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She gets a determined look in her eye, a stubborn gleam I recognize.
I’ve seen it on Benedict’s face.
“Your grace must approve,” I say, reminding her that rules are still rules, even if we’re deep in the wilderness.
“Mmhmm,” she agrees, amiable, but I know it’s just to get me to let my guard down. My concern is for nothing because as soon as we enter the dining room, his grace is standing by the windows in a white button-down loose at the neck and a pair of jeans, the most casual I’ve seen him. Ever. He turns to us and goes to pull out a chair for Madeline, and then with a glance at me, he pulls out another chair. My heart flutters in my chest as I tuck myselfinto it, his steady hands pushing it under me to catch me.
It might be my imagination because this place feels like a private fairytale, the tall ceilings inviting the mountains in and a log-fire crackling at one end of the room, but I catch him watching me throughout dinner.
Madeline’s conversation is a background bubbling that I try to stay focused on, but I keep looking over at the duke.
And he’s still watching me, hardly touching his dinner despite it being a beautiful cedar-planked salmon with perfectly cooked flesh that flakes up under my fork.
My stomach trembles. What’s going through his mind? I can’t place the expression on his face, even as dessert is served. The cook here has outdone herself for someone managing on her own because Madeline gasps as a cake is presented, deep chocolate frosting topped with a whip of pink flossed sugar on top, so tall it’s nearly bigger than the cake itself.
“Would my lady like to cut it?” The footman asks, offering Madeline a gleaming silver cake knife. Her eyes are wide and she nods, getting to her feet.
The duke sits back, loosely clenched fist resting on the table as he watches her with amusement.
“I’ll have to speak to Cook about spoiling you here,” he says, “don’t expect the same treats at home when we get back.”
“Don’t ruin this for me,” Madeline hisses, grinning like a sugar-fielding maniac as she cuts into the cake, and I have to stifle a snort. Vacation mode has truly set in for her. She cuts a quavery-looking slice and glances at me, not sure how to get the plate across the table to me when her arms are short.
“Let me, my lady,” the footman steps in with kindness, helping her plate the slice, and then walks around to me.
“That was polite of you,” Mason says to his daughter, and she beams.
“Eva gets to eat with us the whole trip, right?” She asks, “because she’s just as good as family, isn’t she?” The footman clinks the dessert plate down in front of me a little more sharply than he should, and the duke clears his throat to change the subject.
“Cut me a slice, won’t you?” Mason asks and Maddie agrees, making sure to pull off some cotton candy for him. He looks amused as the footman delivers him a plate, and we eat in silence, even Maddie too happy over her dessert to say much.
“Reading, then bed,” I say several minutes later, not able to meet the duke’s eyes. He’s gazing at me again, I feel the pressure of his attention like the sun on my skin.
Maddie runs from the room, because apparently being here means she can’t do anything unless she moves at top speed. The duke rises from his seat as I get up, and as I pass him, he holds up a hand.
“Join me by the fire pit outside after she’s asleep,” he says quietly. There’s a slight movement from the footman as his expression flickers. He’s overheard the duke’s request. I don’t know why I suddenly feel naked, but I do.
“Of course, your grace.”
I flee the dining room with as much composure as I can manage and get Maddie loaded into bed.
“You can go,” she says, surrounded by pillows and books, her eyes bright as she cracks open the first one. “I promise I’ll turnoff the light after—“ She glances down at her books, counting them.
“There’s no schedule for tomorrow, so why don’t you stay up late for once and do what you like?” I ask. It’s honestly nice to see her so awake at this time of day, and not drooping like a seven-day-old cut flower.
She beams at me and burrows down into the covers as I let myself out.
In the hallway, the smooth polished floor warm under my bare feet, I take a breath.
What could the duke want?
I start the long, terrifying walk back to the sitting room. The double doors are open out to the deck, and sure enough, the fire pit is lit, flames dancing into the night sky. The mountains in the distance are a thin dark link of blue against the inky universe overhead, and stars, so many of them, scatter in the black above.
The duke is standing by the fire, back to me, hands clasped behind him as he looks out over the lake.
Its surface glitters, and I clear my throat.
“You asked for me, your grace?” I say, not sure what I should be doing, exactly. What he expects of… me.
