Page 18 of A Duke in the Rough


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“I understood you had a great affinity for the confection. Perhaps your tastes have changed?”

All the evening’s food selections took on new meaning. Had he tailored the menu to please her? For what purpose? And from whom did he glean such information? Since her parents hadn’t mentioned any such enquiries, she could only think of one other person. Why would he go to such lengths? A small bubble of hope rose to the surface, only to pop when she peeked at Drake and witnessed his display of familiarity with her friends. Turning back to Burwood, she forced a smile. “Itismy favorite, Your Grace. As are all the other dishes served tonight. I apologize if I appeared ungrateful. My appetite seems to have vanished.”

“Are you certain you’re not unwell?” Ashton asked.

She nodded. “Quite certain, Your Grace.”

At least not physically. Yet the duke had no elixir in his medical bag to treat what ailed her. There was no cure for a broken heart.

The library had calledto Honoria all during supper. While the women waited in the drawing room for the men to rejoin them, Honoria waited for an opportunity to escape. Her sanity depended upon it. If she had to listen to Lydia Whyte expound on Mr. Merrick’s enchanting golden eyes any longer, Honoria would surely scream. She inched away from the crowd as surreptitiously as possible.

Charlotte tugged her arm, pulling her to the perimeter of theroom. “Is it me or does that girl only have one thing on her mind? You would think she’s never seen a man before. I think she even surpasses Anne in giddiness.”

Honoria stifled a snicker. “I’m not sure if Anne would consider that an insult or a challenge.”

A rare smile twitched Charlotte’s lips. “Regardless, Mr. Merrick should be on his guard. Both Lydia and Anne seem to have set their caps for him.” She glanced over at the group of women. “The poor man doesn’t stand a chance.”

Truth be told, that was precisely what Honoria feared.

A dark brow hitched as her friend turned her attention back to Honoria. “You seem to have garnered favor with the new duke. How did you find him at supper?”

“Attentive. Eager to please.”

Charlotte laughed. It truly was a momentous day. “You sound like you’re listing the attributes of a new bloodhound rather than a prospective husband. Do you at least find him attractive?”

Although a sharp contrast to Drake’s, Burwood’s dark hair and deep-blue eyes were indeed appealing. Yet, she said the only thing that came to mind. “He doesn’t like to read.”

Charlotte studied her as if trying to determine if she’d said her words in jest. “You’re serious?”

“He told me so himself. And to waste all those glorious books in his library.” Honoria exhaled a wistful sigh.

“Is that where you were sneaking off to before I stopped you?”

Honoria cast her a chagrined smile.

“Go then. If anyone asks, I shall tell them you went back to your room with a headache.”

At long last, with purposeful steps, Honoria slipped out of the drawing room and headed to the magnificent library. Once inside, she partially closed the doors, hoping to conceal herself yet not arouse suspicion.

Walking along the expansive shelves, she trailed a finger across the bindings of the books, quickly reading the titles and authors. Old Burwood, or others who had occupied the ducal manor, must have loved to read, for when she plucked a few random books from theshelves, the pages fell open easily. None were dog-eared—thank goodness—but they had the look and feel of a book well-read and well-loved.

The organization was perplexing. Comedies such as Shakespeare’sAs You Like ItandA Midsummer Night’s Dream,sat beside Miss Austen’sEmma,grouped together by theme rather than by author. Odd. She keptEmmain mind but moved on. She loved Miss Austen’s work, butEmmawasn’t her favorite.

A small section in the far corner held romances. Those particular books showed less wear than the comedies or the tragedies such asAntigoneandJulius Caesar. She pluckedPersuasion—her favorite Austen—from the shelf and settled in one of the large wingbacks.

At last,the interminably long supper ended, and the ladies dispersed to the drawing room for tea. Drake’s face hurt from the forced smile he’d worn for his supper companions—or should he say, Honoria.

She had picked at the food—which he knew well to be her favorites. He’d given specific instructions to the housekeeper, insisting she convey to the cook precisely how to prepare each. Disappointed he hadn’t pleased her, he wrapped two pieces of the chocolate-covered marzipan in his handkerchief, then tucked it into his pocket, hoping they wouldn’t melt.

The men joined Simon in the billiards room for drinks and cheroots, and Drake was no exception. Hopeful fathers hovered around his friend, Stratford among them. Drake almost laughed at Simon’s wild-eyed expression as he parried off each man’s suit extolling the virtues of his daughter.

Viscount Whyte jockeyed for position. And although Miss Whyte had paid Drake an enormous amount of attention during supper, her father no doubt wanted better for his daughter than a lowly man of business. Drake let out a chuff of laughter. If he only knew.

Yet that was the point of the whole charade. He didn’t dislike Miss Whyte. If nothing else, she played a key part in gauging Honoria’sinterest—or lack thereof. Which hadn’t brought him the satisfaction he’d expected. Each time she had caught him flirting with Miss Whyte, Lady Miranda, and Miss Weatherby, a look of such sadness had crossed her lovely face it nearly broke his own heart.

He was a cad.

The room suddenly became stifling. The smoke swirling in the air, theclinkof billiard balls smacking against each other, theplopas they dropped into the pocket, the raucous shouts as one man won a bet and another lost proved too much. He slipped from the room to find peace and solace elsewhere.