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“Not in the slightest, madam. Do show me to my table.”
The proprietor blinked, obviously unable to understand why this slip of a young lady wasn’t concerned about having made aDukeangry. She clearly decided to mind her own business, pasting a smile on her face.
“Of course. This way, Miss Atwood.”
Rosaline’s confident steps faltered as she followed the woman to the table.
The Duke of Keswick waited for her there, and he was quite possibly the most terrifying man she’d ever seen.
It was indeed the tall man in the black coat she’d seen earlier, and he was even taller and broader sitting at a little table in the window as he had been standing outside the shop. This was not a man who needed any padding at all to make him appear more manly. His coat strained about his broad shoulders and wide chest and pulled too tightly against his upper arms. Rosaline was willing to wager that under those layers of material was a frighteningly strong man.
He had black hair, styled practically but not fashionably, and had thick black brows, pushed together in a frown. He was handsome, certainly, but any personal charms he had were quite ruined by his scowl. There was a permanent line etched between his eyebrows, indicating that he spent most of his life frowning.
His eyes were the worst part of it all. He had ice-blue eyes, far too light for his coloring, shining out of his face, ready to kill with a glance.
His clothes were probably extremely expensive, but hardly fashionable. Most gentlemen only wore black coats for business or evening wear, as there were plenty of more colorful, fashionable choices for other occasions.
Not so the Duke. His clothes were tailored to perfection, but there wasn’t a hint of color in the whole ensemble.
No, there was one exception. His cravat was secured with a ruby pin, a drop of bright red among the modest and sedate folds of his cravat. He was staring out of the window, the fingers of one large hand drumming rhythmically against the tabletop.
“Your guest, Your Grace.” The woman said, simpering and smiling. The Duke glanced up at her, with one look of those ice-blue eyes freezing the smile off the woman’s face. She mumbled something, backing away.
Then that icy gaze turned to Rosaline. She forced herself to stand still under it, keeping a genial, placid smile on her face. She wouldn’t apologize for being late, and a gentleman would certainly never mention…
“You’re late.” The Duke said brusquely.
“Yes.” Rosaline answered simply, sitting down without being asked. Maria sat in the chair next to her, eyes down. She was chaperoning and would therefore be more or less ignoring. “I don’t believe we’ve met, of course. My name is Miss Cordelia Atwood.”
The Duke didn’t immediately answer, regarding her closely. “Lateness is generally considered impolite.”
Rosaline smiled sweetly. “And so is not introducing oneself.”
Amuscle jumped in the Duke’s cheek.
“My name, as I’m sure you’re aware, is Benedict McCarthy, Duke of Keswick. It’s good of you to accept my invitation to take tea.”
The proprietor reappeared, looking a little pale at having to confront the Duke again.
“Shall I bring over your order, Your Grace?”
“Ihaven’t ordered yet.” Rosaline said. She had a purse full of coins from Cordelia. If this all went as planned, the Duke would be in no mood to pay for her food.
“Itook the liberty of ordering you tea, Miss Atwood.” The Duke said. “I myself don’t care to eat at this time of the day, and I don’t particularly enjoy sugary treats such as cakes and pastries. I shall be having coffee. Would you prefer coffee?”
“Iwould prefer a large slice of sponge cake, please. Perhaps a toasted sandwich – cheese and tomato will do, thank you, with a baked potato. Be sure to add lots of cheese. Two slices of sponge cake, I think. Would you like a slice of cake, Your Grace?”
The Duke stared at her, unblinking. “I do not like cake.”
“Well, what an awful way to live one’s life. Two slices of cake it is, then. Oh, and the tea, of course. Thank you.” Rosaline smiled up at the proprietor, who was glancing at the Duke as if she expected him to complain about the lengthy order. He said nothing, and the woman bobbed a curtsey and scurried away.
“Isee you brought your appetite.” The Duke remarked.
Rosaline poured herself a glass of water from the jug on the table, taking a deliberately loud slurp. The Duke winced at the noise.
“Ifeel as though I’d hardly eaten well in months, Your Grace.” She set down the glass with an exaggerated sigh, leaning her elbows on the table.
It was oddly liberating.
