Page 243 of Dukes for Dessert

His dark gaze swung to her and he stepped close enough to almost touch chest-to-chest. “The only thing I want to hold right now is…”

For one mad, dizzying moment, she almost thought the Duke of Azureford was going to kiss her. Right here. Right now. Amid the clanging of hammers and the tickle of sawdust and in front of a dozen burly witnesses. Carole wouldn’t have stood there and let him kiss her.

She would have kissed him back.

9

The door to Azureford’s summer cottage swung open. With a sweep of his arm, Swinton welcomed them inside.

“Please,” Carole begged, keeping her voice low so only Judith would hear. “I know I told you that first day to keep the butler distracted elsewhere, but if you don’t physically restrain me from throwing myself at Azureford, God only knows what embarrassing thing I’ll… Judith?” Carole glanced over her shoulder in disbelief. “Judith?”

Both her maid and the butler had vanished into thin air as though the entranceway secretly concealed a trap door.

“Fair-weather chaperone,” Carole muttered under her breath.

She would have to keep her desires in check herself.

It shouldn’t be that hard. As long as she kept reminding herself that everything she and Azureford did was so that he would have a better chance of landing the diamond-of-the-first-water Society bride of his dreams. A fortnight ago, he’d told her he would only stay another month. He had an agenda to keep. The clock was ticking.

She strode into the billiard room with her heart under lock and key and her head held high.

Azureford was there waiting. He lounged on the satin-trimmed sofa in his reading nook with absolutely no regard to the wrinkles forming on his olive-green coat or the dent his chin was making in the folds of his cravat. When he saw her, his eyes lit up and he tossed the book he’d been reading aside.

Her heart melted a tiny bit.

He leaped to his feet, palms outstretched at his sides. “What do you think?”

About him? Gorgeous. Brilliant. Temporary. But she knew what he meant. By now, they barely needed to do more than make significant eye contact for the other to understand the meaning.

As of last night, construction was complete. This was the first morning without renovators everywhere. The billiard room contained absolutely everything but the billiard table. She stood in the center where the table would soon be and turned in a slow circle. The windows were large and sunny, the gilded cabinetry was intricately carved and its contents well-stocked.

In addition to the reading nook’s plush sofa, comfortable guest chairs dotted the perimeter of the room with small round tables between for spectators to set their canapés or glasses of champagne while they awaited their turn to play.

“It’s beautiful,” she admitted. “Your party is a foregone success.”

“You’re the secret to my success. I would’ve purchased the best table local carpenters could cobble together, but I wouldn’t have this—” He gestured at the cabinets, at the reading nook, at the bright windows illuminating his smile. “—without your help. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she mumbled, suddenly unsure how to take his praise. Was it just a compliment? Or was the subtext that they were finished now, and she should go home?

He pulled a small blue volume from the reading nook. “You left this behind. Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to keep it.”

Her sketchbook. He had placed it on the shelf where he kept his favorite books.

Cheeks warm, she accepted the worn volume. “I wanted to add one more illustration.”

“I know.” His twinkling eyes were unrepentant. “I peeked.”

She’d done it for him. She pretended to be miffed anyway. “A shocking violation of privacy.”

“You wanted me to find it.” He paused. “I’m not sure if you meant for anyone to notice the figures’ similarity.”

She shrugged. “I can’t draw people. Not from life or my imagination. I copied a random lady from a fashion plate over and over again until I had the lines memorized, and now I use her for everything.”

“As a substitution.” His fingers touched one of her stray tendrils. “I can’t help but notice the figure you chose looks remarkably like yourself.”

“What?” She paused in the act of shoving it into her reticule, and opened the book instead.

Was it true? Had she managed to draw herself into fun, outlandish situations that would never happen to someone like her after all?