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“What? Oh! Of course.” He peered across the street to the shop in question. “Why, I like a good watch myself,” he mused. “Mayhap I’ll join you.”
Damn and blast. But she was a master at handling difficult people; hadn’t all her years visiting her grandmother and all her time spent in London taught her something of that? “But we could not possibly take you away from the other ladies,” she said with mock dismay. “Why, I was certain the viscountess had something important to ask you, though for the life of me I cannot recall what it was.”
The man, greedy eagerness lighting his eyes, turned toward the dowager. No doubt he would pester Gran until she came up with something to placate him. But Margery could not feel an ounce of guilt. Her sole concern in that moment was to get the duke as far away from Mr. Pickering as possible.
“Your Grace, if you’ve a mind to view the watches in question?”
The poor man looked positively ill. But he nodded and followed her across the street. They stepped around some young men loitering on the walkway and moved up to the window. The next minutes were spent in blessed silence, each of them buried under their own thoughts. Margery surreptitiously gazed at the duke’s reflection in the glass. Was encountering men like Mr. Pickering and his tactless questions a common occurrence for him? No wonder he was so on guard all the time.
He spoke then, his voice quiet but gruff. “I must thank you, Mrs. Kitteridge, for your intervention.”
“Think nothing of it, Your Grace.”
“You will perhaps think me rude when I insist on thinking a great deal of it.” He turned to her then, and though his eyes still held ghosts, he smiled at her. “You have already proven to be my guardian angel, and here we are not two days into my stay.”
She flushed at the sight of that smile, the scar near the corner of his mouth making it endearingly lopsided. “I do hope I didn’t offend Your Grace by interfering.”
“Not at all. You were only being kind.” His smile faltered then. “I think I’m prepared for such questions,” he murmured, looking over his shoulder, presumably to make certain Mr. Pickering was still on the other side of the street. “But then something like that occurs and I’m completely caught off guard.”
“You deal with such horrid questions often?”
“More than you know.” He gave a humorless chuckle. “There’s something about the ‘glory’ of war that gives men the idea that it’s all trumpets playing while you march forward in sparkling clean uniforms and cut down the opposing army like a farmer scything wheat.”
Such was the way Aaron had thought of it. Margery recalled the grin on his face when he’d kissed her goodbye. His certainty when he’d told her he would return before she could even miss him.
Her heart gave a pitiful lurch at the memory. How very wrong he had been. Before she knew it, she had placed a hand on the duke’s dark wool sleeve. Though she wasn’t certain if it was to give comfort or to receive it. “I’m sorry you’re forced to deal with such unfeeling behavior.”
His features softened, his gaze dropping to her fingers. Then his large hand covered hers, the warmth in it sinking down into her very bones. “You’ve nothing to apologize for.”
She looked down to their joined hands, fascinated by his scarred fingers, the blunt nails. How had she not realized until just that moment that he had not put on gloves? She suddenly wished she were not wearing gloves, either. How long had it been since a man had touched her?
A vision rose up in her mind then, of this powerful man lowering his head to hers, taking her lips in a kiss…
She pulled her hand back, as if burned. And perhaps she had been, for she felt ridiculously hot just then, in every part of her.
Blessedly he didn’t quiz her on her reaction. Yet he stepped closer, his voice lowering to an intimate rumble.
“I believe you have much to teach me, Mrs. Kitteridge.”
Such words only fueled the lingering ache of desire in her. Oh, yes, there were all manner of things she could teach him. Her gaze snagged on the harsh line of his lips. And quite a few he could no doubt instruct her on, as well. She swallowed hard. “Teach you?” she managed weakly.
“How to navigate in society. While searching for a bride.”
It took her some seconds to understand what he was saying. And just as many seconds to overcome her embarrassment enough to answer him. “Yes, of course. Your bride.” She gave a laugh at that, the sound almost manic to her ears. “What else would it be?”
He gave her a curious look but seemed to shake it off quickly enough. “Thank you again, by the way, for taking me on. I had my doubts at the outset, as I’m sure you’re aware. But now I find I’m quite grateful to have you in my corner. I can use all the help I can get, apparently.”
Her heart twisted at the self-disgust just barely visible in his gaze. “I will help you in any way I can,” she said quietly.
His expression shifted again, like the sand after the tide, revealing something that had been hidden until then, an intensity that drew her like a moth to a flame.
What the devil was wrong with her?
She cleared her throat. “Miss Pickering, though unconventional, would make a fine wife, I think. Are you opposed to me adding her to the list of prospectives? If, that is, her parents haven’t frightened you off.”
He appeared lost for several seconds until, with a small shake of his head, he answered. “Ah, Miss Pickering. I’m afraid I didn’t have any time with her, but if you think she might make a fine wife, then I am not opposed. I’m certain any in-laws I might obtain will not affect my life much, after all.”
She gave a small laugh at that. “You obviously do not know how marriage works. I assure you, any family attached to your future wife will have an impact on you. Especially the Pickerings, who have been anxious to see their daughter marry a title. You’re a duke; I’m sure they will happily make themselves regular visitors to your estate.”
