Page 8 of His Stolen Duchess (Stolen by the Duke #7)

Chapter Six

“ W here is he… where did he go?” Georgina’s voice echoed through the entrance hall as she rushed inside, skirts gathered in her hands, her eyes darting wildly. She spotted Lysander and called out, breathless, “Have you seen him?”

Lysander had only just returned from his morning meeting. He hadn’t even removed his gloves yet when the noise hit him—cats yowling, footsteps pounding, doors slamming upstairs. It sounded as though the entire household had been upended.

He frowned. Oddly, neither his valet nor the butler had been there to greet him at the door, and before he could summon anyone, the butler himself barreled past, utterly ignoring him as he dashed down the hall in pursuit of… something.

Lysander stood in the center of the commotion, unmoving as cats darted past his boots, their tails fluffed, slipping across the marble floors, only to sprint back again in a frenzied loop.

“Who are you looking for?” he asked, his voice calm but sharp, watching Georgina as she turned in a whirlwind of silk and determination.

She didn’t answer. She tilted her head, listening intently, then hiked up her skirts and charged up the staircase without another word, vanishing around the landing’s corner.

A moment later, the butler, Mr. Jenkins, returned, now disheveled but attempting to recover some of his former dignity. He straightened his cravat, brushed off his jacket, and approached Lysander, drawing himself up as if nothing were amiss.

“Mr. Squawksby has escaped, Your Grace,” he announced gravely.

Lysander stared at him. “Mr. What?”

“Mr. Squawksby,” Jenkins repeated, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the upstairs chaos.

Lysander exhaled slowly, staring after Georgina and the stampede of cats thundering above them.

Of course .

Lysander turned to watch Georgina descend the stairs as if she had just been announced at a ball, but instead of wearing a gown, she had her arm out before her, displaying a parrot. A gaggle of cats followed down the stairs, eyeing up the parrot and hoping it might become a colorful lunch.

Lysander didn’t want to lose his composure, but he also didn’t want a parrot flying around his manor with animals chasing it. Although sooner or later, the bird might meet its untimely end.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lysander asked Georgina when she arrived at the bottom of the stairs.

She didn’t look embarrassed or put out by the bird, and her expression wasn’t one of surprise. She looked back at him as if he should understand the presence of the bird without question.

“Mr. Squawksby arrived with my belongings this morning,” Georgina said. “I mentioned my parrot, didn’t I?”

“You certainly did not,” Lysander replied. “This is the first I am hearing—or seeing—of it.”

“He’s not usually like this,” Georgina admitted.

“He’s used to having the run of the home, but he keeps to himself.

It must be because the cats are new to him, but he went to investigate, of course, and they must have thought him a better meal than the mice they feast upon in the kitchens, but they won’t ever catch someone as smart as Mr. Squawksby, of course.

I did try to keep him in the cage this morning to get him more acquainted with his surroundings, but he knows how to open the latch. Do you wish to greet him?”

Lysander would have laughed if Georgina hadn’t looked so serious. She was not playing a trick on him. She actually wanted him to greet the parrot.

“I don’t have time for this,” Lysander said.

“If you don’t formally introduce yourself, how will he know he can trust you?”

“Trust me?” Lysander guffawed. “Why would I need a parrot to trust me? I’ve made it this far in life without requiring the trust of any bird, and I’m sure I can carry on in the absence of avian confidence.”

“You’re being facetious,” Georgina said.

The entire time, the parrot sat on her arm, looking off elsewhere, seemingly unbothered by all the squawking going on around it and the cats that circled close by.

“I’m being a lot more than that.” Lysander folded his arms across his chest, eyeing the stoic bird. “I don’t need a noisy and unpredictable animal in my home.”

“He’s not noisy,” Georgina huffed. “He flew through the manor in perfect silence. The cats were the ones who were making all the noise, so perhaps you can get rid of them?”

Lysander looked from the bird to the Duchess, heat suddenly rising under his collar as he continued to debate something ridiculous.

“Can your bird catch mice?”

“He can do anything he sets his mind to,” she replied. “And he’s not unpredictable. I knew that if he got out of his cage, he would want to explore the mansion.”

“Then it is you who is unpredictable.” Lysander raised his eyebrows.

Georgina held his gaze, and it amused Lysander greatly to watch how she struggled to hold back a retort. He didn’t care whether she spoke back to him or had misgivings. He only cared that she behaved herself like the Duchess of the manor and let him get on with his dealings.

“I can be far more unpredictable,” Georgina maintained. “I have been nothing short of perfectly civil since arriving here, and I know Mr. Squawksby will do the same once he’s settled.”

“If you cannot control him, I shall unleash the cats on him.”

Georgina gasped. “What a horrid thing to say!” She glanced at the cats. “They won’t be able to catch him, but that is by the by.” She turned back to the Duke. “The point is that he can stay, no?”

Half a dozen staff had gathered in the foyer, all of them avidly listening to their conversation about the parrot. Lysander didn’t like to lose an argument, but she was right. He would relent and let the pet stay, but at the first instance of him becoming a nuisance, he would put an end to it.

“As long as your pet behaves, you may keep him around,” Lysander said.

“Cock up!” the parrot squawked.

The gathered servants snorted in a vain attempt to stifle their laughter, all except for Mr. Jenkins, who stood unmoving and unfazed.

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 afford her .

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.