Page 6

T ruly had accomplished little more than thinking about the Duke of Dalliance for two days.

When she first received his note to call upon her in her home, she had responded with the heart palpitations of a girl's crush.

It was too foolish by half to wish for his attention, but she could not help her pulse from outpacing her lolling wisdom and shoving it aside, especially when a full bouquet of yellow hothouse roses showed up in her foyer with another note.

I’ve thrown out all the cheroots and promise never to smoke another if you’ll agree to meet me. I only wish to converse.

There had been no greeting. No salutation. And no doubt it was from him.

Was she flattered or scandalized?

Neither, but she was intrigued, very much so. This time, she answered.

If you are so inclined, I will be shopping on Corkspur Street, specifically at the Sunrise Art Museum, the lending art studio. I cannot hope to keep you from visiting whichever shop you’re apt to patronize, nor, it would seem, can I keep you from patronizing me.

She sent the note as he’d sent the flowers, with no greeting and no salutation.

A s the rented hack approached the art studio, Truly registered every vehicle and every male over the age of twenty wearing the fine-spun clothes of an aristocrat.

She dismissed the ones with women on their arms though the Duke’s moniker alone spoke of a man never in want of a woman by his side.

Part of her didn’t expect him to show. Part of her hoped he did not.

But on the off chance a duke would deign to show up for an afternoon of shopping, she straightened her bonnet and smoothed her pale pink muslin skirt, tucking in the lace fichu where the bodice hugged her curves.

She patted the swell of cleavage, reminding her he’d taken notice, claiming her a woman because of it.

When she didn’t see him waiting at the studio's threshold, the disappointment calmed her rattling nerves. She took the time to secure her reticule to her wrist and clutched the paper-covered painting of a girl playing the harp. The driver kindly offered his help, but the package was neither heavy nor too large for her to manage on her own. Unfortunately, she hadn’t counted on the door being shut tight.

With the painting braced against her bent knee, she barely got her fingers around the doorknob, her gloves sliding over it, making the grip a difficult purchase, and then it rotated just enough to push the carved oak away from the frame.

Her reticule bounced against the outside of the door while a little bell on a string clanged against the inside.

A shop aid hurried forward, rescuing her from embarrassing herself further. The boy relieved her of the painting as well.

“Thank you, kind sir. Is Lady Davies here today?”

“Yes, miss. She’s by the pottery. I’ll take this to the counter for ya.”

Truly smiled, nodded, and turned her attention toward the corner of the shop where pottery by local artists lined the shelves. One could not miss Lady Davies’s beautiful red hair or her sunny smile, which befit her name, Sunshine. The woman waved her over.

“Truly, I would have sent someone around for the painting if you’d sent word.”

“And miss visiting? I think not.”

“How was the fundraiser?” Lady Davies unboxed an earthenware pitcher glazed in blue and carefully placed it between a plate and a matching bowl.

“It went as I expected.” She didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth. Her friend had been out of the city at the time, or she’d have been the only one to show. That was one thing Truly was certain of.

Lady Davies pushed a strand of hair from her eyes, distracted by something over Truly’s shoulder. “Dalliance,” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“I came for a vase.”

Truly turned to see the man she’d been looking for standing three feet behind her, a smile on his face, a dimple in his chin that she’d carelessly missed at the ball, and a rather unruly wave of sandy brown hair behind his ear.

He removed his hat, pressing it to his chest as he dipped his head toward Truly.

“Do you know my friend, Miss Hancock?”

“We’ve met,” Truly said, giving him no chance to tell a lie that would put her in an awkward position later. “Two nights ago at the Barstow Ball.”

“How could I forget? You ordered me to toss my cheroot on the lawn.” He turned to Sunshine. “It nearly started a fire,” he finished with his amber-lit eyes outrageously wide.

“Oh, you stop,” Sunshine said, a smile in her voice.

“He is telling the truth, which I guess is not his custom. But I don’t recall the part about the fire.”

He looked to the ceiling, tapping his forefinger to his finely chiseled jaw. “You said I was liable to start a fire.” He turned his lethally mocking gaze on her with a grin that rivaled the Cheshire Cat and asked, “Did I?”

She pressed her mouth into a hard smile, trying to look stern, but couldn’t manage it. “You most certainly did not.”

Lady Davies cleared her throat. “A vase, did you say?” That question was a bit telling, but it was Sunshine’s smile that said it all.

“We’re unpacking several of interest in the back.

I’ll look into that for you if you have time to wait.

Perhaps Miss Hancock will keep you company.

” Sunshine left before Truly could recommend otherwise.

A tremor worked its way through her chest as she dodged eye contact with the duke.

“This looks to be a nice sampling,” she said, tilting her head toward a blue vase that matched the pitcher, afraid to reach a hand toward it in fear she’d lose her balance and tumble into the window of fine pottery.

