Page 180 of Desires of a Duke Collection

With a maid in tow, Sophie strolled the small park before Harlow and Lord Kemsley's London home. It was a little place of tranquility where she could watch London pass her by without interacting with too many people.

Certainly, the park had nannies and children running about, but parents were scarce, which suited her perfectly well. She walked along a garden with multiple roses planted, all in bloom and attracting the odd bee and ladybug.

She leaned down and smelled a yellow rose, the scent reminiscent of violets and lemon. Sophie looked about and, seeing a wooden bench, sat and opened her little notebook, writing down her findings before making a sketch of the plant she was explaining.

"You do take your hobby very seriously," a deep, masculine voice said at her side.

Sophie's stomach twisted in knots, as she recognized the voice from the evening before. She looked up, met the Duke of Holland's joyful face, and fumbled a reply she hoped did not make her look as discombobulated as she suspected.

"Your Grace, good afternoon." She closed her notebook and stood before dipping into a curtsy. "I enjoy my investigations, I suppose, and this afternoon there was no one at home, so I was free to come to the park," she explained. Was she rambling? Her flock of words certainly felt as though she was.

She sat and was surprised when he joined her, leaning back as if settling in for the day. "I live just around the corner from Kemsley. In fact, I think our back gardens have a linked hidden gate," he explained. "Although I have never found it."

"Really?" she asked, curious. "I may have to try to find it. I love mysterious tidbits like that," she said.

"Is that all the reason why?" he asked, pinning her with a stare that made the blood in her veins simmer. "I do not factor into your thoughts? If you find the gate, you can enter my gardens."

Heat bloomed on her cheeks, and for several moments she was not sure how to reply. Did he want her to be curious about him? Was he attempting to flirt with her in some way? "I did not mean my words to be misconstrued, Your Grace. I would never intrude if I were not invited to do so," she said, unsure if her explanation was any better than she had said before.

He smiled, and a little of her nerves dissipated. "I'm merely teasing, Miss York. But if you find the gate, do let me know. I often play cards and call on Kemsley, so not having to walk around an entire block would be most welcome."

"Walking is good for you," she stated. Certainly, taking in the duke's legs right now showed proof of that. Her gaze dipped to his thighs, casually spread on the bench in his tan, buckskin breeches. "Especially with the Season upon us and the opulent food we're fed at supper most nights. A little exercise ensures we fit out clothes comfortably."

"That is very true," he said, watching her momentarily. "May I read your little book of fragrance? Or do you not share it with anyone?" he asked her.

She handed it to him without hesitation. "You may read it if you like. There is nothing secret about it."

He ran his hand over the leather front before opening the book. He flicked through page after page of drawings and explanations before he stopped on one.

Wisteria … "A purple, flowering vine that exudes a pungent scent that ranges from musky to a sweet aroma that can be strong to overpowering to some people."

He met her eye, his gaze dipping to her lips before moving back to the page. "I have Wisteria growing at Holland Hall. It is one of my favorite climbers, and I do not care how overpowering the scent is, I could sit and enjoy that fragrance all day."

Sophie could only imagine how beautiful his Wisteria and home would be. "How fortunate we are to have a similar interest. In London, it is not easy to find anyone who does not want to speak of horses or gambling or what ball or dinner is next and who will be there."

Sophie laid the book in her lap and rested her hands atop it. She looked at the rose garden ahead of them and thought over his words. "I do not know anyone, so worrying about who I shall see or what is planned has little interest for me."

"But your cousin, the countess, would like you to have a successful Season," he stated.

Sophie wasn't sure if it was a question or merely His Grace stating a fact. "Harlow would like me to marry, but I shall only do so with a man I can trust and love. If not, then I shall return home."

"And what will you do then?" he asked.

She frowned, debating if she ought to tell him or not. To do so was a risk, and he may stay well clear of her if she continued with the truth. But then, she could not abide liars in others and would not become one herself, not even before a duke.

"I shall have to find employment. A governess if I'm fortunate, or a lady’s companion," she said, hoping she had not damned herself before him. She did not know him all that well, after all. For all she knew, he could run off to the ton and tell them of her common plans, and her Season would be over before it really began.

A governess or lady’s companion? Whatever Henry had expected Miss York to state, her reply was not it. Women who were governesses or lady’s maids had fallen low and had no family to assist them, helping them out of the predicament they found themselves in.

Miss York was not that person. Her cousin was a countess, the other a viscountess. Surely she would not have to return home to find employment.

"But your cousins are Lady Kemsley and Viscountess Billington. Returning to Highclere will not be necessary, I'm sure," he stated, certain Miss York's family would never leave their cousin so poorly situated.

"I cannot expect her to support me, not when she is married with children. And I shall be perfectly fine working in such positions. As long as I'm safe, have a clean bed, and earn my wage honestly, I'm content."

Henry heard what she was saying, which was commendable, but also left him ill at ease. Why, he could not say, but she was so unassuming. Perhaps that was why he enjoyed speaking to her like they now were. If she were to go into service, they would never be able to talk so again.

He would never see her again, for that matter ...

But it was not his choice. She was not his family, and he could not persuade her to have a life the way he would like her to, no matter how much he wished to state that the thought of her working for her living seemed utterly unfair.

"Your Grace," a feminine voice said before him. Henry inwardly sighed before looking up at their uninvited guest. "Lady Leslie," he said, standing and bowing before the young woman, the sister to the Earl of Courtenay and one of the richest heiresses in London this year.

She smiled at him before casting a curious glance toward Miss York. "Enjoying the park, I see," Lady Leslie drawled, the smug, knowing look telling Henry that she was jumping to conclusions about him and Miss York that she should not.

Or perhaps she should ...

"I was on my way home from Whites and came upon Miss York enjoying the roses," he said, gesturing to the plants behind Lady Leslie." He paused. "Miss York, may I introduce you to Lady Leslie Courtenay? She is the sole sister to the Earl of Courtenay," he said.

Miss York stood and dipped into a curtsy, a wide smile on her lips that Lady Leslie did not replicate. "A pleasure," she said. "I did so admire your gown last evening, my lady. It was utterly spectacular."

Lady Leslie cast a dismissive glance toward Miss York that oozed dislike, if not distaste. "I do find talking of such subjects tedious," she drawled. "I always believe that when one speaks of fashion, they have little to talk about, and it is best to stop trying altogether."

Henry glanced at Miss York and noted her cheeks darkened to a deep red. He narrowed his eyes upon Lady Leslie, who seemed to register his displeasure.

"But I suppose," Lady Leslie stuttered, "it is a better subject to talk about than nothing at all. There is little worse than an awkward silence."

Henry cleared his throat, wishing to add there was nothing more disagreeable than a hoggish friend. "Well, we should not keep you, Lady Leslie. I was about to escort Miss York home before continuing on with my day. I wish you a good afternoon," he said, bowing and reaching for Miss York’s hand before dragging her away from the waspish woman.

"Your Grace," Miss York chided him when they were several steps away from Lady Leslie. "You never afforded me the opportunity to wish her a good afternoon."

He scoffed, placing her hand atop his arm and holding it there. "Does it matter that you did not? I did not think she deserved one after her rudeness."