“An associate of my father’s, maybe?”
The butler shrugged. “I don’t know, Miss Maxwell. He’s in the drawing room, and… most insistent on being greeted. He said it was urgent.”
An associate of my father’s… An urgent matter.
Valeria jumped up, hope sparking in her heart as she hurried to dust the dirt from the knees of her skirt and dispose of her gardening gloves. Smelling of rosemary and thyme, her head dizzy with the buzz of bees and the honey-warm glow of the spring sunlight, she raced into the house through the kitchen door.
“Tea, Mrs. Mitford,” she instructed urgently as she passed the cook. “A tea tray, if you please. A few cakes if we have them! I believe we have a very important guest!”
There was no time to change her attire as she ran through the echoing hallways, despite realizing that dusting her knees had only made the mess worse. Still, if she explained and apologized, perhaps the visitor would be kind enough to ignore the dirt.
What if this is what we have been waiting for?
Clutching tightly to that fragile hope, praying it would not shatter, she rushed the rest of the way to the drawing room.
She paused outside the door, pushing an unruly lock of auburn hair out of her face, and dabbing the perspiration of her efforts from her brow with a handkerchief. With a breath to compose herself, she strode into the room with a welcoming smile on her face.
It faded the moment she saw the man standing by the window, a dark feather in his hand. He had shed his tailcoat. His muscular arms and broad shoulders were haloed by the golden sunlight, his shirt sleeves daringly rolled up to his elbows, and his waistcoat tight across his athletic torso. A man who had already made himself at home inherresidence.
He is a duke? Of course he is…It all made sense now. Naturally, a man so confident in his own power and influence would feel no guilt in handling the reputations of young ladies so carelessly.
“You are not an easy woman to find, Miss Maxwell,” Lockie said, sliding the feather into a vase of lavender that she had picked a couple of days ago. “I suppose I should not be surprised; youare not someone who seems to want to be found by gentlemen, considering your opinion of marriage.”
Valeria frowned at him, hesitating just inside the room. She knew she should remove herself, or ask him to leave, but her feet remained anchored to the parquet. As scandalous as he was, he knew a lot of eligible gentlemen.
“I have no grim opinion of thegoodkind of marriage,” she told him evenly. “It is a nuanced matter, and one that I have no desire to discuss with you. You should leave, Your Grace.”
“Leave? Heavens, no.” He smiled, moving to sit on the settee. “I have only just arrived, and we have business to discuss.”
Valeria skirted around to the opposite settee, staying behind it. “We do not. My stance has not changed since the other night—I need no repayment for something I did not do.”
“My stance has not changed either,” he replied blithely. “My honordemandsthat I repay you. You cannot escape this, so you may as well tell me what it is you want as recompense. There is very little that I cannot give. Name your price.”
She huffed out a frustrated breath. “You should not be here, Your Grace. My father is away, I am alone, and this is most unseemly. Perhaps, you should discussthatwith your supposed sense of honor.”
“It would make no difference.” He stretched his arms along the back of the settee, lounging and smirking, as if this were all a game.
Valeria’s gaze flitted to his muscular chest, the strength of his bare forearms, the confident manner in which he carried himself. Arrogant, in truth, and evidently used to getting his way. Still, and most infuriatingly of all, she could not deny that he was, at least, interesting.
“Why do you care?” she asked bluntly, wandering toward the window in the hopes of distracting herself with a different view.
“About you?”
She glanced back sharply. “Pardon?”
If he thought she would be tricked like other ladies, he would be sorely disappointed. He didnotcare about her. She knew his turn of phrase was nothing but a card in his game of flirtation, probably used so often that it was dogeared, and she had no intention of playing along.
I see right through you, Your Grace.
“You are asking why I care about you gaining what is owed, are you not?” He smiled with wolfish entertainment, confirming her suspicion. At this point, she suspected that most ladies would start to blush.
Valeria would not permit him the satisfaction, grateful that her cheeks remained cool. “Precisely. Why do you care, when I have stated again and again that it is unnecessary?”
“You are asking the wrong question.”
She took a calming breath. “Then, what questionshouldI be asking?”
“You should stand before a mirror and ask, ‘Why amIfighting this so much?’ It is not as if I am asking anything from you.” He grinned, drumming his fingertips on the upholstery. “Come now, Miss Maxwell. Humor me. What would you like? What are you lacking? What do you need? What would be an equal price for the hassle you spared me?”
