Page 42 of The Duke of Lies
Her brow pleated with confusion, making her look impossibly adorable. “You said you did.”
He supposed he had. “I can build them, I mean.”
“Can you, Your Grace?” the storekeeper asked. “How extraordinary.”
Verity stood from the table. “He’s quite skilled with his hands.” Her gaze dipped to those appendages, which were currently covered in gloves that he longed to throw away so he could slide his bare fingertips along her jaw.
She either read the direction of his mind or perhaps realized the double entendre of what she’d just said. Whatever the reason, a delightful blush highlighted her cheeks.
The storekeeper hovered as Verity came around the table and moved to Kit’s side. “Do let us know if you require anything beyond bookcases.” He gave them a hopeful look.
“We most certainly will,” Kit said with a smile. The touch of Verity’s fingers against his arm startled him. He turned his head and saw her watching him expectantly. It took him a moment to realize he should offer her his arm. Hell, he really wasn’t very good at this. Or parts of it, anyway. He was once again very grateful he hadn’t been summoned to London and hoped Simon would ensure that didn’t happen.
He extended his elbow toward her, and she curled her hand around his forearm. Their flesh was separated by gloves and sleeves and just too many damn things, but he relished the connection.
She bid the storekeeper good day, and Kit escorted her from the shop. It was a simple thing, the way she touched him, but it seemed another step forward in whatever was building between them.
Wassomething building?
He looked at her askance. Her profile was as stunning as she appeared straight on. The line of her nose was a graceful sweep and the jut of her chin both pert and strong, while the curve of her lips was soft and tempting. He doubted he’d ever have occasion to taste them, but a man could dream.
As they walked to the chaise, she asked, “Did you learn what you needed to?”
“I did. I’ll visit Cuddy on another day.”
She withdrew her arm. “When?”
Kit wanted to snatch her hand back to his but didn’t. Instead, he watched her climb into the vehicle. “I haven’t decided yet.” And when he did, he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell her. A man bold enough to steal from a ducal estate was either incredibly foolish or disturbingly dangerous.
He sat beside her in the chaise and drove the horse into the street. “Thank you for coming with me today.”
“Thank you for inviting me.”
“Shall we go to a pub now?” he asked. “A nicer one, I mean.”
“I think I’d like to get back to the castle. I promised Beau we’d visit the goats together. You’re more than welcome to join us.”
“Thank you, I may do that.”
They fell silent as he drove out of town along the road that led to the castle. He lived in a bloody castle. Sometimes, he couldn’t quite believe that. Hell, most of the time, he didn’t believe that. At thirteen, his eyes had grown wide when the tower had come into view that first time. And when he’d seen it again just a few weeks ago, he’d had that same stirring of anticipation and excitement. It was no wonder he was loath to leave.
But the place was nothing compared to the people. How was he going to find the courage to go? The same way he had all those years ago when he’d chosen the sea. Back then, he hadn’t known what he was getting himself into. Now he did. He would be captain of his own ship again, answering to no one. Completely free.
Except he began to see that being tethered to something—or to someone—might not be such a bad thing.
“I thought we might take a picnic on the next sunny day,” Verity said.
He glanced over to see her looking at him. Her dark eyes gleamed in the afternoon sun, and for the first time, he noticed a thin band of amber at the edge of the iris. Her black lashes were long and lush, curling against her pale flesh as she blinked. He jolted himself before he became lost like a sailor succumbing to a siren.
He tried not to sound overeager in his response, but he was thrilled that she would invite him to spend time with her. “I would like that very much.”
“With Beau, of course.”
“Of course.” While he wanted to be alone with her again—as they’d been the other night—he couldn’t see having a picnic on a nice day without their son.
Theirson.
No, he was hers. Beau would never be his, and he’d do well to remember that.
