Page 40 of His Haunted Duchess
Caroline traced the lines in his face and caught herself holding her breath. The strong lines of his jaw sloped back to a well-formed head and neck. He reminded her of a dark Apollo, cut from the same block of marble that had lent the patron of arts his masterful form. She would have liked to stroke his cheek, to caress the clump of dark curls behind his ear.
She blinked. She mustn’t—however handsome the duke may seem—be tempted by his appearance. However statuesque, however attractive, for both of their safety, she must keep her distance. Had it really only been a week since they had met? Sheshook her head. It seemed like longer, but perhaps the time they had been spending together had lent itself to shorten the span.
Not that the duke had been anything but polite. She dampened the silly hope then pouted in disappointment. What else could he be expected to be? She ought to guide herself by that same behavior—the politeness of acquaintances—- and not what it felt like when she had stared into his eyes when he had saved her from falling.
She hustled the beginnings of insipid flirtation out and opened the door to hard reason. No matter how short or long the time, she must—she told herself firmly—remember the danger her curse could cause him and his family. She absolutely must keep her distance.
Distance, though, did not necessarily mean silence.
“I hope to come back and visit Kingston often,” she said. “There are many places here for me with not unpleasant memories.”
Frederic took off his hat and set it beside him, letting the rays of the sun touch his forehead.
“Tell me some of them. It’s more intriguing to hear bits of a story when you’re in the area where they took place.”
Caroline pointed to a tall alder tree near the house.
“Once, shortly after I came to live with my aunt, I tried climbing out of the window, just there—for better access on the lawn.”
Frederic raised his eyebrows.
“That’s quite a height for a child.”
Caroline stretched out her legs.
“I’m fairly tall, you know, but it was very high, even then—I clung to the tree trunk and screamed for help. Winifred finally coaxed me to jump on a blanket held by the servants.”
She mimed surprise and falling onto the soft surface.
Frederic laughed.
“I wouldn’t have expected it of you. What a leap! I hope that cured your penchant for heights.”
Caroline shrugged.
“Cautioned, I would say, not cured. It was many years before my aunt could coax me away from the trees.”
She pointed to another spot, a wildflower meadow against the tree line.
“There is the place that did it—that lured me away from the promise of verdant greenery. My aunt taught me to ride. I was very hesitant at first and uneasy in the saddle as small children sometimes are.”
Frederic took a sip of his tea.
“How did it resolve?”
“She promised to take me to ride among the flowers. I braved the saddle for the sake of the spread of blossoms. We prepared our horses and rode out across the grounds—very far, I thought it, though it can’t be more than a mile away from the house.”
She pointed. Frederic followed her finger, shading his eyes.
“It’s far enough, to justify your childhood belief, that I struggle to distinguish blossoms from our current vantage. It was brave of you to go after all.”
Something like admiration tinted his voice. Caroline blushed with pleasure. He nodded toward the field.
“What sorts of flowers are there, and which did you love most?”
Caroline smiled.
“And here, perhaps, I fear you will think ill of me.”
