Page 24 of The English Duke
She stopped and glanced back at him.
“I’d be grateful for your help, Miss York. As long as you understand I’m not given to extraneous conversation.”
She bit back her smile. “Neither am I, Your Grace.”
“Then shall we muddle through? I’m certain we can tolerate anything for a few days.”
She didn’t know if that was an insult or not.
“Will you help me retrieve my father’s things?”
“No.”
“No? Because it’s not a fitting job for the Duke of Roth?”
“Tell the majordomo, Frederick, that you need assistance. He’ll assign someone to help you.”
He once more occupied himself with studying the part in his hand.
“I’ll return after I talk to your Frederick.”
“I’ll expect you,” he said, not looking at her.
She should walk away from the boathouse and spend the rest of the time at Sedgebrook with Gran. She should not be feeling a surge of anticipation about returning to spar with this strange and unsettling duke.
Yet she knew she’d be back as soon as she could arrange it.
What the hell had he done?
He should race after her—not that he could—and tell her he’d changed his mind.
His boathouse was off limits to women. Or to anyone he didn’t want there. He endured Frederick’s presence or that of a footman from time to time. Nor had he any choice with Reese. His friend simply appeared and veiled—or not so veiled—hints didn’t affect Reese.
He was also surprisingly powerless against Martha York’s studied indifference. He knew for a fact that it masked a determined character.
He wanted to know what she knew. Even more startling was his curiosity about her. Did she understand the principles guiding the torpedo ships? Did it fascinate her as much as it did him?
She was different from most women he’d known. She didn’t seem to care much about her appearance—witness the windblown condition of her curly hair. Or the fact that she’d not worn a hat in the morning sun. She obviously didn’t fear browning her skin because it already had a healthy glow, not the pale and pasty hue so favored among London beauties.
Nor was Martha York a coy female. She didn’t mince words but came out and said what was on her mind.
She’d pinned his ears to the wall, hadn’t she? He’d never been excoriated quite so completely.
He remembered Matthew’s comments about her London season.
They do not understand her, those London men. They seek someone who would charm them. Martha doesn’t wish to charm them. She wants to know what they think. Are their thoughts weighty or interesting enough?
He couldn’t help but wonder if Matthew had described Martha correctly. Or were his words only those of a fond and biased father?
He’d find out in the next three days.
The maid’s name was Constance and she was a sweet thing, if not exceptionally bright.
It had taken Josephine less than five minutes to convince her that, as a guest of the duke’s, she should have access to the closed private rooms, especially the Conservatory.
The girl had proven to be surprisingly informative about some of the furniture in the Duke’s Parlor. Evidently, the housekeeper lectured the staff on the history of their surroundings, the better to appreciate the items they tended.
Josephine swept through the third floor after realizing it was set aside mostly for servants’ quarters and some storage over the north wing.
