Page 77 of A Cursed Bride for the Duke
But a familiar voice stopped her from exposing her thoughts.
“Your Grace!”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Your Grace! And you, Lady Whitaker, it seems you have managed to outdo yourself yet again,” Kenneth said smoothly as he approached, a devilish smile playing on his lips.
Lady Whitaker, caught mid-bite of a lemon tart, blinked up at him and quickly dabbed her mouth with a lace-trimmed handkerchief.
“Lord Gaverton! Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? You are much too flattering—I have only managed to serve tea and ensure no one ends up wearing the pastries.”
“You sell yourself short,” Kenneth said, bowing slightly and offering her his most dazzling smile. “I consider your intimate garden parties the highlight of the season. I would also wager every guest here wishes he had your eye for entertainment. Though, of course, none of them could match your charm.”
Lady Whitaker tittered, her cheeks flushing pink beneath her lavender bonnet. “Oh, My Lord, you shall have me blushing like a schoolgirl. You are far too kind.”
Kenneth leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “Kindness has nothing to do with it, My Lady. I am merely stating the truth. That being said…” He glanced at the tart she held in her hand. “I was hoping to persuade you to part with one of your famous lemon tarts. I have been dreaming of them since your last gathering.”
Lady Whitaker laughed, her good humor evident as she thrust the plate toward him.
“Take one, you shameless flatterer. Though I warn you, the rosewater ones are only for the brave.”
“Only the brave? How could I resist such a challenge?” Kenneth plucked a tart from the plate with a flourish and took a bite, his expression transforming into one of mock solemnity.
“Delightful,” he declared. “Though perhaps not as delightful as the hostess.”
Lady Whitaker swatted his arm with her handkerchief, her laughter ringing out. “You are incorrigible, Lord Gaverton. But I like you for it. Now then, what brings you over here? Surely not just my tarts.”
“Not entirely,” Kenneth admitted, his tone turning just a shade more serious.
His gaze flicked briefly to Genevieve, who stood silently by, clearly trying to remain composed.
“I noticed you were keeping this lovely duchess all to yourself. Surely you do not intend to monopolize her company the entire afternoon?”
Lady Whitaker’s eyes darted between Kenneth and Genevieve, her expression sharpening with interest.
“Oh, I see how it is,” she said, her voice teasing. “Very well, Lord Gaverton. I shall leave you two to discuss the tarts, or whatever it is young people find so fascinating these days.”
She gave Genevieve a knowing look before bustling away, calling over her shoulder, “Do not let him sweet-talk you too much, Your Grace! He has got a tongue as smooth as butter.”
“Lady Whitaker!” Kenneth called after her, feigning scandalized offense. “You wound me.”
Lady Whitaker only laughed as she joined another group of guests, leaving Kenneth and Genevieve alone.
“Now that it is just the two of us. It is lovely to see you again, Your Grace,” he told Genevieve.
“Lord Gaverton,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here?”
“I might ask you the same thing,” he replied, his tone light but his eyes searching hers. “I thought you would be at Ravenshire.”
Her throat tightened. She hadn’t told anyone about her sudden departure from Wilhelm’s estate, least of all Kenneth.
“I needed some time away,” she said evasively.
Kenneth’s frown deepened. “Time away? From His Grace?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Well… We both needed time away from each other.”
He studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “What happened?” he asked quietly.
