“Well you tell me—you must have seen the portrait? The enormous one hanging above the fireplace in the drawing room.”
Portia gaped at him, so shocked by that unexpected revelation that she forgot herself. “I thought that was you!”
“See,” he said shaking his golden head in amusement. “My point is proved. There is absolutely nothing original about me. I am my father’s son through and through. Not that I am complaining because my father was—” Then he frowned. “Wait…” His blue eyes narrowed. “You thought that I was so vain that I actually hung a giant portrait of myself above my own fireplace?”
“I… um…”
“Oh I see!” He sat back in his chair and folded his arms, those mesmerizing cornflower eyes twinkling. Looking utterly disarming thanks to his pillow-mussed hair and the day-old, burnished-gold stubble on his chin. “Now it all begins to make sense why you didn’t like me. You had me pegged as vain and self-absorbed.”
“I… um… wouldn’t say that…” But as he was laughing, she couldn’t help sniggering too, seeing as he didn’t seem to have taken the slightest bit of offense at her assumption. “Perhaps I did formsome opinions of you that weren’t correct on the back of that interview.”
“Ah-ha!” He pointed at her. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to judge a book by its cover, Miss Kendall?” His cover now, thanks to just the thin, untucked linen shirt and breeches, was about as un-ducal as it was possible to be, and heaven help her but it suited him. Somehow more than the well-tailored coats and silk waistcoats those garments were usually covered by.
“In my defense—you did keep me waiting for almost an hour and you did as good as offer Miss Strictland the job beforehand, so I thought you were wasting my time.”
He leaned on his propped hand across the table, staring deep into her eyes with such hypnotic intensity that, for a moment, she clean forgot he was a duke. “What changed your mind about me?”
“What makes you think that I have?”
“You are talking to me, Miss Kendall, rather than glaring. And…” He flicked a finger in the direction of her face. “Your smiles aren’t false anymore.”
“Yesterday,” she said honestly. “With the cat, the bird, the fall, the books, and…” In for a penny, in for a pound. “In the way you dealt with the constable.”
“Constable Nolley would try the patience of a saint.”
“Everything about yesterday’s debacle would try the patience of a saint, but you managed to deal with it all—with the exception of your pathetic swooning at the blood—with remarkably good grace.” Then, because the irony amused her, she added, “Your grace.”
“Ah yes…” He winced. “I ampatheticallynot good with blood after a bad experience with it. Try not to judge me for it.”
“We all have an Achilles’ heel.”
“What is yours, Miss Kendall?”
Currently, it was clearly a delightfully rumpled, blue-eyed, dimpled duke who refused to fit the mold, whose company she was enjoying more than she ever would have thought possible. “By all,I obviously didn’t mean me, your grace. I am too wily, tenacious, determined, unflappable, unbelievably stubborn, annoyingly clever, and fearless to have any sort of weakness. And even if I did, I am too proud to admit to one.”
“They say pride comes before a fall, Miss Kendall, and I have always thought dignity is overrated.”
“Maybe so, but I shall cling to mine regardless.”
“Spoilsport.”
“What bad experience?” The question popped out unbidden because she not only wanted to move the subject away from her, but because she was curious. “If it isn’t too impertinent to ask, of course?”
“Abigail fell out of a tree and broke her leg as a child. Badly. There was blood everywhere. All my fault. I was a stupid, distracted sixteen-year-old and I took my eyes off her and she nearly died as a result. Haven’t been able to abide the sight of it since.” His nose wrinkled and he dropped the last crust of his toast before he pushed his plate away. “Not my finest hour.” She wanted to ask for more details of that accident, especially why he blamed himself for it, but didn’t because his gaze now looked haunted enough just by the memory.
“I suppose that explains why you are so protective of your sisters now.”
“That combined with their uncanny ability to dive headfirst into trouble. They are both much too reckless and always act before they think.” Then he pinned her with his stare. “You are a girl, Miss Kendall, so you will know the answer. At what age will they grow out of it?”
“I suppose that depends very much on the person. I daresay some will always be reckless if they believe it is right to be.” Much like herself. Portia knew all the risks associated with her involvement in the newspaper, knew how harsh the consequences could be if she ever fell foul of the law, yet took the gamble anyway.
He folded his arms, drawing her attention to the tanned skin of his forearms. “That is not the reassuring answer that I was hoping for.”
“If you had specified that my answer was meant to make you feel better, I wouldn’t have answered honestly, your grace. I shall try harder next time you ask me for my opinion to only say what you want to hear.”
“Urgh.” He huffed. “Please don’t. I get enough of that from everyone else. Aside from my sisters, of course, or my mother.” He pulled a face when he said the word “mother” as if she were somehow more of an irritation to him than his rebellious sisters were. “Have you any idea how frustrating it is to be constantly fawned over and flattered? Or worse, constantly lied to by pretty much everyone who swears the oath in court to tell the truth and nothing but the truth then does nothing of the sort. Trust me, Miss Kendall, when you are burdened with the titles of both duke and magistrate, genuine honesty is a rare gift indeed. So I beg you, even if I do not like it, continue to always be completely and refreshingly honest with me.”
Guilt and shame swamped her because she could never be completely honest with him and had lied to him more times than she cared to count already. “That won’t be hard as I am apparently very opinionated, your grace.” That “your grace” instantly reminded her that, despite how affable and easy he was to be around, he was still both a duke and a magistrate so she probably should keep her often controversial opinions to herself. And as such, it would not do to ever be too cozy in his company. No matter how much she was enjoying it.
