Page 22 of His Stolen Duchess

Lysander let out a breath and shook his head. “He curses? You’ve brought a bird who curses into my house?”

Georgina lifted her head suddenly. “It is one of his… endearing quirks, one might say. But don’t worry. If we have any guests, Mr. Squawksby will be in his cage. You have my word.”

“I am warning you, Duchess. If I hear one of his vile words around the house again…”

“No, no! You won’t,” Georgina played with the fabric of her dress with her free hand. “I can’t let him go, Your Grace. I really can’t. He was a gift from my sister, Ava, and we’ve forged a bond that cannot be broken.”

“Are you always this dramatic?” the Duke asked. “It is only a bird.”

“He.He is a bird. And he is my friend.”

“Your friend?” he asked incredulously, “This animal is your friend?”

“Yes! Why is that so hard to believe? Men have their hounds, and some ladies like to keep cats. Why is Mr. Squawksby any different?”

Lysander let out a long breath.

Georgina stood there, gazing up at him with those wide, honey-brown eyes, unblinking, expectant, entirely too steady. He knew he should glance away, break the tension before it grew too obvious to those lingering in the hall. But he didn’t.

She had the sort of face a man could get lost in: Soft features, flushed cheeks, pink lips that were slightly parted from exertion, and those eyes… so bright and impossibly large. He wasn’t sure if it was the aftermath of the commotion or simply her, but everything else in the room seemed to fade.

It wasn’t desire, not exactly—though that, too, lingered somewhere beneath it all.

If it weren’t for the maids watching, and the blasted parrot still perched between them, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.

What am I playing at?

He’d walked into his home to find a parrot evading half his household and Georgina standing in the middle of it all as if she’d lived there for years. She’d been arguing with him, challenging him, and somehow, in the middle of it, she’d managed to crawl under his skin yet again, without even meaning to.

This must stop. I can’t afford it. I cannot affordher.

He drew in another breath, schooling his features back into something cool and unreadable.

He was the one in charge here. He needed her to remember that.

And more importantly, so did he.

“You can keep the parrot, but not in the house,” Lysander ordered. “He will be confined to the conservatory.”

“But… Your Grace, I?—”

“It’s either the conservatory or the vast English countryside.”

Georgina pursed her lips but kept her chin up anyway.

“Very well, Your Grace,” she muttered.

“Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to,” he bowed and turned on his boots, striding off toward his study.

Chapter Seven

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Georgina said as a footman showed her into the dining hall. “Oh, I do hope that doesn’t qualify as small talk. Would it be better if I entered without a word?”

She hadn’t expected to find the Duke there. After dining alone or with her lady’s maid for the past three days, she’d rather assumed she would continue to eat in solitude. Yet there he was, seated at the head of the table, impeccably dressed as though he had never once missed a formal supper.

Which, of course, was exactly what one would expect of him. But she had stopped expecting it.

Without looking up from his soup, he remarked, “You’re not wearing your parrot this evening?”