"Yes?" Nancy called, more sharply than intended.
Edith Mercer entered, a pale blue note in hand. She curtsied, eyes serene, as if she had not just interrupted a tableau fit for the private prints of Soho.
"Forgive me, Your Grace," said Edith. "This arrived just now. Wilks was not at hand, so I thought?—"
She offered the envelope, perfectly balanced on her gloved palm.
Nancy accepted it, eyeing the governess. "Thank you, Miss Mercer. Is there something else?"
Edith shook her head, that maddeningly bland smile unshaken. "No, Your Grace. Only—Clara is asking for you."
Oscar made a choked sound, muffled as a cough.
"Very well," said Nancy. "I will see to her in a moment."
"Thank you, Your Grace." Edith retreated, shutting the door behind her.
Nancy stared at the envelope. No wax, no crest, only her name in a hand she did not recognize.
Oscar, standing at her shoulder, said, "Is it from your mother?"
She turned it over, searching for a clue, but the paper was perfectly ordinary. "I doubt it," she said. "My mother never writes without including at least three self-portraits and a recipe for scones." She peeled back the flap and pulled out the letter, careful not to tear the paper.
But she did not open it. Not yet.
Oscar watched her, eyebrows raised. "Are you going to read it, or will you stare it into submission?"
She smiled, then set the letter on the desk. "Later. I have other priorities at the moment."
He glanced at her, a question unasked.
Nancy shook her head, resisting the urge to lean back into him.If I let myself become that woman, I’ll never recover. I will bethe sort of wife who moons about in the hope of a kind word or a soft look. Absolutely not.
She cleared her throat and pointed at the stack of papers between them. "You have just ruined my focus for the next two hours."
He gave a small, satisfied nod. "That was the intention."
She tried to look annoyed. It did not work.
He stepped closer and bent over her shoulder. "I meant what I said, you know," he murmured, voice so low it seemed to vibrate through her. "You are remarkable, Nancy. I do not know how I survived before you."
She felt her pulse spike. "You survived perfectly well. By all accounts, you were the most unflappable Duke in the kingdom."
He shrugged. "Perhaps. But it was very dull."
She could not reply to that, so she turned away, pretending to be absorbed in the balance sheet. Oscar, undeterred, stood behind her, arms braced on the desk, trapping her in place. She could feel the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing.
"Are you going to kiss me again?" she said, without looking up.
"I have not decided," he said, but his hands were already at her shoulders, sliding down her arms with the sort of care that felt both clinical and utterly improper.
She twisted in the chair to face him. "You are impossible," she said.
"And you are?—"
"—magnificent, yes, I heard you the first time," she snapped, but she was grinning.
He bent and kissed her temple, then her jaw, then the corner of her mouth. Each time he stopped, as if giving her the chance to protest. She never did. On the third attempt, she gave up and kissed him back, catching him off guard.
