Page 2 of A Duke Of Her Own

Francie swallowed, gripping the basket even tighter. “It is a cake.”

“Coated with lemon frosting?” he asked.

Startled, she smiled. “No.”

“Must you keep me in suspense? Very wretched of you.”

Amusement rushed through her. “It has sweetened chocolate frosting.”

A small silence fell. “I thought the lemon frosting was your favorite?”

It is, she silently thought, but chocolate was his.Oh dear. She closed her eyes tightly, feeling as if this situation had grown beyond perilous. How had she baked a cake with Mr. Crawford’s preference in mind?

“I must go,” Francie said in a desperate rush.

“You will not make it back in time. The walk is at least two miles. The rain will be here in minutes. Stay with me, please.”

Shocked, she turned around at this. “I beg your pardon?”

Mr. Crawford was indecently dressed only in trousers and a shirt that was rolled to his elbows, revealing muscled forearms. His dark silver eyes stared at her with unswerving intensity. His raven black hair appeared windswept and in need of a trim. Mr. Crawford was a handsome gentleman with sculpted cheekbones, a strong patrician nose, and a sensual mouth. A mouth she had guiltily thought about kissing more than once. Flushing, she briefly glanced away from him.

“I am inviting you inside, Francie.”

The intimate use of her name provoked that infuriating shiver in her heart. They had stopped being formal with their greetings several months ago. Still, somehow, they avoided using each other’s intimate names. It felt imperative to try and keep a measure of formality at the moment. It was also undoubtedly silly, given the existence of their friendship had shattered all bounds of pretension and propriety.

“You have never invited me inside your home before, Mr. Crawford.”

A shadow fell over his silver eyes, and his gaze grew unfathomable. A deceptively sensual smile played about his mouth. “Forgive my lapse. However, the situation had never called for it before. Permit me to mention you have never invited me to your cottage either.”

They were woodland neighbors who had only met here in the opening, by the lake, or along the path he often bird-watched with his dog. Occurrences that had seemed coincidental now felt deliberate. Had they somehow realized the dangerous nature of being alone together and instinctively met outdoors? Francie bit into her lower lip. She was presuming Mr. Crawford lived alone. They never seemed to discuss anything remarkably intimate or personal. However, she felt as if she knew him well.

Oh, Francie, do not be deceived.

She had already fooled herself once by falling in love with a man who had revealed himself to be a liar and a disloyal libertine. And Francie had believed she knew everything about him. She lowered her gaze, holding back her smile as she stared at Mr. Crawford’s bare toes.I cannot stay. For a beat, she was completely despondent. “Regrettably, I cannot stay. I will hasten—”

“I baked a lemon cake,” he said gruffly.

She snapped her gaze to his, pressing her palm against her chest as if that small pressure would suppress her suddenly fiercely beating heart. “Youremembered?”

CHAPTER2

Francie stared at Mr. Crawford, her heart a pounding mess.

“Yes,” he said with a small smile. “I remember it is your favourite cake.”

The knowledge had a most disturbing effect on her heart. Memories of sitting by the lake, picnicking alone on her birthday last year, floated through Francie’s thoughts and the sweetest warmth pierced her.

“May I join you?”

Then, they had only known each other for a month.“Your company would be delightful, Mr. Crawford.”

“Good God, what do you eat?”

“A cake … with lemon frosting.”

“That is not a cake. It is … a ghastly mess. Who baked it?”

“I did.”