Page 2 of Look at Her Duke
“Raptors. Eagles, falcons, that sort of thing. They have remarkable eyesight, but rely mainly on watching for prey’s movement. If the prey remains very still while the raptor is soaring above, they can remain safe.”
He hummed. “And are they a frequent danger here in Effinghell House? Is that why ye’re carrying a chicken, wee Mellie? As a distraction?”
She gasped, eyes popping open, less at the childhood nickname and more at the thought of using one of her babies as a distraction. “Whatever do you—”
Amelia bit her tongue. Really, when confronted with the fact the man had his hand splayed against the wall near her head, and he was leaning toward her—close enough to smell whatever soap his valet used to trim his beard—it seemed safest.
When Kipling grinned, her knees went weak. Oh Lord in Heaven, how had she forgotten The Grin? It was even better than The Voice. It took his normally craggy face and shaped it into a work of pure Art.
“I mean, wee Mellie, that if attacked from above by a raptor, ye could always toss yer chicken at it as a distraction. The raptor could attack the chicken, and ye could get away safely.” By studying his lips, Amelia was able to ignore his offensive words.“My uncle used to tell me that was why he brought dogs along on bear hunts in the wilds of Canada.”
How horrific. “I do not think your uncle sounds like a very nice man,” she sniffed.
His eyes—so blue, so very blue—flicked across her visage. “Nay, he wasnae.”
Oh.
The Grin was nice, The Voice was even nicer…but when heagreedwith her?
Be still my heart.
It was possible her childish infatuation with her brother’s best friend was not quite out of her system.
“So, wee Mellie…”
“Amelia,” she corrected primly, trying to maintainsomedignity while pressed to a wall, cradling a chicken. “I have not gone byMelliein many years, Your Grace.”
He winced, which looked wrong on such a beautiful face. “I’ll make ye a deal. Ye dinnae call meYer Grace, and I will try to remember no’ to call yeMellie. It’ll be hard, since that’s how I thought of ye all these years.”
If Amelia needed proof that the man remembered her as the skinny lass with the skinned knees and torn hem, she need look no further.
But he was still staring expectantly. “Deal,” she managed to croak out.
Abruptly, Kipling straightened. “So,Lady Amelia, are ye going to tell me why ye’re cradling a chicken?”
“A chicken?”
His lips twitched. “Surely ye havenae forgotten yer passenger? The one ye’re no’ using as raptor bait-slash-distraction?”
“Oh,Becky.” She lifted the bird, cradling her in her palms.
Kipling blinked. “Becky?”
Becky obligingly squawked.
“This is Becky. I raised her from an egg.”
Some people—Let us be honest,mostpeople—would flinch away in surprise at such an announcement. Kipling, bless him, merely smiled. “Did ye now? Ye must be verra proud.”
And then the man reached out his hand, andpetted her chicken.
Oh, her heart!
Petting your chicken sounds a bit like a metaphor. Is that one listed in the Harlot’s Guide?
It was difficult to ignore her chattering subconscious, but it was necessary, because Kipling Mancheste was currently cooing happily at Becky. AtherBecky.
“Ye’re a pretty girl, are ye no’? I’ve never seen a hen so fluffy and white. Those little black feathers make her look as if she’s wearing a lacy necklace, aye?”
