Mercy shook her head. “I can’t.”
“You can’t?”
“No. I’ve caught something.”
The duke’s stormy eyes followed the length of her arm down to her bonnet, then he raised an eyebrow. “What, exactly, have you caught?”
“Awee eejit.” Embarrassment from being sprawled out in such a position in front of the duke, who had so obviously been enjoying some time with Miss Morgan—made her voice come out like Bridget’s. Jittery nerves made her Irish, apparently.
The duke tipped his head to one side and offered her a hand. She wanted nothing more than to take it and stand up, but the rustling inside her bonnet made her shake her head. “I only just managed to catch the poor thing. It’s injured, and it needs to be returned to its enclosure.”
“The wee eejit?” The dangerously low and rough quality of the duke’s brogue sounded much more authentic than her own had been, and something about his ruffled appearance, plus the Irish tone in his voice, made her face heat.
Why had she called the bird an eejit? Why couldn’t she speak like a calm, collected woman, who simply happened to be lying prostrate on the ground, holding a bird in her bonnet while staring up at a devilish duke who enjoyed ravishing pretty much any woman but her? She swallowed. She could do better. “It is a bird. Its wing has been injured, and I thought it needed help.”
The duke heaved a deep sigh and strode through the bushes, ignoring the way they caught on his trouser legs. He scooped up her bonnet, bird and all. He folded the edges of the bonnet together in one hand to keep the bird inside, then offered her the other.
This time, she gratefully took it.
As soon as his hand clasped over hers, he pulled her up brusquely. The force lifted her into the air, and she fell forward into him.
He didn’t let go of her hand, nor did he step away. His chest rose and fell twice, hard and impenetrable. Her breathing quickened, but somehow it matched his.
“I—” He cleared his throat, and his hand tightened around hers. “I was worried about you.” He let go of her fingers only to splay his hand against the small of her back and press her to him. “Out of my mind, actually. I cannot lose another person I...” He didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. “Thank the heavens you are all right.”
Mercy had been held by men before. Lots of men. Always while dancing, of course, but still, being held by the Duke of Harrington shouldn’t be so different, even if his head was pressed against hers. But it was. There was no music, no movement, just the two of them alone in this corner of the world.
She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments and considered imitating Miss Morgan’s laugh. What would happen between the two of them if she did? Isn’t this exactly what she’d wanted from him? For him to hold her and show her that he didn’t just want to court and marry her for what she could do for him politically, but because he cherished her and found her desirable as well?
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No, I simply...” She simply what? Wanted to remain in his arms longer? She lifted her head away from his and searched his eyes for anything more than concern. But she couldn’t read him. She didn’t know what that look of tenderness was, not for certain. Perhaps he’d dreaded telling her parents she’d been lost, or perhaps he worried about her being left alone and her reputation being ruined, making her of no value to him and hispursuits.
If that was what made his face go soft and his eyes darken into burning coals, he mustreallywant to be respected by the members of Parliament. The way he searched her face for any cause of harm was like a magnet, drawing her closer to him, lifting her chin until she was once again only inches from him. Or was his face dipping down toward hers? She wasn’t certain which of them was moving, but the six inches between their mouths reduced to four and then two.
The Duke of Harrington was about to kiss her, and she hadn’t even tried to giggle. Her breathing was uneven, and he must have noticed, but if anything, it only seemed to spark a fire in the coal of his eyes. She’d never seen a reaction like this from a man before, but it was exactly what she’d been waiting for. Her eyes slid down his face to his mouth and then made the mistake of dipping lower and catching sight of his cravat, still loose and unraveled from his time with Miss Morgan, and her body went rigid.
The duke froze, the fire in his eyes extinguished immediately, gone, as if it had never been there in the first place. His arm dropped to his side, and he stepped away abruptly. With a hard swallow, he glanced at the path behind them, the mouth that had been so soft and inviting only moments ago was now a deep frown etched into his face like it was made of unyielding granite.
The world went cold.
Mercy tried to paste on a smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace. Much like the grimace on the duke’s face. “I’m sorry I worried you. We should return to the others before Penelope sends all of London’s constables to find us.”
The duke blinked and stepped back again. He was at least four feet from her now. Was she really that repellant to him? He shook his head slightly and managed to break through the stone of his face enough to bring the edges of his lips upward.Whatever look had been in his eyes when he held her tight against him was gone. What she had mistaken as a fire of interest in her must have been something left over from his time with Miss Morgan.
Hopefully Miss Morgan had managed to resurrect whatever needed rekindling with the Duke of Harrington, because Mercy didn’t have the stomach to push them together again. She was done trying to sabotage her own courtship. The duke and Miss Morgan needed to commandeer those duties from now on.
They started back down the path, keeping several feet between them as they walked. The duke kept her bonnet lifted and out to the side, careful to not open it up or let the bird out.
Mercy let out a sigh, trying to convince herself it was a natural one. “Mama is going to have a fit when she sees my bonnet.”
“I’m sorry.” The duke’s voice was soft but still raw and low, as if he hadn’t used it for too long. “I fear I have damaged it.”
Mercy laughed. “I believe I was the one who damaged it. Don’t worry, Your Grace. Her concern won’t actually be with the bonnet; she will only worry about the fact that I have acted so badly around you.”
“Because you removed your bonnet?”
“She will have to pretend that our family cares about our complexions, when in actuality, we don’t. There was no chance we won’t get Mama’s freckles, and her mother was completely insufferable about it, so she was determined not to pester her daughters about their skin. But she may have to pretend in front of you.”
