Page 13 of Look at Her Duke
“Yes,” his friend rasped.
But the man’s eyes were scrunched with humor, and now he pulled from his breast pocket one of those little cheap notebooks a reporter might carry. That’s right, his wife owned a newspaper, did she not?
Alistair’s writing was bold as the small pencil scratched across the paper. “Amelia told us you danced. Talked. You are engaged to be married?”
“No’ quite,” Fawkes murmured.
“No’ at all,” Kip countered. “Ah—what else did she say?”
“Nothing much.” Alistair’s lips twitched upward as he wrote. “But she blushed often. Are you sweet on my sister?”
Fawkes broke out into guffaws as Kip groaned again and sunk down into his chair.
“Sweeton her? Christ, Alistair, ye make me sound like I’m a young lad.”
Alistair didn’t correct the assumption, just watched Kip expectantly, one brow raised. There was no judgement in his gaze, but faint amusement.
Damn. He wasn’t going to let this go.
“Christ,” murmured Kip again, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Aye!There, are ye happy? Aye, I’msweeton yer sister. I have been for years.”
It took a minute to figure out the noise Alistair was making was supposed to belaughter. Even when they’d been in school together, Alistair had rarely allowed himself tolaugh, because the sound was even odder than his ruined voice.
What in the effing hell?
“I’m sorry,” Kip admitted stiffly. “I dinnae mean to overstep the boundaries of our friendship. It was why I left.”
Abruptly, his friend’s strange laughter ceased. “Why?”came the scratch on the paper.“She is a good lass woman. Smart. Funny. Bold. A bit strange when it comes to animals. You’d have to take Becky. Is she not worth having your admiration ‘sweet’?”
Fawkes snorted. “A bit?”
But Kip held Alistair’s gaze. He…wasn’t angry?
All these years, Kip had kept his feelings a secret because he didn’t want to offend his best friend. He was no lout, to break a friendship over a woman. But…
“Ye…dinnae mind me…admiringyer sister?”
Alistair slowly shook his head, holding Kip’s gaze.
Letting out awhooshof breath, Kip sat forward in his chair. “I ken she’s worthanyman’s admiration. But she’s the sister of a Duke, and I couldnae hope ye would consent…”
When he trailed off, Fawkes—rather unhelpfully—pointed out, “Ye’re a duke, Kipling.”
“WellnowI am. Then I was just a—”
Alistair held up a hand, palm out, to stop him, then reached for his pencil.“A hard worker, a moral man, and a good friend.”Before Kip had a chance to decide if he should be flattered or embarrassed, his friend wrote,“My only concern is if you plan to marry her, or just dally.”
Dally?Sweet on?Good Lord, was the man stuck in the last century?
But Alistair was watching him closely, and Kip found he couldn’t give the man the answer he immediately needed. That he deserved. That Mellie deserved.
“That’s what we were talking about when ye came in,” Fawkes explained, shifting a booted foot across the opposite knee. “He’ssupposedto marry a lass his mother’s picked out for him, but he doesnae want to, now he’s set eyes on Amelia again. He’s gone all sweet and melty on her.” He glanced at Kip. “Is that a fair summary?”
But Kip was still watching Alistair, an idea clawing at his brain, uncertain if he should actually give it voice. But…if he didn’t ask, he’d never know.
“Are ye saying…if I offered for Amelia, ye wouldnae object?”
Another slow shake of the head from Alistair, this time accompanied by a slight smirk.
