Page 58 of Wedded to the Cruel Duke

She dropped the toast onto her plate with a look of surprise. Was he… actuallybanteringwith her?

Fighting to hide her smile, she shrugged her shoulders in as nonchalant a manner as she could muster. “I would beg to differ—physical exertion is most conducive to sleep, or so I have heard.”

“You have heard well, indeed,” he nodded sagely. “But there are other things that could fatigue a body—”

She dared him to finish his sentence with a cutting look placed from right across the table. If he thought he could have his fun at her expense, then he was sorely mistaken!

Was it even appropriate for him to make light of her inexperience?

Fortunately, Charles took the hint and decided not to finish his sentence—but not without a subtle quirk at the corner of his lips.She could tell he was thoroughly enjoying their exchange and the knowledge of it made something delicate unfurl deep in her belly.

If he so much as smiled—a real, full smile—she had no doubt that a horde of butterflies would take flight in her stomach.

He was being insufferable, to be sure, but Phoebe found that she liked this side of him also. Well, there was probably no side of him that she didnotparticularly like, anyway, but that was beside the point.

The most important thing was that Charles was actuallytalkingto her and not about his countless rules at that!

They continued to eat in companionable silence. It was as if they had known each other for so long that words need not be said between them.

Except thatshehad an awful lot of words that she had been longing to say to him.

“You know,” she said, putting her knife and fork down as she looked up at him. “I do not know why we must be at the opposite ends of the world when we sit down for our meals.” She gestured towards their seats at the opposite ends of the table with a rueful smile. “It does get tiring having to shout at you if I want to say anything at all.”

This time, Charles did not say anything. He merely glanced pointedly at the maid that stood a slight distance away from the table and Phoebe wondered if she had just broken yet another rule of his.

If I bother with all the rules he has imposed upon himself and this house, I fear I shall go mad,she sighed to herself.

But if she never spoke out, then things would never change and that was something she was not willing to countenance—not for the long run, in any case.

However, she was grateful for her small victories. After all, every journey began with a single step and she had taken a fair amount of them already. She couldfeelthem both getting more familiar with each other.

The only question was how many steps would it take to bridge the distance between her and Charles.

“Well, that was a wonderful breakfast,” she beamed at him after she wiped her lips with a napkin. “My Mama always did say that a good breakfast made for a wonderful start to one’s day. I suppose she was right.” She looked out the window and sighed a little. “On days like these, we would have picnics in the gardens or by the creek…”

She turned back to Charles, blushing a little when she found him looking intently at her.

“I think,” she smiled wistfully, “that I would very much enjoy going on a picnic with you someday—if you are amenable to the idea of course.”

His eyes widened at her suggestion and she felt her heart sink just a little, but she picked herself right back up.

“You do not have to do it, if it causes you such discomfort,” she told him gently as she stood up. “I hope I see you again at supper this evening, though.”

Her relationship with Charles was a fragile thing, like a flower that had barely managed to unfurl its petals in the soft sunlight. No matter how giddily excited she was, she knew she could not rush him.

These things will take time, she reminded herself.

Fortunately, they both had a lot of that on their hands.

Charles watched her leave first, admiring the slight sway of her hips as she exited the breakfast room. His hands curled over the armrests of his chair, recalling how they had roamed those lush curves last evening. How he still itched to do the same thing all over again.

Well, not exactly the same thing—he wantedmore.

He shook his head as he reached for his half-forgotten coffee, nearly spitting it out when he realized it had gone cold and become rather unpalatable. Watching her feast had become a far more pleasurable activity. Before Phoebe, he could never have imagined that conversing with someone over a meal could be an activity he so thoroughly enjoyed.

“Oh…Her Ladyship has already eaten?” O’Malley looked at the seat that Phoebe had occupied just a few moments earlier.

Behind him, Huxley let out a long-suffering sigh. “We sincerely hope you were nicer to her today, at least, My Lord.”