“I understood perfectly,” the Duke interrupted. “And my answer is no.”
“But why?” Joan couldn’t keep the bewilderment from her voice. “This would help so many children. It would cost you nothing. Surely you can see the benefit?—”
“I can see the benefit perfectly well.” There was something almost amused in his tone now. “And I still decline to grant your request.”
Joan’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I don’t understand. If you recognize that this would be helpful, why would you refuse?”
“Because I don’t feel like it.”
The casual dismissiveness of those words sent a flash of pure fury through Joan’s chest. Children’s futures hung in the balance, and this man was refusing to help simply because he “didn’t feel like it”?
“Your Grace, I am not asking you for money,” she said, fighting to keep her voice level. “I am simply requesting permission to use a building that is currently sitting empty?—”
“I heard you the first time.” The Duke shifted in his chair. “And the second time. My answer remains the same. Jenkins!”
The door opened and the butler appeared, along with two footmen.
“Please escort Miss Sinclair from the premises,” the Duke said.
“No, wait!” Joan protested. “Your Grace, please, if you would just?—”
But the Duke was already standing, the cat cradled in one arm. He reached out with his free hand, feeling along the edge of the chair, then took a step toward what Joan assumed was a door on the far side of the room.
His hand encountered empty air. He hesitated, then reached out again, patting the space in front of him as though searching for something.
Joan watched, her anger momentarily forgotten, as the Duke took another careful step forward. His movements were cautious, uncertain in a way that seemed entirely at odds with the confidence in his voice.
He was looking for something. Feeling for something.
And then Joan saw it, walking stick, leaning against the wall several feet to his right. Too far for him to reach without knowing exactly where it was.
The Duke took another step, still holding the cat, still reaching out blindly. His hand swept through empty air again, and Joan saw frustration flash across what little she could see of his face.
He can’t see,she realized.Or at least, he can’t see well. That’s why the room is so dark. That’s why he moves so carefully.
The footmen were already approaching her, ready to escort her out. In moments she would be ushered from the room and the door would close on any hope of securing the hall.
Joan knew she should go quietly. Should accept defeat with grace and dignity.
But she had never been particularly good at accepting defeat.
“Perhaps, Your Grace,” she said clearly, her voice cutting across the room, “you would benefit from having someone assist you. It might improve your rather rude temperament.”
The footmen froze. The butler’s expression shifted to one of pure horror.
And the Duke stopped moving entirely.
The silence that followed was so complete that Joan could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears.
What have I done?she thought, panic beginning to claw at her throat.What possessed me to say such a thing to a duke?
“Stop,” the Duke said quietly.
The footmen immediately stepped back.
The Duke turned to face her. He set the cat down gently, then began walking toward her. He walked with more confidence now, as though her voice had given him a direction to follow.
As he emerged from the deepest shadows into the shaft of sunlight streaming through the un-curtained window, Joan finally got her first clear look at his face.
