Page 6 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
“I didn’t mind!” The words slipped free before she could think of them, but once they did, she was glad for it. Shehadn’tminded his touch, not really. And honestly, touchinghimwas the most curious mix of danger and desire.
But he merely shook his head. “If ye dinnae want the position, Kit, I’ll find another valet. I’ll no’ free ye from playing yer violin for me, because it has become the part of the day I look forward to the most. But I can place another advertisement for a valet—”
“No, sir—Your Grace.” Kit wasn’t sure why the thought ofnotbeing his valet—a position which surely brought more stress, arousal, and confusion than she knew what to do with—filled her with sadness. But hearing him praise her music had sent a warmth through her…the same as touching him. She swallowed. “I don’t mind. Truly.”
He was watching her, and whatever he’d seen in her face must’ve convinced him, because he nodded suddenly. “The diamond stick-pin, please.I’llplace it. Ye ken, Kit,” he mused, turning back to the mirror, “I wouldnae have asked ye if I’d had a more experienced candidate for valet.”
She could barely tie her own necktie, soyes, that made sense.
Holding his black jacket at the ready, she watched his reflection fuss over the placement of the pin.Just so. “I heard your last valet died, Your Grace.”
This time his laughter was vaguely sarcastic. “Aye, he died. As did the three before him.”
Kit sucked in a gasp, and the Duke met her gaze in the mirror, lips curling wryly.
“Aye, ye’ve heard the position is cursed? But likely nae one saidhowcursed. Now, all of them have been perfectly natural deaths—”
“They died of natural causes? All of them?”
It probably wasn’tdoneto interrupt a duke, but the man just shrugged, his attention fixed on the placement of the pin. “When a man falls from the fourth floor of a townhouse because he thought the pigeon roosting in the cornice bracket wasstuck, then aye. Aye, splattering his brains across the sidewalk below is anatural cause.”He shook his head. “Itoldhim being a bloody pigeon fancier would be dangerous.”
Kit’s brows rose.
“The one before that was Queuetee—
“Cutie?” she repeated, uncertain she’d understood the man’s name correctly, and frankly, too surprised by this entire conversation to worry about the fact she’d interrupted the man again.
In the mirror, Thorne dipped his chin once, smoothing the silk of his tie. “Indeed, Queuetee. The idiot decided to go ice skating on the Serpentine in late March with the lass he was courting.” Thorne winced, then sighed, holding out his hand for the jacket. “Thatwas also a natural cause, seeing as how there were warning signs up about the ice being too thin. Puir lad, but at least his lady friend survived.”
She straightened the shoulders of the jacket, finding it easier to focus on the fine wool than the harsh realities of life. “And the others, my lo—Your Grace?”
“Then there was Lapp, who spent his one afternoon off a week practicing with a troupe of circus performers—I had nae idea.” The Duke examined himself in the mirror from a few angles. “His time was his own, o’course, I’m not one to pry. He choked to death on his own blade while practicing sword-swallowing.”
Kitmust’vemade a little noise—a snort? An aborted laugh?—because the Duke’s gaze flicked to hers in the mirror.
“God’s truth,” he swore. “And before him was Tackett, who’d actually been with me since I became Viscount, a good man. Anauldman, and when one of the upstairs maids gave him a little kiss on his eighty-seventh birthday, the happy bastard knew life would never be better. He keeled right over.”
She pressed her lips together, trying to contain the laughter.Notat the circumstances of the old man’s death, of course not…but rather because of the sparkle of mirth in the Duke’s blue eyes.
He kept his expression somber as he nodded. “A wonderful way to go.”
The chuckle burst from her lips before she could stop it, and she turned away to hide her response. But to her surprise, the Duke joined her. “We buried him with a smile on his face.”
Still smiling, she shook her head at his teasing. “You attended his funeral?”
The Duke clicked his tongue. “I paid for his funeral, as well as his portion to his children. He—theyallwere good men, good fr—” He snapped down on the word, and when he spoke again, his tone was more direct. “The dancing shoes, please.”
Good friends. Kit would wager that’s what he’d been about to say.
What a strange man—a strangeDuke. He was powerful, yes, but had only held this title a short while. She knew so little of him. Oh, she knew he’d moved from his townhouse to this mansion at the start of the year, when he’d inherited from his uncle. She knew he’d become his uncle’s heir presumptive with the death of his cousin a few years before. She knew he was considered a charmer, a happy-go-lucky sort of rake who Society didn’t expect to settle down.
She’d learned all that before applying for the position of footman, knowing a newly expanding household would be the best opportunity for someone with only forged and vague footmanning references. It had been vital she slip through the cracks, so she could keep her head down and study Father.
It had worked.
Then the butler had been impressed by her skills with the violin.
Then she’d played for the Duke.
