Page 8 of Look at Her Duke
He remembered her chicken’s name?Le Sigh.
Focus. Focus!
“I know enough about Society to know they would frown upon my—my pets. My family teases me, but they also indulge me. When we have company, I have learned to hide my little friends.”
“That’s a shame,” Kip murmured as he swept her through a turn. “They are important to ye.”
“Yes, but they are not important to others. At tonight’s dinner, for example, I will likely not eat the main meat dish, and I will be mocked if anyone notices.”
Was it her imagination, or did his hold on her tighten momentarily, as if he was reacting to that pronouncement? Eventually, however, Kip offered a relaxed, “Ye should no’ be mocked for what ye believe in. After meeting Becky today, I kenI’llhave to think twice before eating chicken again. They might be a relative.”
Amelia caught her breath, staring up at him. It was…
“No one has ever said that—I mean, felt that way.” She swallowed, blinking rapidly as she dropped her gaze to his chin. “Thank you.”
He was silent another few turns, then cleared his throat. “Ye said ye raised her from an egg?”
“Yes.” Amelia’s lips twitched at the memory. “My mother has a cockatoo named Hamish who once belonged to my grandfather. He is a brilliant old bird, although he is a bit vulgar.” An understatement. “I wanted to try to raise a similar bird, training him or her from infancy, to understand the process. So I procured a dozen eggs and incubated them.”
“Really? How?”
He seemed genuinely interested.
“I had a device which reflected heat. But I learned that my own body heat was most effective. I was hoping the eggs would turn out to be peacocks or parrots, I was promised exotic birds, but instead I got Becky and Charles.”
“Chickens,” he chuckled. “Albeit lovely chickens.” Before she could correct him, he asked, “So ye what? Stuck the eggs in yer pocket for the time it took for them to incubate?”
She felt her cheeks heating. Well. Notexactlyher pocket. Amelia glanced down at her chest, where her breasts were pushed over the edge of her lovely pink gown, remembering the feel of the eggs nestled snug in there.
“Something like that,” she managed.
When she glanced up, Kipling’s gaze was locked on her bosoms.
The blush, which had climbed up her cheekbones, now turned around and took a direct dive back down to her chest. Shefeltit crawling across her skin, simultaneously hotandcold. Or at least, she told herself that’s why she was shivering.
Or perhaps it is because he is starting at your breasts.
Yes. Well. That too.
“Are ye well?” Kip’s tone was raspy, not at all its usual smooth self.
“I—” Amelia halted her instinct to assure him everything was fine, and instead, swallowed and did something scandalous. She told the truth. “Iamfeeling a little odd.”
“Dizzy, nae doubt.”
And before she could respond, he’d spun her out of the group of dancers. Perhaps he’d planned it, or perhaps it was a grand coincidence; whatever the case, they halted in front of the set of double doors which led out onto the balcony.
He tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and led her sedately out the door.
Once outside, Ameliashouldhave been able to take a deep breath. She’d always preferred the fresh air outdoors to being cooped up inside…but she was finding it hard to breathe while being pressed against Kipling’s scalding side.
They halted by the balustrade, which he propped a hip against and turned to face her. “Better?”
Her hands were in his. Granted, they were both gloved, but she could absolutely feel his warmth, and in the best way possible. How could shenotbe better?
But what she actually said was, “Should you be out here with me?”
His shrug, his grin, was easy. Charming. Utterly sure of himself. “I’m the Duke of Bestingbum, have ye no’ heard? And yer brother is my best friend.”
