Page 31 of Never his Duchess

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, her voice gentle in the darkness. Gentler than usual, anyhow. Her biting scorn was absent. A result of his confession earlier?

He straightened his spine, reaching for the familiar armor of arrogance.

“Nothing of consequence,” he said with forced lightness. “I merely meant I disappointed some of my associates who ruined your chances of finding a suitable husband tonight at Almack’s by making you dance. I had no idea you possessed two left feet.”

It was a blatant lie. She moved with the grace of a sylph, and they both knew it.

Her eyebrows rose. “How peculiar. I received three compliments on my dancing this evening alone.”

“Flattery,” he said dismissively, pressing another random key. “Men will say anything to a pretty face.”

“Including you. Although in your case, what you have to say is neither flattering nor kind.”

He felt his mouth quirk upward despite himself.

“Are you going to tell me what’s troubling you?” she pressed.

“Nothing that concerns you.” He idly pressed another key, then another. “I have arranged for Lord Worthington to call tomorrow, by the way. He expressed interest in making your acquaintance.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes elaborately.

“Don’t do that in front of gentlemen,” he admonished. “It’s most unbecoming.”

“I am always on my best behavior in the presence of true gentlemen,” she replied, her tone saccharine.

“Lord Pendleton might disagree, considering how you pushed him into the pond.”

Her mouth dropped open. “That was an accident! Though someone told me just this evening that Pendleton thoroughly deserved it.”

“Who said that?” he asked, curious despite himself.

She lifted her chin. “I shan’t say.”

“Very well, keep your secrets.” He took another sip of brandy. “Though I must say, you seem remarkably resistant to all the eligible gentlemen I’ve presented. Lord Stafford has animpeccable lineage. Sir Franklin possesses a fortune that would make Croesus envious. What fault do you find with them?”

“They’re insufferably dull,” she complained. “All they wish to do is walk in the park and discuss the weather. Or worse yet, sermons.”

“What would you prefer?” he asked, genuinely curious now. “Go riding?”

“I detest riding,” she said vehemently. “When I was twelve, I had a rather unfortunate experience with a stallion at our country estate. The beast tried to throw me into a ditch. I’m convinced horses can smell fear, and they find it delicious.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that, a genuine sound that surprised them both. “I did not know about that. Maybe the horse feared he would suffer the same fate as Lord Pendleton.”

“You have the wit of a toothless fishwife,” she replied. “Anyhow, my father lectured me for an hour about proper horsemanship while I dripped all over his carriage.”

“He sounds like my uncle. He was fond of lectures also,” Nathaniel said softly.

A comfortable silence fell between them. His fingers found the keys again, this time picking out a simple melody his mother had taught him long ago. Imperfect, but recognizable.

“You said you don’t play,” Evelyn said.

“I don’t. Not really.” His fingers continued their halting progress. “My mother tried to teach me. I never had the patience.”

“You’re not as terrible as you claim,” she observed.

“High praise indeed.”

She laughed, the sound like silver bells in the quiet room. Something in his chest loosened at the sound.