Page 18 of The Taming of the Duke
“Miss Parville.”
She glanced up to see the Duke of Petrush staring at her, holding a glass filled with an opaque liquid, a glint of mischief in his expression. While her future looked somewhat bleak, at least in the present, she could enjoy some sport with him.
She eyed the glass. “What’sthatyou’ve brought?” she asked. “It doesn’t look like punch.”
“Alas, I have sad news to share.” He gave her a pained expression, but the glint in his eyes remained.
“Sad news?”
“The punch is of such poor quality, that I insisted a more suitable drink be made, especially for you.”
She took the proffered glass and held it to her lips. His eyes widened and his body stilled as if he’d caught his breath. What mischief was he up to?
She took a sip.
Ye gods—she’d never tasted anything so bitter! Lemonade mixed with vinegar.
So—he wanted to toy with her, did he?
She took another sip, this time prepared for the acrid taste, and she had to concede that she preferred it to the sickly punch she’d been expecting.
His lip curled into a semblance of a smile, as if he fought to restrain his mirth. Returning the smile, she swallowed a mouthful of the liquid, and his eyes widened.
“I wouldn’t drink it too quickly,” he warned. “It may not be suitable.”
“On the contrary,” she said. “It’s perfect—why else would you have brought it? It’s so clever of you to have made such an accurate judgment as to my preferences.”
He shook his head, a bewildered expression in his eyes. “I beg your pardon?”
“I loathe overly sweet foods and drinks,” she said. “Too often at these parties, the men get to indulge in drinks that are infinitely more interesting, whereas the women must make do with syrupy substances that destroy the palate and rot the teeth. It’s as if mankind is of the opinion that women are in constant need of sweetening.”
“Do ladies not desire sweetness?” he asked.
“Good heavens, no!” she cried. “I prefer the bitter to the sweet. Bitterness is honest, for it has no need for subterfuge.”
His smile slipped. “You have a somewhat bleak view of the world, Miss Parville.”
She took another mouthful, and he winced. “The world is not kind, Your Grace,” she said, “neither is it fair. Of course, someone of your sex and station is unlikely to stumble across evidence of imbalance. A sweet outer layer will often conceal a rotten heart—in a similar manner by which an overly gentlemanly demeanor will conceal nefarious intentions.”
“Are you saying that you despise sweetness and an excess of civility because you cannot trust it?”
He continued to stare at her, his dark eyes searching, as if attempting to penetrate through to her soul.
If she weren’t careful, he’d come dangerously close to stripping back the hard outer shell she’d formed around herself.
And that simply would not do.
She raised the glass to her lips once more, and he reached out as if to stop her.
“Perhaps I should bring you a glass of champagne instead,” he said.
“I’ve no need for champagne, Your Grace.” Meeting his gaze in full, she tipped her head back.
“Miss Parville!” he cried, “I didn’t mean…”
Ignoring him, she swallowed the rest of the lemonade, repressing a shudder as the liquid slipped down her throat. Then she handed the glass to him. “You didn’t mean—what?”
He shifted from one foot to another, and the confident stance dissolved. Instead, he looked uncomfortable—guilty, even.
