Page 92 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
“A trinket, Your Grace. A token.”
Dinnae make a dick joke, that’s no’ what he means.
“I…” Thorne shook his head. “Are ye suggesting Iwooher?”
The butler nodded stiffly. “Despite what the two of you share, Your Grace, every lady appreciates being reminded of her place in your heart.”
In his heart?
Aye, that’s where Kit lived! “Flowers! Is it too late for flowers?” He shot a glance at the longcase clock in the foyer, then up the staircase once more. They had to leave within ten minutes. “Blast.”
But Titsworth stepped to one side, revealing a large—comically large, one might say—vase on the table behind him. It was stuffed to overflowing with a riot of blooms of every color, size, shape.
Exuberant, it was.
Tasteful, it was not. “Titsworth, what inGod’sname is that?”
The butler glanced in surprise over his shoulder. “Cook’slargest stock pot, Your Grace. There were no vases large enough in the house. I had the flower shop send one of everything.”
Hiding his fond smile, Thorne stalked across the tile. He pulled a bloom from the collection—small and white, with a yellow center. “Too plain.” He tossed it over his shoulder, then reached for a rose. “Too typical.” Tossing that over his shoulder, he pulled another. “Good God, man, is this atulip? What is a woman supposed to do with a tulip? And this, unless I miss my guess, is begonia.”
He turned a glare on the butler, who was eying the flowers strewn across the marble tiles. “Did ye empty every hothouse in London? Nay, dinnae answer that; none of these are sufficient.”
“Very good, Your Grace,” Titsworth intoned. “I shall send a footman to fetch some chocolates forthwith.”
“Nay! Nay, Kit isnae chocolates. She isnae delicate blooms. She’s—she’s…” Frustrated, Thorne turned to scowl at the vase, which—aye—had been quite thoughtful of Titsworth to fill. “She’s strength. And control. And calm. And—and…and sweet melodies. And…” His voice fell to a whisper. “She’s twined around my heart, whether she likes it or no’.”
Almost in a daze, his hand reached toward the outrageous collection of blooms, and he pulled out a vine. It likely had been included to offset the other flowers, to hold them together…but it was perfect.
From behind him, Thorne heard the butler murmur, “Ah, honeysuckle. A perfect choice, Your Grace.”
A sound, an inhale, perhaps, had him turning.
There, at the top of the steps, waited Kit.
Andoh Christ, she was magnificent.
Thorne’s feet were already moving, pulling him toward her as if she were an oasis in a burning hellscape. As if she were the only thing that mattered in this world.
“Kit,” he breathed, utterly mesmerized. It was a lucky thing his feet remembered the wholewalkingbit, because they climbed the stairs with absolutely no input from him. His head was tipped back, his gaze locked firmly on her beautiful eyes, as pale as mirrors.
Bull had managed a miracle. Aye, she was wearing orange, but not an orange as Thorne had ever imagined. This was an orange of the Highlands in autumn; nearer to red than a true orange. The silk was rich and sumptuous, bordered with delicate black embroidery Thorne wondered if Bull had managed himself.
Kit’s hair—normally loose around her shoulders or pulled back in a more manly queue—was piled on top of her head in an elaborate crown that had been peppered with small glass flowers. They were tiny and delicate, the opposite of Kit herself, and although difficult to pick out individually, caused her head to shine under the light from the lamps.
They were her only adornment. They were all she needed.
But her smile wasn’t right.
She watched him approach, a smile on her lips, but it wasn’t right. She looked…scared?
Nay, that wasn’t his Kit.
Thorne stopped on the step below hers, so they were eye to eye, and reached for her. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized he was still holding the honeysuckle, and it brushed against her gloved arm.
Glancing down, Kit’s expression softened, her smile turning moreher. “Flowers?”
He swallowed. “Nay, no’ any flowers.” He raised the honeysuckle. “Do ye ken what this is?”
