Page 86 of The Dueling Duchess

Not that she knew what she’d say to him in ten minutes.

Cecile had begun seeing Nathan perhaps six months ago. They met once a week when he was in the city. He was an industrialist from Bristol and sometimes he did not come to London for weeks on end. Which was why she’d forgotten all about him, because she’d not seen him for a month, not since before Guy had come to work for her.

She’d never forgotten one of Nathan’s visits in the past and didn’t like how guilty she felt. She also didn’t like what she was going to have to do—which was send him away.

What a mess this was; and what a potential for farce.

Cecile went to the mirror to assess her appearance, her mind racing as she tried to come up with something to say to him.

Fortunately, she was wearing one of her nicer gowns as she’d had to meet with her man of business earlier. And because she’d not been engaged in any bookwork—which usually caused her to savage her hair until it resembled a bird nest—her hair was sleek and tidy.

Quit thinking about your hair. Nathan will be up here in less than ten minutes and you need to think of a polite way to put him off. How could she phrase the fact that she needed to cancel any future meetings between them until . . . well, she wasn’t sure when, if ever, they would resume their affair.

It simply wouldn’t be right to entertain a lover with Cat living in the house.

Oh, is that the only reason?

Cecile frowned. No, it was not—there was also the fact that it would be a bit farcical having one lover in her bed while an ex-lover slept down the hall.

So, you’re going to allow Guy’s presence to disrupt not only your house, but also your life? You’re going to allow—

The door to her private sitting room opened and the disruptive man himself walked into the room.

Cecile shot to her feet. “Don’t you ever knock?”

Guy recoiled at her angry tone. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to go out and knock?”

“No! I want you not to have done it to begin with.”

He smiled. “I know you think highly of me, but I don’t have that sort of time-traveling ability, I’m afraid.”

“What do you want?” she snapped.

“What is Whitfield doing in the book room?”

Cecile’s temper—not calm at the best of times—flared. “Who are you to ask about my guests?”

“I—”

“Don’t you have work to do? I know Wilfred was looking for you earlier.” She narrowed her eyes. “Where were you? Don’t you work here? Do you think you can wander off whenever you choose?”

He opened his mouth.

“Get out of my private room,” she ordered before he could speak, charging toward him and making a shooing motion with her hands, as if he were a chicken.

“Fine, fine, I’ll leave. I just wanted to tell you I found a school for Cat, not far from here.”

Cecile paused. “I can’t imagine any school in this area would be a place she should go.”

“Well, you need to broaden your imagination, then. This is operated by the Society of Friends. Marianne assured me it is—”

“You have friends who run a school?”

He chuckled. “No—the Society of Friends is a religious group—they are nonconformists.”

Cecile had no time to listen to his bizarre babbling. “I will go and see this school before we make any decision. You are not to be trusted with such matters.”

Rather than look offended, he smiled. “Good. I was going to take her to see it tomorrow.”