Page 29 of How to Tempt a Duke

She looked down at her empty lap. For the life of her she could not recall the feelings the kitten had evoked. But she could make out the perfect seedcake on her plate, and had the sudden urge to nibble a piece before the Duke arrived.

Was that the kind of nibbling Lord Charles had alluded to?

The thought popped in her head, unbidden and unexpected. A newly familiar heat rose in her cheeks. It was rather shameful, really, how often the memory of that conversation played itself in her mind, and the curiosity it aroused.

“Eleanor, have you heard a word I’ve said? What ails you, child?”

Her mother’s admonishment sliced through the endless winding of Eleanor’s wayward musing.

“And why in heaven’s name do you keep staring at your lap?”

“I’m looking at the kitten.”

The words slipped from Eleanor’s mouth before she could stop them, and earned her a baffled, reproachful look from her mother. Fortunately it was at that exact moment that the dastardly Duke of Somersville entered their drawing room.

Lottie’s most important words whispered in Eleanor’s mind: Believe in yourself.

She looked up—but the warm smile gliding over her lips froze and swiftly faded.

For it wasn’t the Duke of Somersville at all, standing before her.

The man who strode proudly into the room, with his fathomless blue eyes and immaculately tailored jacket, was none other than Lord Charles.

Chapter Nine

Damn. Charles had not expected to see Lady Eleanor beside her mother, the Countess of Westix. He was, in fact, so surprised he almost asked why she hadn’t gone to the modiste as planned.

He bowed low to cover his shock. “Good afternoon, Your Ladyship.”

Lady Eleanor’s mother was a handsome woman, with a fine bone structure beneath a face almost untouched by age. Her green eyes were sharp with the scrutiny of assessment.

“Allow me to introduce my daughter—Lady Eleanor Murray.”

Her words were hesitant, as if she hadn’t wanted to say them. He might be a duke, but the Countess found him wanting.

Lady Eleanor offered a smile so hard and brittle it made the baring of her teeth in those earlier sessions appear friendly by comparison. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace.” And by “pleasure” she unmistakably meant not at all anything remotely pleasant.

Rather remarkably like when Charles had first met her.

“Do sit down.” The Countess indicated the empty place setting for him.

Truth be told, he’d rather take tea in the company of vipers at this point than the ladies of Westix Place. The vipers would doubtless prove less dangerous. But he had arrived with a purpose, and he could not back down simply because events had not transpired as expected.

He gave his thanks and settled himself opposite the ladies on a dainty rose-colored chair. “You’ve added new wall coverings.” He nodded to the spread of saffron-yellow silk along the walls, with painted birds flitting about its glossy expanse.

“Several years ago,” the Countess stated dryly. “It’s been some time since we’ve been graced with your company. Would you have some tea?”

Graced indeed. Charles nodded. “Yes, strong, if you please.”

While the Countess’s attentions were otherwise occupied, Charles chanced a glance in the direction of her daughter. Red stained Lady Eleanor’s cheeks and her eyes glittered with a hidden emotion she would not permit her face to convey. Regardless of her hiding what she was feeling, he knew it was not good.

Forgive me, he mouthed.

She cut her gaze from him.

“Your Grace...” The Countess offered him a cup of black tea.

The Countess of Westix did pour a good cup of tea. So long as it wasn’t laced with poison.