Intrigue pulled me to the edge of my seat, the impropriety of the situation forgotten. “What do you mean?”
A hand passed over his brow. “Forget what I said.”
“You are the most peculiar gentleman I’ve ever met,” I said, struck by the oddity of the situation.
“And you the most peculiar lady I have met.”
I shook my head. “Surely not.”
“Indeed you are. Though it would be arrogant of me to presume to know you, three minutes in your presence has revealed a great deal. You detest the tedium of the fashionable crowd. You don’t act like a lady when you think you are alone”—my mouth dropped open, but he gestured toward me—“your gloves are off, and with your hair undone, it looks as though your shoulder is aflame.” My bare hand went to my auburn hair, loose about my shoulders. “And you touch—and break—things that are not your own.”
If only I had retreated to my room. There was little to say in my defense. “I am not usually peculiar; I am usually quite ordinary. And ladylike.” I clasped my hands together in my lap.
“How disappointing.”
I raised my brow, uncertain whether he was mocking me. “I am sorry about the figurine. Perhaps I could—”
“I assure you it is irreplaceable.”
“I see. Well, it is my cousin’s fault, you know. If he hadn’t—” I bit my lip.
“Is there another person in the library I’m unaware of?” He looked around as if expecting someone to come forward.
“No, of course not. I only meant he was occupying my thoughts.”
“How inconsiderate of him.” His dark eyes raked over me, flickering with interest.
“Well, no—” I had never felt so flustered. I shook my head. “Oh, never mind.”
A muffled voice sounded through the door. “William, are you in here?” I recognized the voice; it belonged to the duchess, our hostess.
He pointed over to the window. “Quick. Behind the drapes.”
Hardly knowing why, I obeyed. I still did not know who this man was. I pulled the thick drapes around me, trying to hold as still as possible. I heard the door open and quiet footsteps moving and imagined Her Grace entering the room.
“William,” she said in a reprimanding tone.
“Yes, Mother.” His voice softened but still held a trace of annoyance.
“I’m very put out. We have company, yet you insist on hiding away in here. And you, the Duke of Halstead!”
I bit back a gasp. I’d been talking to the duke ?
She went on. “Have you no respect for our reputation? The numbers at dinner were uneven, and there were several people I hoped to introduce you to this evening.” She paused, taking a quick breath. “How much longer do you plan to act like a petulant child?”
The cold from the window began to seep through my dress, and I rubbed my hands along my arms, trying to keep warm.
“For as long as you insist on treating me like one. This is my home. I am the Duke of Halstead, and just once I would like to be treated as such.” He sounded dangerously close to losing his temper. “You know you are welcome here, and I have never opposed your right to invite company as you choose. But I refuse to be your lap dog and come whenever you call.”
His mother sighed. “You are ill-humored, as usual, and I am vastly tired of it.”
“I will not insist you stay.”
A rustle of skirts indicated movement. “What’s this? What happened to Grandmother’s figurine?”
I couldn’t help myself. I edged over to where I could peek around the drapes. The duchess stood at the fireplace, looking at the broken pieces.
The duke stood, leaning heavily on his cane. “I lost my balance earlier, grabbed for the mantel, and knocked it to the floor. I’m sorry, Mother.”
“Oh, Halstead. Is it the cold? I know that makes it worse.”
“I am well enough.” His leg bowed, his knee twisting with each step, as he walked toward his mother.
Watching pained me, but I observed with awful fascination the irony of a beautiful man with such a broken body, unable to look away.
The duchess shook her head. “You are not. I shall call for the doctor.”
“No,” he said fiercely. “Please, just leave me.”
She considered for a moment before nodding. “As you wish.” Her skirts swished as she left.
I made my way out from the curtains, no longer cold but steeped in curiosity. “Why did you lie?” I asked, coming up behind the duke.
He did not turn to face me. “Sometimes a lie is easier to accept than the truth.”
I glanced at the mantel, where the figurine lay in pieces. “I am sorry, Your Grace.” A heaviness in my chest made it hard to breathe.
His hand tightened around the knob of his cane. “Of course you are,” he said bitterly.
“I didn’t mean—”
“You should leave, before your reputation is compromised.”
“But I—”
“It was not a suggestion.”
Tears stung my eyes. Without another word, I walked to the door. I turned back briefly, taking in the shadowed planes of his face as he stared into the fire, then hurried to my room before Aunt Agnes went to check on me there and discovered I was missing.
Chapter Two
Sleep eluded me. I paced the floor of my bedroom before settling into the window seat and pushing open the window. A mist of light clouds obscured my view of the stars. I stared up at the slow-moving haze as my mind combed through everything I’d heard about the duke and the whispered rumors of his accident. Had it been a riding accident? I remembered someone mentioning he was rarely seen in public. The very fact that he’d not attended tonight’s dinner—even in his own home—said much.
Finally, I climbed into bed. I lay in the darkness and stared up at the ceiling, trying to recall any other details I’d heard about the duke, but it was useless. Aunt Agnes had prattled on about the castle and its revered owners for hours in the carriage yesterday, but I’d ignored her, preoccupied with the awkward tension that had accompanied the breach between Robert and me.
Now, for the first time in weeks, my mind fixated on something new—my unexpected encounter with the duke in the library. Our interaction left me with a strange mixture of guilt and anger. The man was perplexing. Intriguing. I’d never met anyone quite like him. It felt like hours later when I fell into fits of half-sleep, wondering whether the whole thing had been a dream.