Page 11 of The Duke of Kisses
Chapter 2
The spotted flycatcher perched on the tree outside David’s study window made him smile. Perhaps living in the city wouldn’t be so tedious. Especially knowing Frances was there.
He still couldn’t quite believe his luck—both to have found her again and to find she wasn’t, in fact, a housemaid. He’d thought of her often since kissing her, an act he ought to regret but couldn’t bring himself to, and had worked to put her from his mind. He could have no future with a housemaid, but with the sister-in-law of a duke…
“My lord?”
David turned to see his secretary, Graham Kinsley, standing in the doorway. “Why are you still calling me that?”
“I shall always call you that,” Graham said, stepping over the threshold.
“I wish you wouldn’t,” David grumbled. He sat down at the desk while Graham took the chair angled to the side.
“Here is your correspondence, including a rather robust stack of invitations.” Graham set the missives on the desk.
“Robust?” David asked.
“You’re the new earl in town,” Graham said. “Curiosity is bound to run amok.”
“Put like that, it sounds dreadful.”
Graham’s dark gaze took on a sardonic cast. “You thinkallof this is dreadful.”
“I didn’t think I’d have to do this so soon.”
“Neither did I,” Graham said, reminding David that he was only slightly more enthused about any of this than he was. Four generations of Kinsley secretaries had worked for four generations of the Earls of St. Ives. When David’s father had died in October, Graham’s father had retired his position, leaving it for Graham to take over. And so here they were, raised together from boyhood and now conquering this together too.
“Do you want to decide which invitations to accept, or do you require my assistance?” Graham asked.
“What do we know? Can they wait until my mother arrives?” He hated these kinds of details and couldn’t imagine Graham liked them either.
Graham’s ebony brows twitched. “Do you really want her choosing what you do?”
“She knows better than I do.” She’d actually spent considerable time in London, unlike David.
“I know you’ve never particularly cared about social events in the past, but now you must.” Graham blinked at him. “On second thought, forget I said that. You don’t have to go to a damned thing if you don’t want to.”
But he wanted to. How else would he be able to see Frances? “I’d like to go to a few things. I mean, Ishould.”
Graham narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
David should have realized Graham would pick up on his sudden interest in something he’d never paid much attention to. “I met some gentlemen last night—including the Earl of Ware. They’ve offered to help me acclimate.”
“So see them at the club. If I were you, that’s where I’d focus my time.” Graham had always been more of a pleasure seeker than David, who’d been far more discreet, at least when it came to women. At Cambridge, Graham’s reputation for revelry had been legendary. “Unless there’s some other reason you want to go to a ball. Or a rout.”
“What the devil is a rout again?”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
David gave him a bland smile steeped in sarcasm. “I didn’t actually hear a question.”
Graham laughed. “Fine, don’t tell me.”
There wasn’t any point in enlightening him about Frances. Not now anyway. They’d shared a kiss and lied to each other. He was likely mistaken to harbor any hope.
“I thought we’d go to Tattersall’s on Monday to select a sporting vehicle,” Graham said. “I still recommend a phaeton.”
“So you can drive it.”
