Page 5 of A Family Bargain with the Duke

He was tall in a way that made the room feel smaller for his presence in it, broad through the shoulders without a hint of softness anywhere about him, and his coat fit as though it had been cut with the specific intention of proving that fact beyond doubt.

Dark hair, unfashionably plain, green eyes that settled on her with an attention so complete it felt almost like being assessed for purchase, and a face that would have been called merely handsome on a lesser man but on him was something closer to formidable, all sharp lines and unhurried authority. He did not smile in greeting.

Oddly, Louisa found that she did not mind it.

Well, she dipped into a curtsy with rather more care than she’d intended to give it. That partially explains why half of London’s matrons speak his name in that particular hushed tone.

“Your Grace.” She rose from her curtsy, meeting his eyes, refusing to let whatever her pulse was doing show anywhere on her face. “Thank you for receiving me.”

“Please. Sit.” He gestured toward the chair opposite his desk and waited until she had settled before taking his seat, which she noted as the sort of small courtesy a man performed either from genuine breeding or from having been drilled in it so thoroughly he no longer thought about it.

“You wrote that you have heard I am fluent in sign language,” she said, before he could claim the opening for himself. “I should tell you plainly, before we go any further, that the answer is yes, and I would rather establish that fact now than have you spend the next quarter hour working your way toward the question.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Not quite a smile, but its distant cousin. “Direct.”

“I find it saves time. You strike me as a man who values his.”

“I do.” His gaze held hers a beat longer than strictly necessary. “Would you demonstrate? I am afraid I must ask. I have had two governesses claim fluency but who knew at most a dozen words.”

“A reasonable request.” Louisa’s hands rose without hesitation, moving through a short sequence, quick and sure. She lowered them and translated without waiting to be asked. “I said, a duke who does not trust easily is a duke who has likely been disappointed before. Which I offer as an observation, Your Grace, not an accusation.”

His eyebrows lifted fractionally. “You are quick.”

“A great deal of practice.” She folded her hands in her lap, willing them steady. “My grandmother was born unable to speak. I learned her language before I properly learned my letters.”

“Where is she now?”

“With the Lord.” A brief pause, then folded away before it could linger. “She would have found this conversation vastly entertaining, incidentally. She had strong opinions about dukes.”

“Favorable ones, I hope.”

“She reserved judgment until she’d met one properly. I find I am inclined to do the same.”

And so far, she thought, watching the faint, reluctant amusement move across that severe mouth, he is doing considerably better than I expected of a man whose reputation suggests he has never smiled in his life.

He rose then, crossed to the window, and turned back to face her fully, and whatever ease had crept into the room a moment before receded into something more careful.

“My ward is eight years old. His name is Christopher. Kit, to those who know him, though there are fewer of those than I would like.” His voice stayed even, controlled, the voice of a man accustomed to holding difficult things at arm’s length. “His father was my closest friend. Three years ago, Kit watched him die in a riding accident. He has not spoken a single word since.”

“Three years is a long silence.”

“It is.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I have brought in physicians, tutors, two governesses who was recommended by three separate households. Every one of them has failed. My brother, who is a physician, mentioned that some children who stop speaking after severe shock have responded to sign language, given as an alternative until they are ready to use their voice again. It is not commonly practiced in England. When I heard there was a young woman fluent in it, I confess I did not expect much.” His eyes found hers again, unflinching. “I have learned not to.”

“And yet you wrote to me.”

“I had run out of better options.”

“That is the most honest thing anyone has said to me in a fortnight.” Something in her chest eased toward him, unwilling but genuine. “Thank you for not dressing it up as anything nobler.”

“I am not given to dressing things up, Lady Louisa. It wastes time, and I have very little patience for it.”

“Good. Neither have I.” She drew in a slow breath, and felt the whole shape of the next several minutes settle into place ahead of her, considered and unavoidable. “Before I answer, Your Grace, I must tell you something about myself, because it bears directly on any arrangement you and I might make.”

“Go on.”

“I have a maid. Had a maid,” she corrected, and something sharp moved through her before she could stop it. “Her name was Nell. She had been with me for four years, and in that time, she became more than a maid to me. A friend, though the word feels insufficient. She fell in love with a young gentleman who meant to marry her, but he died before the wedding. She discovered shortly after that she was carrying his child.”

He said nothing. He only watched her with an attention so complete she found herself absurdly grateful for it.