Choose me a shirt, would ye?”
Relieved that most of the Duke’s shirts were a similar style, and she knew to look for formal cuffs, Kit turned back to see him stepping into his trousers, his stockings already in place. Apparently he was not done with his musings.
“And I chose ye for my valet because at least ye havesomeidea of fashion, even if it’s no’ as extensive as mine.”
No one’s knowledge is as extensive as yours.
It wasn’t until the man laughed that she realized she’d muttered aloud. Groaning, Kit dropped her head to thewardrobe which held his pressed shirts. Well, perhaps he’d merely demote her instead of firing her.
But he surprised her. “Ye havenae met my friend Bull. Nowthatlad can dress, but I swear to the Christchild, if ye tell him I said that, I’ll make ye iron my smalls.”
Wide-eyed, she swung around to find him smiling teasingly—the manlovedto tease. Reluctantly, Kit allowed her lips to tug into a grin.
“Och, there we go, I kenned ye could smile. It’s true though, lad, I dinnaeneeda valet. I just find myself liking the company. So I’d appreciate it if ye could get over this embarrassed snit ye keep finding yerself in every time ye have to dress me, and start talking to me like—”
He bit off his words, and Kit was surprised to seehimblushing. What had he been about to say? Talking to him like…a fellow male? An accomplished valet?
Afriend?
Unlikely.
“Fook it,” he muttered. “Hand me that shirt.”
Mutely, she stepped close enough for him to snatch it, and for the first time, she allowed her gaze to drop below his chin.
The Duke of Stroken wasremarkablywell appointed in the chest department. And the stomach. And the arms—both upper and lower. She had to admit; she’d always had a weakness for corded forearms, and seeing him slip the silk over them sent a surprising shock of disappointment through her.
Don’t worry, you can still look at his nipples.
Oh, yes, his nipples were lovely, weren’t they? As she watched, they hardened into little pebbles. Likely from the air.
Or the fact you’re staring at them.