It didn’t matter, though, since his presence had shattered her composure already.

“I believe I didn’t come here for pottery but to meet a young lady who was too afraid to meet in private.”

“Or too wise.”

“There is that. So here we are, on your terms, Miss Hancock.”

She glanced at him without moving her head. “I honestly didn’t think you’d come.”

“Is that why you invited me?”

Her head snapped up. “I did no such thing. I simply offered a more appropriate place since you didn’t seem to think it prudent to stop sending me notes.” She leaned in, whispering the last part.

His cheerful countenance disarmed her. “Now that we’ve got that bit of business settled. I only wished to join forces.”

She gave him a quick once over, then let her gaze dart over the room as she took a step toward a wall of paintings.

Most of them small enough to take home and hang on the wall for a period of time.

More than a gallery, it was a library for art.

As such, the paintings were arranged from floor to ceiling.

She tapped her lip as if concentrating on the art. “I didn’t ask you here for pointers or advice, Your Grace.”

“I might disagree, but I don’t expect you’d like an exchange here in such a public place.” Now his arms were behind his back, and he rolled on his heels and toes like a buffoon in contemplation over a portrait of dying lilies. “I believe I must have this one.”

She looked at him askance, forcing down a sigh with an embarrassing grunt for the effort.

“No? What do you think the artist was thinking?”

Returning her focus on the dying lilies, she took a severe breath. “It is a self-portrait.”

“How so?”

“Obviously set upon when they realized the futility of a love match.” She turned fully toward him. “This is obviously the bouquet of a jilted man.”

He laughed out loud. “A man? Not a lady?”

“No. It is, however, the bouquet he had ordered for their wedding night, and since she left him at the altar for greener pastures, he could not part with the lilies, and they, therefore, became his prose. His representation of self.”

“Ah, I see. Very sad.”

“A tragedy.”

“Probably deserved.”

She bit into a smile. “Did you paint them or merely know the man who did?”

“On some paranormal plane of existence.” She laughed as he put his forefingers to his temple, closing his eyes and concentrating with his eyebrows squinched. He sighed, dropping his arms. “Your presence seems to be disrupting my stream of thought.”

Did she hear a feather of truth there? “Regardless, I don’t imagine your infamous self will remain invisible to this small crowd forever, so if you’d like to continue, I am open to suggestions.”

“You’d risk being seen with me?”

The words caught in her throat, and she fought to move her lips around them.

“I could use a visit with your brother today. Now, that’s a place we can both attend without censure.”

“No. I…I could not. He…he doesn’t know me.”

The duke snapped his fingers, his gaze shooting over her head. “This one,” he said to the shop boy. “Tell Lady Davies I should like this delivered to her home, where I’ll pick it up later.” When he finished, he pulled her back into focus. “What other errands have you today?”

She swallowed hard. She had only half expected him to show up here, and now she found she didn’t wish to leave. “You cannot accompany me.”

“I don’t intend to.” At that moment, Lady Davies appeared again. “My lady, Miss Hancock wishes an invitation for tea.”

A hasty glance at Sunshine Davies turned up a gleam in her friend’s eye as understanding dawned.

Lady Davies replied, “I would love that. I’m all but done here. What say you, Miss Hancock?”

Truly shifted between her friend and the duke. “I would love nothing more than a visit with you.”

“And, Dalliance, you’re welcome to pick up your perfect vase when you see fit.”

“Not the vase. The painting.” It was the lilies. He wanted the dying lilies. Truly did not know what to make of that.

“S unshine?” Truly asked as she and her friend shared a carriage ride back to the Davies’s London townhome. “Why did you do it?”

“Because he’s a handsome rogue, and I think you like him. I know I do.”

“What will the viscount say, I wonder?” It was a question full of mockery because she knew theirs was a love match. The two had met at a masquerade and instantly fallen in love.

“He’ll say I should stop matchmaking.”

“It’s not a match. Don’t say that. You know who he is.”

“The Duke of Dallimain.”

“The Duke of Dalliance. And I am the daughter of a courtesan.”

“The daughter of a duke.”

“It doesn’t count.”

Her friend shifted in the seat, the brim of her sage bonnet meeting Truly’s yellow bonnet, creating a tunnel between them. “Truly, it counts. It all counts. And I see the way he looks at you.”

“I don’t trust him.” She shrugged her mouth. “At least I shouldn’t. Should I?”

Sunshine chuckled, looping her arm through Truly’s, facing straight ahead like it was Truly’s future that Sunshine saw.

The action to take Truly’s arm was much the same as Genevieve Rutledge’s had been nights ago, only this hold was from a friend.

It felt different in every way. It felt like trust. It felt like family.