Rebecca snorted. “Thatmightbe true, but they are never close enough to know. It is hopeless, truly.”
“And I shall be there too,” Teresa said more quietly, her gaze lowered. “If my brother allows it. Indeed, I was hoping to speak with you—you never did send those volumes you promised. The Norse tomes.”
Duncan smacked a hand against his forehead. “You are quite right, Lady Teresa. I shall write to my staff at Thornhill this very afternoon and have the books sent to my townhouse. I assure you, I will not attend dinner without them in my hands, for your diligent perusal.”
He knew Vincent’s sisters better than the rest, from summers spent at the Grayling Estate in his youth. Indeed, he had practically watched them grow up, which ruled them out completely in his search for a bride. Lionel’s sister, too.
Teresa blushed with delight, flashing a shy smile at him. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
He knew it was not the blush of someone with an infatuation, not unless the affection pertained to mythical stories written in a language that so few understood.Thatwas Teresa’s true love, and they would soon be reunited.
“What will you send for me?” Prudence muscled in, not one to be left out. “I do not see why these debutantes should get everything, while I am leftgaspingfor attention.”
Duncan chuckled. “I doubt you have ever been short of attention, Lady Prudence. Nevertheless, how would candied fruits serve you?”
“A whole box?” Prudence prodded.
“If I am not tempted to eat half first.”
The younger girl grinned. “Perfection! I accept!”
“And who might you be?” Duncan turned a cooler gaze on the dark-haired young lady who had nearly reared his horse. “I do not believe we have been introduced.”
The young lady smiled frostily. “Not introduced, no, but I know who you are.” She paused. “I am Beatrice Johnson. Cousin of dear Valeria, and defender of her honor and integrity.”
“You thinkIpose a threat to such things?” he replied bluntly, taking an instant dislike to the girl.
Beatrice shrugged. “If rumor is true, absolutely.”
“Beatrice!” Valeria chided abruptly, her cheeks now a vivid shade of raspberry. “That is no way to speak to a duke, nor one who is such a friend to our group.”
Beatrice cast a smile at her cousin. “Forgive me, I did not realize he was of such importance.” She looked back at Duncan, her eyesharboring a fierce warning that surpassed her youthful years. “I must have mistaken you for someone else.”
Had it not been for the obvious adoration that Beatrice had for her cousin, Duncan would have been tempted to scold her in a way that would ensure no repetition. But, in the same way that he would not harm a guard dog for defending its owner, he found he could not punish Beatrice for her rudeness.
She is protective. That is a good thing. That is how familyshouldbehave.
Besides, he was not oblivious to his reputation.
“Yes, Miss Johnson, I believe you must have me mistaken,” he replied instead, in an even tone. “Dinner it is, then. I look forward to seeing you all, and I promise I shall have those tomes delivered, and that box of candied fruit waiting. Anything for you, Miss Johnson?”
Beatrice glared at him. “Nothing material.” Her expression softened for a moment. “Actually, maybe you might bring your horse, so my cousin can enjoy that ride. I may partake too, if you are not averse.”
“Consider it done,” he said, patting the stallion’s muscular neck.
With that, the picnic party broke up. Amelia and Isolde began fretting over their children, who had been left in the care of their fathers and grandmothers, which spurred the rest into action.Blankets and baskets were gathered up, Duncan helping where he could, and it was not long before the ladies were on their way.
Offering his farewells, Duncan hung back for a moment, his attention trained upon Valeria. Seeing her toward the rear of the group, pausing to pick up a fork that had been waylaid in the grass, he seized his opportunity.
Using Zeus to conceal them from nosey members of society who might see them, Duncan caught Valeria by the hand and pulled her to him. Her back bumped against his chest, a sharp breath catching in her throat.
Dropping his head, he whispered close to her ear, “Come to me tonight. My townhouse.” He murmured the address, inhaling the sweet, soap scent of her skin. “Perhaps, you might wear something red.”
“What?” she gasped, breathing hard.
“It catches a man’s eye,” he replied, smiling. “You would look lovely in it. Dark red. The color of port.”
Valeria yanked her arm out of his grip, whirling around with fury in her eyes. “Do not presume to tell me what to do, Your Grace,” she shot back in a hushed voice.
