Page 85 of The Texan Duke
“I haven’t tried it yet.”
If anything, Connor had grown more attractive since she’d seen him last. He looked fit. No, that word hardly matched him, did it? She’d met other men who were tall, had broad shoulders, but they didn’t have Connor’s presence. You knew he was in a room. How could you possibly miss him?
Would she ever be able to forget his distinctive voice, low and deep, flavored with his strange accent? Even her name sounded different when he said it, as if he spoke the syllables slowly so as not to mispronounce them.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said.
She didn’t like to lie. Sometimes it was unavoidable, but not now. Yet it did take a certain amount of courage to stand there, look up into his face, and nod.
“Why?”
Because she’d made a fool of herself. Because she should never have told anyone what the duchess had suggested, let alone Connor.
Instead of answering, she turned and began to walk toward the stairs again, intent on retrieving her cloak.
“Elsbeth?”
How could she possibly answer him? To do so would be to bring up that hideous morning again, and that was the last thing she wanted to do.
A thought occurred to her and she stopped. “I should have asked Mrs. Ferguson if she needed assistance getting down the stairs.”
“It’s why I’m here,” he said, surprising her.
“You know she’s all for watching the match between you and Felix, then?”
He nodded. “She’s promised to be my biggest fan.”
She glanced at his shoulder. “How is your wound?”
“Mabel says it’s healing fine.”
Mabel? He called Mrs. Ferguson by her first name? Did she reciprocate? Of course he would insist. Had Mrs. Ferguson examined his wound? She must have. How odd that the housekeeper hadn’t mentioned it.
“Is your shoulder stiff?”
“About as much as I expected,” he said.
Was he in pain? Had he taken the medicine the doctor had left for him? She shouldn’t be curious, because none of those answers were any of her concern.
Mrs. Ferguson stepped out of her room. She smiled at Connor, then embraced him in a quick hug.
“Connor, you remembered. Thank you so much.”
Of course Mrs. Ferguson and Connor could be friends. Why did she feel hurt? How foolish. There was no reason to feel as if both of them had gone behind her back. That was even more ridiculous.
“Thank you for that newest effusion,” Mrs. Ferguson said. “I think it’s worked better than the one before. I could feel my hands warming as I spread it on. Whatever is in it?”
“Peppers,” he said, offering his arm for her. “I’ve brought some from Texas. I have a hankering for chili from time to time.”
“So you came prepared,” she said, smiling broadly.
Was Mrs. Ferguson flirting with Connor?
“Better to have something you don’t use, Mabel, then to want something you don’t have.”
“A wise theory,” she said, patting him on the arm.
Elsbeth followed them down the hall, feeling as useful as a single shoe. He used peppers in some sort of preparation for Mrs. Ferguson’s arthritis? It must have been extremely helpful because the housekeeper was walking without evidence of pain.
