Left alone in the cavernous hallway once more, with only the ominous tick of the nearby grandfather clock to break the crushing silence, she took in her surroundings. It was always fascinating to witness how the other half lived and if this impressive hallway was any gauge, the Duke of Debden lived in the most glittering of gilded cages. She counted two Rembrandts, a Titian, and a Gainsborough on the walls of this luxurious marble hallway alone, never mind the impressive bespoke masterpiece gracing his grace’s entire palatial ceiling. What sort of person had a mural of Mount Olympus piercing the fluffy white clouds of the sky, complete with every ancient-Greek god imaginable floating around it? The sort who believed they were on a par with the mighty Zeus, that’s who! A man so full of his own piss and wind that she despised him already.
Sight unseen.
Another painful twenty minutes ticked by, which also did not bode well as clearly Miss Strictland was holding his interest, and Portia had pretty much given up all hope.
This was pointless.
A hiding to nothing.
A fool’s errand.
A complete and utter waste of her time.
The most sensible course of action would be to quietly leave and thus save both herself and the pompous duke from the inevitable misery and disappointment of this pointless interview. She stared longingly at the front door the same moment a fluffy, white Persian cat wandered down the hallway toward her. It had mismatched eyes—one brown and one blue—and neither looked impressed as they stared at her in judgment. Portia held out her hand and made a kissing noise to attract it over to pet it, but the cat merely watched her efforts with disdain before it turned around, lifted its tail, and showed her its backside, which she supposed just said it all.
Then Miss Strictland reappeared with a smug grin. “That wentverywell. But then I knew that it would be impossible for his grace to ignore apersonalrecommendation from his good friend the Marquess of Teignmouth.”
“Congratulations,” said Portia, her stomach sinking, but she forced a polite smile regardless. “I take it he offered you the job?” Because if he had, then she had an urgent appointment with that front door as she had wasted enough time here already.
Her rival went back to looking down her nose. “Obviously he couldn’t offer it to me on the spot as he has one last candidate to see.” She flicked her finger dismissively Portia’s way. “Good luck, Miss Pendle.”
“It’s Kendall. Portia Kendall,” said Portia to the woman’s retreating back and then, under her breath muttered, “you ungracious old hag.”
It was, however, that ungraciousness that forced Portia to stay. She had never been good with being underestimated, and Miss Strictland’s dismissive behavior, combined with that of the equally snooty cat, lit the familiar fire of rebellion in her belly. Nothing riled her more than being underestimated. Ready for battle and determined tobe victorious, Portia sat straighter in her seat and waited for the clerk to return and take her to the duke.
Then she waited.
And waited.
When the grandfather clock chimed and signaled that she had now been waiting for another hour, it confirmed that she was on a hiding to nothing. Worse, the rude wretch hadn’t even had the decency to send one of his minions out to tell her!
How dare he treat her as if she did not matter!
Because she mattered! And having inherited privilege and blue blood coursing through his veins was absolutely no excuse for being so rude!
Fuming, she stalked to the front door and was about to open it when a deep voice made her jump. “Miss Kendall?”
She spun a guilty circle and found herself confronted by a man.
A very handsome man.
With deep golden brows furrowed over the most startlingly deep blue eyes that she had ever seen.
He was flanked by two dogs who were both regarding her with interest too. One was a large and wrinkled mastiff with enormous brown paws, the other was a dainty ginger Cavalier spaniel.
“I am sorry to have kept you for so long.” Those mesmerizing eyes flicked from her to the front door and back to her again as if he couldn’t quite believe that she had had the nerve to try to leave. “Something urgent came up that I had to deal with. Can you still spare me a few more minutes of your time for an interview?” A question that was finished with a smile.
An amused, devastating smile that was bracketed by a pair of unexpected and totally disarming dimples.
“Y-yes, of course.” She wasn’t sure whether it was the dimples, the eyes, or his broad shoulders that were the cause, but her mouth seemed to suddenly be filled with wool. And her pulse…
Much to her complete disgust, it had ratcheted into a gallop.
For a bloody despicable duke!
A despicable, sandy-haired, handsome devil of a duke in his prime!
Oddly ill at ease in his own study for some inexplicable reason, Leo pretended to reread Miss Kendall’s letter of application while his thoughts went to war. He had been convinced that Miss Strictland was the ideal candidate to chaperone his exasperating sisters before they exasperated him some more. Hence, a full week after his mother had deserted him, battered and browbeaten and with his already frayed nerves practically shredded, he was forced to acknowledge that he had bitten off far more than he could chew and needed to hire a reinforcement.
