Page 66 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

“Twenty-six… twenty-seven…”

Her Grace’s voice could be heard clearly now, and Hector felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up in response. It was not the carefully restrained voice she used when asking whether Aurora had eaten or whether the baby had slept. This voice had warmth in it, and mischief, and an ease that seemed almost indecent within his walls, leaving him feeling unsettled.

“Twenty-eight…”

He followed her sweet sound.

At the far end of the passage, Aurora giggled and struggled to silence herself. Hector turned his head toward the sound and caught a fleeting impression of motion low to the ground.

“Twenty-nine…”

Despite his frustration, he decided to ignore Aurora’s hidden shadow and continued looking for the duchess. She stopped counting, and Hector was surprised to realize that he did not need her voice because her scent left a trail as well.

It was strangely intoxicating and simply so… Poppy.

Hector stopped again, briefly this time. It was absurd that he should know the jasmine scent in the air belonged solely to her.

“Thirty! Ready or not, here I come!” Her voice suddenly surrounded him.

There was laughter, then a rustle of skirts. Hector moved toward the doorway from which her voice had come. The room was brighter than the corridor, and for a moment the shape inside dissolved into pale glare and dark silhouettes. He saw the motion of a slender figure as she turned and was nearly upon him.

Her breath caught. She tried to stop herself from crashing into him, but one foot slid, and she lost her balance. Hector moved before thinking. His cane shifted to one hand while the other closed around her wrist as he caught her.

For an instant, all the noise in the house seemed to recede.

“Oh,” Her Grace breathed.

She was close enough that her scent and heat enveloped him. Her body halted against the force of his hold, and he felt the fine bones of her wrist beneath his fingers, the warmth of her skin, and beneath that, the quick, unmistakable, racing beat of her pulse. It struck against his touch as if it were trying to escape, and Hector’s own heart answered.

They both froze, holding onto each other and recognizing the rhythm between them.

I should release her.

But he did not because it felt right, although it was too much contact for propriety’s sake.

Her breathing had changed, and he heard how shallow and controlled it had become. That knowledge slid under his skin and made him feel as though he were on fire.

Is she some kind of witch?

The thought came with such irritation that it almost steadied him. No woman should be able to disarrange a man merely by standing too near.

She spoke first. “Hector.”

He released her at once, but the absence of her wrist from his hand was displeasing.

Hector cleared his throat and closed his fingers around the head of his cane. “Would you care to explain what is happening in my house?”

Her posture shifted when she heard the tone of his voice, and he saw the lift of her chin. “We are playing a game of hide-and-seek.”

“I gathered.”

An awkward silence followed.

Her Grace lowered her voice and leaned closer to him. “Then I am not certain what requires an explanation?”

Hector breathed her in again, and his thoughts scattered. He had to concentrate, and that felt impossible with her. Especially after he touched her searing skin.

He took a deep breath and spoke in a cold tone. “The fact that the house sounds as though a circus has been granted tenancy.”