Page 5 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
Kit’s gaze snapped back up to the Duke’s face to find him staring at her lips. “I—” she began, then realized she hadnoidea what to say.
Luckily he wasn’t unexperienced with awkward situations,apparently. A rueful sort of smile tugged at his lips and he blew out a sigh. “Och, lad, if only ye werenae my servant.”
Her eyes widened. “If only Iwhat?” She winced at the rudeness. “Uh, Your Grace?”
He chuckled wryly and stepped forward, his arms held out from his side, so she could begin to button him. “The verra fact ye cannae guess my meaning proves how young ye really are, Kit.”
Older than you think.
Kit kept her head down, concentrating on the buttons. Still, she couldfeelhis gaze—and his breath—on the top of her head. Her blasted curls refused to stay contained, and she’d used enough pomade to glue a horse to a wall. Still, she imagined each of his exhales caused little flyaway hairs to quiver.
The way she was quivering as she focused onnot touching him. Which was difficult. She’d learned that if she used only the tips of her fingers, she’d be able to slide the buttons into their little holes without accidentally brushing across his skin.
The last time that had happened, she’d felt as if she’d been seared. The heat had flashed up her fingers, up her arm, into her chest, causing her to gasp and pull away. Which of course had led to more teasing.
Easier to keep from touching him at all. Thank God he shaves himself.
As Thorne slipped into the waistcoat and allowed her to do up those buttons, he cleared his throat. “Ye’re doing fine for someone with nae valeting experience. I ken ye’ve only been in my household for a few weeks—hell,I’veonly been in my household a few months!” When she peeked at him from under her lashes, he grinned ruefully. “Then I dragged ye out of the kitchen and make ye perform like some monkey for me.Andmake ye do up my buttons, as if I’m unable to do them myself.”
Kit stepped back, pleased to see he was covered now, and watched him tuck everything where it needed to go. “Truthfully, sir, I don’t mind the performing. It’s easier than polishing silver, and I like it.”
He hummed. “And the valeting?”
She risked a small smile. “At least you know how to button your own trousers.”
The laugh which burst from his lips surprised the Duke as much as it did her, judging from his expression. Shaking his head, he reached for the necktie. “I am no’thatmuch a spoiled lordling, Kit. By the way, yer American is showing again, with thatsir.”
Irritated at herself for forgetting, Kit gave an exaggerated bow. “Apologies, Your Grace,” she intoned blandly, causing him to chuckle again.
When she straightened, her master was standing before the mirror, tying his own necktie, his gaze on his reflection. “I became Viscount Thornebury at the age of seventeen. Long before then I’d figured out how to dress myself. And there were times, even while I held that title, when I had nae one to rely on but myself.”
Well, that sounded…ominous. Safely out of his sight, Kit frowned thoughtfully, wondering what kind of life a viscount would have to lead that meant he didn’t have servants and valets to shave him.
He shaves himself. Said he didn’t trust anyone near his throat with a knife.
Oh yes, hehadsaid that, hadn’t he? Not ominous at all.
Kit had been raised in the theater district of any city where her mother toured. Mother’s parents had been poor Italian immigrants, but they’d scrimped and saved to send Mother to a conservatory, and she’d quickly gained fame for her striking looks and beautiful voice. Kit had cut her teeth on the wooden columns fromLohengrinand learned to read from the playbills. Her first friends had been men who knew how to fight, women who’d taught her how to protect herself when she could onlyrely on herself, and children who bobbed about in the eddy of the stage.
As Mother’s fame had grown, their accommodations had improved—Venice, Paris, Milan. But Kit hadn’t forgotten the lessons learned from those cheerful, and sometimes broken, people.
But what would a coddled viscount—now a coddled duke—know of that life?
So she hummed politely and went to find a pair of cufflinks. “You don’t have to worry about that, Your Grace. Dukes can rely on plenty of people.”
“Aye, that’s true.” He sounded pensive, and when she turned, he stood staring at himself in the mirror, looking almost…sad. “I’d never planned to be the Duke, ye ken.” As she approached, he snapped from his melancholy, sending her a too-bright smile as he held out one wrist. “Ye ken what the worst of it is?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “People who’ve called meThornemy whole life are now trying to call me Stroken. Or worse”—he shuddered—“Stroke!”
A snort slipped from her nose before she could stop herself, and she bent closer to his cuff, trying to a) not actually touch him and b) keep from having to meet his eyes.
To her surprise, the damned Duke of damned Stroken lifted his free hand andpatted her head. As if she were a dog! Kit froze, then felt the Duke’s touch linger, sliding across the stupid pomade toward the back of her neck, his touch feather-light.
It sent a shiver down her spine she wouldn’t acknowledge.
She hurried to hold up the other cufflink. “Wrist, Your Grace!” she blurted, too loudly.
His sigh was faint when he held out his other wrist. “I’m sorry.”
That surprised her, and she glanced at him. One side of his lips twisted. “I’m sorry I thrust this position upon ye, Kit. I cansee ye dinnae like touching me—perhaps touching anyone. And here I am, touching ye without yer permission.”
