Page 42 of The English Duke
At the moment, however, he was concerned with just being polite.
His damnable leg was hurting, which always made him short-tempered. Martha did not deserve his irritation. Nor was he annoyed in any way with her. The past hours had been surprisingly pleasant in a manner he’d never expected.
However, he needed to move. He stood, walked around a bit, then made his way to the workbench and sat heavily, closing his eyes at the pain. Sometimes it felt as if he was walking on a knife. The hilt was at his foot and the point his hip, the entire length of his leg sliced open with each step.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He opened his eyes. “No, I’m not. I am, as your sister has so aptly stated, ‘lame.’”
“Did she really say such a thing?” she asked, her tone one of horror mixed with surprise.
He turned his head to look at her. “She did. At breakfast.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, then startled him by asking, “Would you be more inclined to like Josephine if she hadn’t made that remark?”
By being too damn wise, she added another layer to his conundrum. He’d not only shared his thoughts with the woman, but he was coming close to liking her. Perhaps even admiring her. No, the admiration had started the moment she’d begun talking about weight ratios and propellers. He would have been content to listen to her lecture him for hours.
“No,” he said, answering her question about Josephine. “I don’t think I would. She isn’t the type of female who interests me.”
She pulled the stool closer to him, pulling her skirts aside so they didn’t touch his trousers. How proper their clothes were, never touching or even daring to brush next to each other.
“Have you ever been disappointed in love?” he asked, the question so out of context that they both stared at each other.
“Why would you ask such a thing?” she said.
“Because I’m curious. I know about your season. When I read your father’s words my first thought was that your emotions had already been taken. I thought you were pining for someone.”
When she didn’t speak he raised one eyebrow. “Then it’s true. I’ve found when people refuse to answer a question it’s because the answer’s obvious.”
“No,” she said, frowning at him. “It isn’t true. If you must know, I don’t have much faith in love. It doesn’t seem to be a kind emotion. Oh, it is when you say you love a dog or a horse or a kitten. But not people. When you love people, you’re almost asking to be harmed.”
How curious that they shared the same feelings.
“My stepmother, Marie,” she continued, “says love is as necessary as air. It’s the glue holding everything together.” She glanced at him. “She’s passionate about things. She wants to experience every moment of life to its fullest.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, feeling his way through the maze of words.
“Your father didn’t mention her often.”
“I noticed,” she said.
“I got the impression the marriage wasn’t a happy one.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Marie liked to stay in London a great deal. Or travel to France. When she finally came home she always appeared to be happy to see Father. He came out of his cottage long enough to notice he had a family and a wife.”
“Is that why you started to work with him? So he’d notice you?”
She shook her head. “He was the most interesting person I knew. He was always thinking different thoughts. He could think of something in the middle of the night and make it real by the next day. He always seemed to be doing something more interesting than needlepoint. Or talking about fashion.” She smiled faintly. “He didn’t worry about getting dirty. He waded through the lake. He invented things. Who wouldn’t want to be around someone like that?”
“Have you invented anything?”
“A new propeller design,” she said. “Nothing as important as my father’s ship.”
“Don’t you worry about creating a weapon?”
“A weapon?”
“Surely you know the torpedo ship is a weapon? The nose will be filled with gunpowder. That’s the reason why the directional capabilities have to be so precise.”
