Page 14 of The Duke's Pet

They walked past a room that held a long shiny table holding silver candelabras, then the base of a vast sweeping staircase that split in two at the top to reveal a wraparound landing.

“This is beautiful,” Jemima said. She’d never witnessed such opulence, such wealth.

“It is, and if you find your hands idle, you can pick up a duster.”

“I’ll do that, of course I will.” She’d love the opportunity to have a good look around, and admire all of the rooms at Hillcrest. She might even pretend to be the lady of the house. “If that would please you and the duke, I will perform housework while I am here.”

Mrs. Cook didn’t reply.

A row of windows revealed they were on the opposite side of the neat square courtyard to the kitchen. A pair of doves sat on one of the sills.

“This is His Lordship’s study.” Mrs. Cook rubbed her hand over a panel that had a small crest carved into it, once more in the image of a lion. “This door here, on the left of this decorative piece.”

“Thank you.” Jemima stared at the door.

Behind it was her new master.

“I can’t say I agree with you being here,” Mrs. Cook said. “But you seem a nice enough sort, so good luck.”

“Thank you.”

Mrs. Cook brushed past her, the scent of bread, pies, and sugar lingering in her wake.

Jemima turned back to the door. Her heart was thudding, her breaths shallow. This wasn’t what she’d imagined when she’d made the decision to come to York and start a new profession, but that didn’t make it any less frightening.

She held up her hand, knuckles prepared to rap on the door.

But she felt frozen, as if all the clocks in the world had stopped.

Suddenly the door pulled open. Daylight spilled from the room and she blinked as a handsome man loomed before her, his outline bright as a diamond because of the vast sunny window behind him.

“What are you doing just standing there?” he said, his voice low and gruff.

“I... I, er, sorry, I was just about to...”

He drew the door wide. “Come in.”

She did as he’d asked, stepping onto a big square rug with a red pattern.

He shut the door and in two strides was past her. “This is my private study; you will not touch anything unless given permission.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“That is a good start, you will call me Sir at all times.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He was tall with dark hair parted on the left. It looked as if it had been brushed neatly but now stuck up, as if he’d run his fingers through it recently. He wore a white cravat and a cream shirt that was dotted with tiny splashes of what she guessed was paint. The left side of the shirt was untucked from dark pants that were teamed with black leather boots.

He seemed to be studying her with the same curiosity she was him.

“I trust you had a good journey here with James?”

“Yes, thank you, Sir.”

He gave a curt nod.

She glanced around. The room held an imposing fireplace in the center of the wall facing the three tall windows. It was lit, spindly orange flames dancing upward. Before it was a plush sofa that held several embroidered cushions depicting pheasants and foxes—all were askew.

---