She could hear the unmistakable tap of boots.
But were they villainous?
“Ah, if it isn’t the Duke of Crane,” the familiar voice came, and Rosilee stiffened. Yes, they were very villainous indeed! “Fancy meeting a duke at a place like this.”
“Dukes are people, too,” came the clipped answer.
“Of course. However, forgive me for pointing this out, but I heard you were a serious recluse.”
She’d almost forgotten. The duke had ties to Baston, and their exchange suggested they were far from being on friendly terms, which could be considered promising for her. But doubt had a curious way of slithering into a person’s bones. Had she made the right decision to accept the duke’s help?
“Do you have company?” Baston asked.
“I don’t.” Curt.
“Really? Are you sure?”
Rosilee’s heart pounded, recalling her tankard of ale, still on the table, an irrefutable indication of company. Her blood chilled. He wouldn’t... he wouldn’t peek under the table, would he? Discovering her crouched there, like a rabbit caught in a trap?
Her chair scraped as Baston pulled it out more and sat down. “Then you don’t mind if I join you for a drink?”
The duke’s retort came swiftly. “I do.”
She minded, too!
The chair groaned under Baston’s weight, mocking her. Rosilee bit her lip and shrank back from the pair of feet that joined, trying not to breathe too loudly. The duke shifted, the fabric of his trousers brushing against her as he stretched his legs, subtly reinforcing the barrier between her and discovery.
Lord above, how had she gotten herself in such a dangerous, not to mention compromising, position?
“Are you always this rude?” the duke said in a low growl.
Rosilee glared at Baston’s rotten leg. She could just imagine his oily smile.
“I’m a man of many talents, Your Grace. Rudeness is only one of them.”
“You should add obliviousness to your list. You are trespassing on my space.”
Baston’s laughter made Rosilee’s skin crawl.
“Why so defensive, Your Grace? I was merely hoping for some pleasant company. A man can get lonely on the road.”
What lonely? The man must be accompanied by his entire legion of henchmen! She burned to steal a glance at the duke, to read his expression, but she didn’t dare move.
“Some company,” the icy response came, “is not worth entertaining.”
Baston’s chair creaked, and Rosilee flinched, swallowing her breath.
As if sensing her dread, the duke’s leg nudged closer, and drat, her breath stayed trapped for an entirely different reason.
Honestly!
How had her day come to this?
Damnation. Damnation.Damnation.
Blake sat half frozen, half on fire in his chair, the effects of Rosilee’s nearness seeping into all the wrong places. Confound it, what did he do wrong to end in a position such as this?
What did you do right?
