Briefly, she thought he would smile, but then his expression tipped, teetered, and went the other way. The lightness around him evaporated so completely that it practically sucked some of the warmth out of the room.
“I’ve seen more than enough of the world, Miss Turner,” he said, voice full of ice. He put the tumbler down on the table beside him with a very final sort ofclink. “I suggest that you do not seek to see more of the improper side of life either. I suspect that you will find things that you do not wish to uncover.”
There was such vehemence to his tone that Phoebe was taken aback, literally so—she retreated a step toward the door, then watched as the Duke regarded her with a kind of savage satisfaction. His icy words hadn’t been emotionless just then. By contrast, they had been sharp, the kind of ice that cut and sliced.
“I—I’m sorry,” she said reflexively, not even certain what she was apologizingfor. It wasn’t for being in the library—no matter what persnickety dukes might maintain, she was well within her rights as a guest to be there.
But she sensed that someone needed to tell this man that they were sorry for whatever was hurting him, and she’d learned to trust her instincts.
A muscle moved in his jaw, and he looked away to gaze into the grate.
“Go back to bed, Miss Turner,” he said, any emotion wiped from his voice. “I mean it. You already know I could carry you there myself if need be.”
Phoebe knew he was trying to scare her off with that little jab, but knowing as much didn’t stop it from working. She didn’t dare risk the kind of thoughts her mind could conjure if he carried her again.
So, even though it made her a coward, she turned on her heel and fled, her heart beating a furious tattoo in her chest all the way back to her bed.
Aaron didn’t miss the navy, not generally speaking, but as he listened to Turner prattle, he thought longingly of the days that he could make anyone who irritated him go scrape barnacles offthe hull of the ship until their hands bled and they thought better of ever bothering him again.
If there was anyone who deserved that treatment, it was Lord Turner.
“And I simply cannot apologize enough,” he continued. Aaron disagreed. The man had apologized enough about seven apologies ago. Though in truth, Aaron suspected that Lord Turner wasn’t really trying to make amends as much as he was seeking Aaron’s absolution.
If that was what he wanted, he would be waiting forever.
“Phoebe is tempestuous. I hate to say it about my own daughter—” Aaron would bet his last pence that the man did not hate to say it. “—but she has been that way ever since her mother died. A pity, truly, but one never can predict how a young girl will react to such a loss. And Phoebe always has been such a sensitive soul.”
He said the wordssensitive soullike they tasted foul.
If Lord Turner had a bit more sensitivity, Aaron thought, sipping his tea, he might have realized about five minutes ago that Aaron wasn’t responding to his ceaseless bloody chatter.
“But Hannah is a good girl. She’ll be an honorable wife for you. And I have no doubts—none at all, not a single one—that shewill settle into her role once she is out from under Phoebe’s influence.”
Every time Turner insulted his elder daughter, Aaron ground his back molars together a little harder. It was appalling, the lack of loyalty that the man showed to his own child. His move was obvious—he was trying to convince Aaron that Miss Hannah was still worth accepting, even after her flight the night before. He really did understand that.
But denigrating Miss Turner wasnotthe way to get into Aaron’s good graces.
He was as annoyed by that as anyone else.
Annoyancereally was the primary emotion that Aaron had experienced since Miss Turner—and her family, of course—had arrived in his home yesterday evening. He had been annoyed when Miss Turner had raced off into the snow. He’d been annoyed at her strange silence at dinner—though that was one that he should have enjoyed.
But by far, the thing that irked him the most was that hehadn’tbeen annoyed or frustrated or anything of the like when she’d shown up in his library when he’d been on his third scotch, his defenses down.
No, his first reaction had been pleasure.
And then—somehow even more idiotically—he’d been worried that she would be cold.
It was only when she’d teased him about seeing the wider world that he’d remembered to feel the way that he ought.
“Yes,” Turner continued, nodding to himself. “Hannah is fine duchess material. I’ve always known she was the better of the two. Really, I ought to have sent Phoebe away years ago, but I do have a father’s tender heart.”
Aaron almost snorted in reaction to that.
He did manage to hold the sound back in time, but the comment escaped him.
“You do seem keen to blame Miss Turner for Miss Hannah’s disappearance,” he said, letting himself enjoy the way Turner’s mouth snapped shut so quickly that it was almost audible. Obsequious little toad. “But as I recall it, it was Miss Hannah who left, and Miss Turner who tried to bring her back.”
Turner blinked only once before returning to his litany of excuses.
