She grimaced. “I know, I’m a freak, an eccentric.”
Did she have no idea how very appealing she was? “Not in the least. A little eccentric, possibly, but the aristocracy rather values its eccentrics. Say rather that you are apersonality.”
She laughed then with genuine humor. “Trying to butter me up, duke?”
“No, I doubt it would work anyway. You’re not very good at accepting compliments, are you?” And now he’d learned more of her story, he could see why. Brought up to think she was useless?
She looked uncomfortable.
“If I told you I find you refreshing, enticing and quite entrancingly beautiful, you wouldn’t believe me, would you?”
“Of course not.”
“Then I won’t tell you. I’ll just have to think it.”
She gave him a doubtful look, unable to decide if he was serious or not. She probably thought he was mocking her. He’d never met anyone with more of a sense of herself, yet at the same time, so lacking in vanity. Though now heknew a little more about her upbringing, it was starting to make sense.
“Tell me about this Martha.”
Her brows knotted in surprise. “Martha? You want to know about Martha?”
“You’re giving her a farm, I’d like to know why.”
“Not a farm, just a house and the small bit of land surrounding it. It’s still called Willowbank Farm, but it’s not a farm.”
His arm lay across the back of the seat. Unthinkingly he began stroking her nape again.
She jumped. “Stop that. It’s—it’s distracting.”
“Distracting? I’m not distracted,” he lied. Having her so close, soft and relaxed, that velvety nape just inches from his fingertips—it was pure enticement. But she was all look but don’t touch.
“You’re distractingme.”
“Oh, you. You dislike it when I do this, do you?” He stroked her nape again.
She shivered and hunched her shoulders as if to dislodge his hand. “I said, it’s distracting.” So, she didn’t dislike it, she just found it distracting.
He hid a smile. “Good.” Her transparent honesty, her unwillingness to lie, even on such a subject—especially on such a subject—delighted him. The number of women he’d known who’d claimed his every touch, his every move was ecstasy, even as they feigned pleasure... And here was his prickly little George, wishing to pretend otherwise but unable to lie.
She turned her head indignantly. “Good?”
“As long as you don’tdislikeit... Now, tell me about Martha.”
“Not until you remove your hand.”
He moved it down to her arm and started to stroke the silky skin in the inside of her elbow.
“Stop that. Put your hands in your lap,” she ordered.
He placed his hands in his lap. “So, Martha?”
Her expression softened. “Martha is a dear. She was the closest thing I had to a mother, growing up. She began asmy nursemaid, and later became my cook and housekeeper. But she was always more than that. She taught me my manners, taught me my letters, taught me everything—did her best to make me a lady, even though I resisted all the way. But unsatisfactory though I was, she never stopped loving me. Even when the money ran out and there was nothing for food, let alone wages, she stayed with me.”
“No money for food?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know why the allowance from my father stopped—it was long before he died—but it did. Perhaps he thought I was old enough to support myself—I was sixteen. We had no way of contacting him, but we managed. We grew vegetables and there were eggs, and of course I hunted.”
“Hunted? But I thought you objected to—”
