Page 61 of A Duchess Bound
It seemed as though his household kept odd hours. A knot twisted in her chest. What if he were engaged in some rather disreputable activities at such a late hour? That would make sense for a rake, and Dorothy had no desire to stumble onthat. After a moment of fidgeting with her skirts before his townhouse, she gathered her courage and approached the door, which opened before she even had a chance to knock.
His butler bowed humbly. “My lady, do come in.”
The man was rather forward.
“Thank you.”
She entered, and the door was promptly closed behind her.
“I shall take you to His Grace,” the butler said, after taking her cloak. “He is in the parlor.”
“Thank you,” Dorothy said.
She supposed that the impropriety ought not to surprise her. This butler had probably witnessed more of the duke’s dalliances than he would wish to admit. Lady Dorothy bit the inside of her cheek, thinking of all the respectable ladies that might have crossed His Grace’s threshold at disreputable hours.
She was but one of many.
“Your Grace, you have a guest,” the butler announced at the doorway.
“Thank you, Halls.”
The butler bowed stiffly and retreated. Dorothy entered the room and found His Grace lounging over the settee, a glass of brandy held lazily in one hand. He seemed to be doing nothing at all, but a book discarded on the nearby table indicated some recent industry.
“Your Grace,” Dorothy said, heat rising to her face.
He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shook his head. “My sweet, I fear that we are far too intimate for you to still call meYour Grace. Gerard, if you would.”
Her pulse jumped. “That is entirely inappropriate.”
“Since when do you care about impropriety?” he asked. “I can think of many other deeds which we have committed that are significantly less proper than how you address me.”
“That is different.”
His Grace—Gerard, she supposed she ought to call him—barked in laughter. “Is it? Oh, my lady! You are absurd.”
He rose languidly and strode to a cabinet, from which he produced a glass. Gerard poured a small measure of brandy into it and offered the drink to her. Dorothy took it, a little defiance stirring in her breast.
“You have no right to insult me for wishing to maintain the image of decorum.”
“No? I do not insult you,” he said, flinging himself once again onto the settee. “And you do not dislike me nearly as much as you pretend. Look at how flushed your face is! You enjoy my words and my request that you call meGerard. And I suspect you will enjoy me calling youDorothy.”
“Perhaps, my face is flushed with anger.”
“I doubt that. I am well enough acquainted with you to know the difference.”
She took an anxious swallow of the brandy, which burned a little against her throat. What was she to say to that? Dorothy could not deny that he knew her quite well, far more than any other man did.
“Well,” Dorothy said. “If you know what your words do to me, you should do the gentlemanly thing and cease speaking with me at social occasions. I wish to maintain some measure of discretion.”
“A pity.”
“Apity?” Her voice pitched higher. “My reputation cannot be sullied! I am trying to see my sister happily wed.”
“Doubtlessly, she will be. I find it remarkable how you are concerned about my behavior, while saying nothing about your own,” Gerard mused. “This is the third occasion on which you have met me unaccompanied and by the cover of nightfall. That is quite improper behavior for a young lady who wishes to persuademeto practice discretion.”
Dorothy inhaled sharply. “That is different. I am less likely to be observed coming to you by night. You are taking unnecessary risks in crowded ballrooms and gardens, where we are more likely to be observed.”
“With such skills of argumentation, you should be a barrister,” he said mockingly.
