Page 10 of Enchanting the Duke
The footman startled her by announcing, “His Grace, the Duke of Nomansland,” as if a foreign dignitary had arrived rather than the only man in England she could not keep from her mind.
Nomansland entered with a rush that brought the outdoors with him, a breath of fresh air, looking more handsome than she remembered.
She hadn’t known she could go so suddenly, so completely breathless.She stood at once, almost dropping her book, and tried for a smile that didn’t betray the reckless ballet her heart was performing.“Your Grace.How unexpected.Is something amiss with Dinah or Abingdon?”
He nodded, but she noted the stiffness in his jaw, the way he hesitated before advancing further into the room.The great Duke of Nomansland, undone by the drab drawing room of a working-class widow.She nearly laughed.
“I hope you don’t mind my calling,” he said.“I was passing through the neighborhood, and thought I might pay my respects.To your grandmother, of course.”
“Of course,” Chrissy echoed, unable to help the smile that flickered on her lips.“She is at St.Mary’s, but you are very welcome to wait for her.She will not be back for at least an hour.”
He hesitated again, as if this new information required a tactical recalibration.“I see.”
It would be absurd to offer him tea.They were alone, and his being there without a chaperone was almost as scandalous as… as their conversation at the ball, perhaps.It occurred to her that their discussion might be the reason he was there.“Perhaps you would like a seat?If you are in a hurry, I can ring for a footman to deliver a note to Grandmama?—”
His smile, when it came, was slow and self-mocking.“No need.I’m not in any particular hurry.”He sat on the edge of the settee, posture betraying a tension at odds with his formidable frame.The furnishing groaned in complaint beneath him, or perhaps that was just her imagination.
She smoothed her skirts, doing her best impression of a woman entirely unruffled by the company of dangerous men.“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, Your Grace?”
Nomansland shifted, resting his elbows on his knees.“I suppose I ought to have prepared an excuse.I could tell you I was in the neighborhood, or that I wished to consult your grandmother on a matter of charity, but both would be unconvincing.”
She tilted her head, letting him see the mischief that danced in her eyes.“Perhaps you had Grandmama’s letters on your mind?”
His gaze narrowed.“Was it letters that tickled your curiosity?I’d thought a diary might have been found.”He studied her as though memorizing the details of her face for future reference.
Chrissy was not unaccustomed to being admired, but this was different—there was a hunger to it, a kind of longing that made her want to reach out and touch his hand just to see what would happen.Instead, she folded her hands primly in her lap.“If you wish, I could retrieve the letters.So you might enlighten me about the parts that confused me.”
He gave a soft, incredulous laugh.“This isn’t something we should pursue in your grandmother’s drawing room.In fact, Abingdon would have me shot if he learned of any such doings.”
She met his gaze, tried to match his intensity.“I’m not very concerned.I find I rather like the danger, sometimes.”She hadn’t meant to say this last part aloud, but the words lingered between them, daring him to answer in kind.
A long, charged moment passed.Then he looked away, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand, as if scolding himself for his lack of composure.“I danced with you at the ball,” he said, changing tack so abruptly it nearly unseated her.“And since then, I find myself unable to think of anything else.”
Chrissy swallowed.“I quite enjoyed the dance, as well.”
His lips twisted in a rueful smile.“I suspect it’s unwise, my visiting you here.But I could not help myself.After the ball, after… everything, I find I have no interest in the ordinary diversions of my set.I have even neglected my boxing.”
She smiled at this, picturing him sparring with some desperate young lord, his mind wandering to the last waltz instead of the next punch.The image delighted her.“I should confess that I have attended two other assemblies since, but none of them has been quite so memorable.I blame you.”
He looked up at her, and this time the hunger was unmasked.“I suppose I ought to apologize,” he said, but his tone made clear he was not at all sorry.
She took a measured breath, aware that the atmosphere had shifted from awkward to incendiary.She moved a fraction closer on the settee.“I think you enjoy seeing me nervous.”
“I do,” he admitted, his voice lower now.“But I enjoy it even more when you make me nervous, Miss Westfall.”
There it was—the opportunity, naked and undeniable, suspended between them.Chrissy leaned in, closing the distance with a reckless confidence she didn’t know she possessed.“I don’t think I have ever made you nervous.”
His eyes dropped to her mouth, then to the hollow of her throat.When he spoke, the words were strained.“You do, constantly.You have no idea.”
She reached out, fingers brushing the starched cuff of his shirt, then lingering on his wrist.She felt the pulse, fast and shallow, beneath her thumb.“You are not yourself today,” she observed, more curious than afraid.
“I’m very much myself.”His protest was weak, and even he seemed unconvinced.
She slid her hand up his sleeve to his forearm, marveling at the solid muscle there.“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were afraid of something.”
He let out a laugh, short and self-deprecating.“I am.”
She waited, unwilling to rescue him from his own admission.