Page 5 of The Duke of Desire
Axbridge shrugged. “I imagine once in a while, it’s nice to have a good old-fashioned shag as opposed to a business arrangement.”
That sounded mercenary. “There is no money involved.”
“Of course not.”
Axbridge was correct on the first point, even if his description was crass. Between the affairs in which West provided his service, he indulged in whatever struck his fancy. Sometimes he kept a mistress. Other times, he simply took advantage of opportunity. Such as at a house party like this one.
Again, the lovely Miss Breckenridge came to mind.
But she was off-limits. He didn’t corrupt unmarried misses, particularly companions. Pity, he had the sense Miss Breckenridge was wound tight as wool around a spindle and could use an unspooling.
West swallowed a mouthful of whiskey, relishing the rich, smoky flavor on his tongue. “What are your plans for the house party?”
Axbridge lifted a shoulder. “Nothing particular. Just looking for a bit of amusement.”
There would be plenty of that—fishing, grouse hunting, picnics, and of course the requisite game play and dancing, if enough people were interested. This was a large, diverse group. West could see any number of things going on, from clandestine romantic interludes to breathless proposals of marriage amongst the younger set. He supposed he ought to consider himself part of that group, but at nearly two and thirty, he felt as though he’d graduated from those expectations. Marriage-seeking misses and their mamas had stopped eyeing him years ago. But it really had nothing to do with his age and everything to do with his reputation. Still, once in a while, someone came along who hoped to catch his eye, thinking they’d somehow entice him into marriage. He supposed it wasn’t impossible, but he just couldn’t imagine it. Nor was he particularly interested. He thrived on change and provocation and excitement, and marriage, as far as he could tell, would be none of those things.
“Amusement, you say… Aren’t we all looking for that?” West lifted his glass again, and they clinked them together before polishing off their whiskey.
The group disbanded a short while later, and West found himself meandering into the library. Wendover had an expansive collection and added to it constantly. The room, devoid of people, was large yet cozy with its massive fireplace and collection of seating arrangements. Or perhaps it was the smell of paper, which always reminded West of his father’s study. Specifically, it brought to mind the hours he’d spent drawing pictures while his father worked. West recalled those quiet afternoons together with fondness, when things had been idyllic and he’d been utterly innocent.
He went to one of the shelves and perused the spines. The whispery sound of a soft gasp ruffled the silence. He turned toward the alcove tucked into the corner and saw the one inhabitant.
It was her.
She sat in a high-backed chair, which was situated with its back to him, her head poking around the side. Then her head disappeared as she pulled herself back into the chair, masking her presence once more.
Except he knew she was there.
He moved toward her, slowly, as though she were prey he might frighten away. A tension seemed to stretch between them as he neared the chair. He half expected her to jump up and flee, as she’d done earlier from the drawing room.
“Hello.” He stepped in front of her chair and looked down at her.
Her head was tipped forward, her gaze buried in the open book. She said nothing and made no indication that she’d heard him or even realized he was there. But of course she did. She’d looked right at him.
He liked her obstinacy. He sat in the chair opposite hers, the only other one in the alcove, and leaned back as he stretched his legs out in front of him. “What are you reading?”
She spared him the slightest glance then, barely raising her eyes from the book. Her lips pursed, and he had the sudden urge to capture them with his, to sample their pillowy softness and see if they tasted as good as they looked. “A novel.”
“You don’t like me, do you?”
She didn’t look up. “I don’t know you, Your Grace.”
“True, but you’ve formed an opinion nevertheless. That’s a pity. I think we could be friends.”
Her gaze lifted from the page at last, and she stared at him, her expression one of disbelief and disturbance. “Are you mad?”
“Not at all. Has someone told you I am? I am aware that people gossip about me, but that, I must admit, is something new I hadn’t heard.”
She blinked. Her lashes were golden brown and terribly long. They fluttered briefly against her upper cheek before he was rewarded with the brilliance of her steady green eyes. They bored holes into him. “Do stop trying to flirt with me. Perhaps you forgot that I am a lady’s companion.”
“I did not. It is of no consequence to me. Can’t I sit down and exchange a few pleasantries with you? What else is a house party for if not to make new acquaintances?”
She blinked again and cocked her head to the side, lowering the book to her lap but still keeping it open. “I’m confident you can derive plenty of other reasons for a house party. Associating with a lady’s companion ought not be one of them.”
“Is that right? I wasn’t aware of this rule. So I’m not to speak to lady’s companions. What else should I not do?”
“A great many things, I’m sure, but I highly doubt you would heed my advice.”
