Page 21 of Every Duke Has His Thorn
Her father raised a brow. “Will you be able to concentrate on anything other than the next clue?”
She grinned. “I’ll try.” Trying to decipher the next clue would help her not to think overly much about the intriguing duke.
“Please reconcile any bills of sale we’ve received with the budget for renovations. I want to submit the figures to His Grace tomorrow morning. I placed the documents inside the project ledger on the drawing room desk in the dower house. After you’ve balanced the budget, feel free to reflect on the treasure.”
Once Marina completed her task, she did indeed ponder the meaning of the next clue. After several minutes, she was sure she’d solved it.
Marina needed to get back inside the library, but she couldn’t just walk into the room whenever she wanted. The library was where His Grace conducted business. With no restoration work scheduled to occur in the room, she had no reason to be there.
Perhaps she should take a stroll in the garden. The duke might well walk through the grounds upon his return from the village.
Clouds rolled in. The accompanying light breeze was not unwelcome as the day was already getting warm.
A few minutes later, she wasn’t disappointed to see the duke walk through the terraced garden on his way from the stable block to the west entrance of the house.
He came to a halt near where she stood by a decorative fountain. “Miss Davies? I assume this meeting is not by accident. You have solved the next clue?”
She dipped and replied, “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Could it be a particular book?” he asked with a twist of his lips.
She stared at him, mouth open. “How did you know?”
“Even dukes read, Miss Davies.”
“I imagined they might,” she replied with a mischievous smile.
They stood for a moment, the sound of hammering mixing with birdsong. Finally, the duke sighed dramatically. He asked wryly, “You’re not going to be happy until we check Marvell’s book, are you?”
She shook her head. “No, Your Grace.”
“Meet me in the library in an hour and please bring your father with you.”
* * * * *
When Preston entered his library after washing off the dust of the road, Miss Davies stood near his desk, waiting for him.
“Your Grace.” She glanced at the engraved ormolu carriage clock on the mantelpiece.
He sighed. Yes, he was a few minutes late. “Miss Davies.”
The woman no longer wore her glasses. She also wore no bonnet, and he was glad to see she sported a relaxed hairstyle. For once, she didn’t hug her notebook to her chest, and he was determined not to be distracted by her voluptuous curves.
“My father was detained.”
He was relieved he’d left the door he’d come through wide open.
“No matter. Winston is in the drawing room next door.” He added, walking to a bookshelf, “The book in question is by Andrew Marvell. If I recall correctly, it should be on this shelf just here.”
“You know where a single book is?”
He nodded, studying the spines of several books. “I wasn’t allowed to play outside very often as a child, so these volumes became my companions.”
Once the words were out, he regretted them. He didn’t need or want her pity.
“It is nice to hear you see books as friends.”
He didn’t reply but merely pulled the volume he wanted from the shelf and took a seat behind his desk. “Although Marvell was a great fan of Cromwell, it took over a century for the poems included in this volume to be attributed to him.”
