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“I have.”
“I have not,” he said with feeling. The strength in his tone made her pause and look up to him from the door. He was standing close to her, reminding her of what they had shared in the library. The memory of it was torment for part of her longed to experience that thrill in his arms. The other part of her knew that it would be a deceit against him.
“Why are you so angry at me?” he asked. “I genuinely did not mean to damage your dress.”
“Because you are showing a shocking lack of respect for me, Your Grace,” she whispered hurriedly, looking up and down the corridor to ensure no one could see them together in such a way.
“Respect? Oh, I respect you; it is merely that such a feeling is being overridden by another at this moment,” he said, just as quickly.
“What is that?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. Silence descended between them just as his eyes darted down to her lips. For one minute, she had been certain he was going to kiss her again. His gaze lingered there, and he even angled his head to her; she could feel it was seconds away.
“You have not answered my question, Your Grace,” she whispered to him as he leaned even closer to her.
“I could answer it by showing you,” he murmured. She could feel his lips so close that she was aware of the feeling of his breath on her cheeks. Despite knowing she shouldn’t, her eyes fluttered closed, and she tilted her chin up, waiting for the kiss.
Before it could happen, there was a sound of a door closing nearby. Hermione snapped her head away, turning to see the source of the sound. At the far end of the corridor, she could see a maid’s shadow moving. Realizing how she had nearly been caught kissing the Duke, she had to take action.
She tapped the Duke’s arm away from the door. He jumped back dutifully, allowing her to pull open the door and hurry inside. Once the door was closed behind her, she found his jacket still about her shoulders.
She turned and opened the door again to find the Duke looking back at her with his eyebrows risen. “Changed your mind?” he asked.
She didn’t answer; she merely threw the jacket back at him. He caught it in a fuddle. When she closed the door once more, she could hear his chuckle as he retreated back down the corridor. She placed a hand to her chest, feeling her erratic breathing, and she was aware of the panic coursing through her body.
What am I doing? Shouldn’t I be happy that he nearly kissed me? It is what my father wants?!
She didn’t feel happy now. She felt cruel.
* * *
Antony was trying to readThe Modern Prometheusin the library when he heard the door open. He looked up, half hoping that the person disturbing him would be the same one he was trying to distract himself from.
That morning with Lady Hermione and the near kiss they had shared was lingering with him, tormenting him. On the one hand, he longed to come out from his hiding place to see her and experience the same thrill of their flirtation, but, on the other hand, he knew such a thing was dangerous. It was a strong attraction; it could lead nowhere good.
“Antony?” His mother’s voice made him sink back down into the chair with that hope dissipating. “There you are. I have been searching every hook and cranny for your whereabouts,” she said with a smile as she tottered toward him.
He smiled instantly, charmed by his mother’s errors in such matters. “Nook and cranny, mother,” he said softly.
“What?” she asked, none the wiser as she took the chair beside him, near the fireplace.
“The phrase is nook and cranny,” he said, chuckling.
“Oh,” she looked most confused, screwing up her brow. “Your father never told me as much.”
“I know,” he said, still smiling. It was something he had always found quite heartwarming about his parents’ relationship. His mother might not have had the brightest of minds, but his father adored her, nevertheless, and her casual errors never bothered him. He was simply charmed by them.A sign of true love: to have one’s faults adored by the other.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” he said, closing the book cover and placing it on his lap.
“You are avoiding our guests,” she said, pointing at him with her eyebrows arched. “You were barely at dinner, and now you have not seen them all evening.”
“I am enjoying my book,” he said, holding it up for her to see. He’d been rereading it ever since he found Lady Hermione reading the book, and he was enjoying it more than the last time he’d read it. Rather intriguingly, he had found a bookmark within the pages, evidently placed there by her.
“You are not avoiding them on purpose then?” Rose asked, tilting her head to the side. “For example, you are not avoiding Lady Hermione, are you?”
He froze slightly, stunned his mother had been so perceptive of him. “No,” he lied quickly.
“She is a charming lady,” Rose smiled, leaning toward him and gushing. “So elegant and kind; I like her a great deal.”
