Page 15 of Her Heartless Duke

“We are here,” he told her.

Her gaze swiveled from the window back to him. “Where ishere, exactly?”

He smirked. “My home.”

It was worth it seeing the shock on her face. As it turns out, he could also give her a taste of her own medicine.

* * *

He… lives here?

For a moment, Olivia could not hide the surprise on her face when Isaac announced that they arrived at his home. She looked up to the building before her as he helped her out of the coach—a far cry from the homes that most gentlemen of the ton preferred in St. James. This one… looked awfully outdated.

The paint was peeling off the wall in some areas. The door looked as if someone had beaten it down one too many times, the stone steps leading up to it rather dirty.

She saw Isaac fish out a ring of keys from his pocket and insert one of them into a rusted keyhole. It was then that it sunk into her that this was truly his home, this dilapidated, outdated apartment where no self-respecting gentleman would even consider spending half an hour in.

This was where he lived.

But why? Why would he choose to live here when he had estates and townhouses aplenty at his disposal?

“Watch your step,” he warned her gently, catching her elbow when she stumbled over the uneven wooden stairs that creaked with every step. “I keep telling the landlord that it needs fixing but he is half-deaf and only hears about a quarter of what I say to him.” He paused and added, “Or he could probably just be pretending not to hear me at all.”

She nodded almost mechanically, still at a loss as to how a duke—and one of the wealthiest men in all of England at that—could prefer to live in such lodgings.

“Do not worry,” he told her almost cheerfully. “I have dwelt in far worse conditions.”

He was probably referring to the war.

Is it why you stay here, then? Because you cannot get the war out of your head?

She looked at him intently, watching how the moonlight illuminated the side of his face, highlighting the angle of his sharp jaw. She flushed and focused on watching her steps instead.

“Where are we headed?”

He shot her a mischievous smile in reply. “Why? Are you tired already?”

She shook her head vehemently. “Of course not. Why would you think such a thing?”

He chuckled then, the sound low and decadent, like rich chocolate. “I have rented the top floor of the building, as well as a room that I occupy on most days. We can practice there without anyone disturbing us.”

It should have sounded ominous. The whole scenario was a recipe for scandal, and perhaps that was why she felt a sort of thrill trailing down her spine. It was not fear, she surmised, but rather, it felt a great deal like anticipation.

When they reached the door at the top of the stairs, Isaac pulled out his ring of keys once more and slid one into the keyhole. Olivia watched as he jerked it a little more forcefully before it finally turned, and the door shrugged open before them.

“This,” he told her, “shall serve as our practice hall for tonight.”

She supposed that the space was indeed large enough for them to practice numerous dances. However, the floor was covered in dust and the furniture all looked as if they had seen better days maybe half a century past. Even in their ancestral home in Yorkshire, she had not seen such outdated furnishings.

It is not like he is in charge of the furniture, she thought to herself.

“It is sufficient for our purpose,” she remarked instead. She walked towards a chair, frowning when she saw that it was worn and had probably not seen a duster for quite some time.

She undid the ties of her cloak and carefully draped it over the chair. When she turned around, she found Isaac staring at her so intently that her breath hitched in her throat, and she felt warmth suffusing her cheeks.

Am I supposed to be feeling this way or are these symptoms of my illness?

Before she could say anything, he strode towards her. Instinctively, she took a step back in response, her breath hitching at her throat.