Page 36 of The Dueling Duchess

“Not only fluff—probably women, fine horses, and your own pleasure.”

Guy laughed. “Well, it just so happens that I went to university and attended a few classes.” Not many, that was true, but she hardly needed to know that. “I’ve also managed both my family estate and the ducal affairs for several years, so I’m not utterly useless.”

Her dark eyes flickered over him, the look leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “I never thought you were useless.”

He was foolishly pleased that she’d admitted to thinking of him at all.

“What will you do if the tour is canceled?” she asked him.

He opened his mouth, and then closed it and shrugged.

“You still won’t tell me what you and your friends are doing—even though we are on the brink of war?”

“It’s not my story to tell, Cecile. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Will you go back to England? Or will you stay in France for a while?”

“Why would I stay here?”

“You are from here. Don’t you still have family here? Friends?”

She looked away. “No.”

“Cecile.”

She turned back and the scowl she seemed to reserve solely for Guy was on her full lips. “I never gave you permission to call me—”

“Don’t.”

She blinked at the quiet word. “I won’t become your lover.”

It was Guy’s turn to blink. “I’m not asking for that.”

She arched one elegant black eyebrow.

“Fine, so I’ve been thinking about that. A lot. But I said earlier that this was only going to be dinner and I’m a man of my word. Don’t be so suspicious. I’m just interested in you—true, I’m interested in you as a woman,” he admitted when she cut him a jaded look. “But I’m also interested in you as a person.”

She inhaled deeply, an action that did distracting things to the snug bodice of her gown—not that he allowed himself to look. Much.

“I already told you something about me,” she said. “Tell me something about you.”

“I saw the stack of newspapers you keep in the dressing room in London. You already know plenty about me.”

Cecile’s jaw sagged. “Who told you about those papers?”

“I found them.”

“What were you doing digging in my—”

Guy held up a staying hand, astounded when she stopped talking. “If you recall, Marianne enjoys using the three of us like her own personal serfs. She made me clean that room from top to bottom.”

“How do you know those were mine?”

He didn’t want to tattle on Blade, so he asked, “Are you denying it?”

She made a sound like an angry badger. “There were stories about lots of people.”