Page 19 of A Scandalous Kind of Duke

Oh no, that definitely sounded like flirting! Cursing her wayward tongue, Juno grabbed her tea and retreated to another chair.

St. Blaise hardly mattered; he would flirt with the furniture, and she could not take him seriously. But Leo? In four years, he had not betrayed the slightest hint he was even aware of her body. But now…

She exhaled. Her tea rippled.

Leo had been provoked by the image of her taking off her gown.

Was that why he had called today? Was that what had changed?

The idea tingled through her.

Might he? Want to? With her?

Surely not.

But if he did? Would she? With Leo?

Oh my.

No. They were friends. Friends must not.

But if he did want to… Would she…?

What an experience that would be! And one must seize opportunities when they came, for they might never come again.

She would never dare proposition him, though. The wound of his first rejection was ten years old, but the scar remained tender and tight. She could not bear it if he were to reject her advance.

But if he were to suggest it first?

It was a terrible idea, and, like most terrible ideas, it was terribly tempting.

The embarrassed silence persisted. Juno sipped her tea and scrounged for a safe topic of conversation. Yet she did not trust herself to speak, not when everything she said today made her sound like a flirt.

Her gaze strayed back to Leo, who was tracing the rim of his teacup with his thumb.

He glanced up suddenly. “Your tea service is looking tired. Shall I send over a replacement?”

“How very charitable of you.”

“Not at all. My housekeeper informs me I have forty-two tea services. She demands I stop acquiring them as she cannot fit more in the house.”

“Simple solution to that,” said St. Blaise.

“Yes. Buy another house.”

“Tut tut, Polly. You don’t need a house to solve your problem with the excess porcelain. What you need is a wife.”

Juno looked back down at her teacup.

“How romantic you are,” Leo drawled. “Do you advise I mention that in the proposal? ‘Marry me and sort out the china cupboard, would you?’”

St. Blaise spread his hands. “Merely seeking to help my beloved brother. I do so worry about you, all alone in that big house.”

“Or you worry you’ll lose your wager on the date I get engaged. I am aware the betting books are full of speculation.”

“You wound me, Polly.” St. Blaise’s hurt expression was very convincing until he added, “Although if youwereto announce your engagement in the next fortnight, I would be much obliged. It’ll win me two hundred pounds.”

“It is not my concern if you choose to make senseless wagers,” Leo said.

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