She watched, fascinated, frozen with the scent of adventure under her nose.
“You can move the book now, but don’t move your feet.”
Without thinking, she reached to pull her gown over her toes.
He jumped up and grabbed her hand before she could finish. “I want to see those feet.”
“It’s indecent,” she said without conviction.
He watched her like an artist, and she supposed he must be one. He sat again. “My dear, your feet are the least indecent thing about you while you hold that book.
She cocked a brow at him, plunging ahead with a devil-may-care half smile. “You never answered why you came here in the middle of the night, Cade.” She said his name with pleasure now because this little tête-à-tête called for more daring than she’d ever shown before.
He glanced at her from under his thick black lashes when she said his name, a pleased smile curving his mouth, stirring her to wonder what a real kiss would feel like. And she knew that this man was capable of giving nothing less than the perfect, roguish kiss.
“You’re blushing, and I didn’t bring my watercolors. Tsk, tsk. What a shame.” With his pencil held flat at an angle, he shaded in what she imagined must be her cheeks. His touch now moved light and feathery across the page, his forehead a serious pinch between his eyes. He looked lost.
“What are you sketching to have such a mark of concentration across your brow?”
At first, he said nothing, his mouth open with a shallow breath. Intensely engrossed in his task, his eyes shimmered like mist on a foggy day.
She took advantage of his preoccupation to enlist the part of him buried beneath his fixation. Truth comes at times like this.
“Are you ever going to tell me your name?”
“I did,” he said absently as he dipped his chin with a slight tilt, examining some part of her anatomy and giving her gooseflesh.
“What about your family? Do you have siblings? Parents?”
He paused, his back smoothing into a straight line again. “I have half-brothers and half-sisters. I couldn’t tell you how many.” He flipped a page and ground the pencil into a shape, like changing brushes. “My father died when I was a boy.”
She felt her cheeks deflate into a frown. She’d lost both her parents and knew how difficult that could be. “I’m very sorry.”
He paused again, longer this time. “It was a good while ago. Don’t be sad for me. I want that winsome smile back, and I command it so,” he said in a deep vibrating voice. “Or I’ll have you reciting more essays.” His body exuded joy when he put the pad and pencil back to use. The activity made him more real, alive, sharp, devilishly handsome. She felt the involuntary pull on her cheeks.
A smile.
“Don’t move.”
“May I speak?”
“Of course.”
“It must have been difficult for your mother being left alone to raise young children.”
“One child. Me.” His answers were succinct but no less unproductive. There was much in what he didn’t say.
“I thought you had siblings. Did she remarry?”
He chuckled at that. “My mother? No. My mother barely married my father. After I was born, they lived as divorced, staying legally wed for the sake of”—he held the pencil back, looking at her now—“of propriety and show. They had separate homes and many lovers.” His comments were almost an afterthought.
She moved to sit up. “Oh. I’m—”
He sighed. “Don’t apologize again. I was young, and it was all I knew, so it seemed perfectly normal. It’s also not uncommon. To be so unhappy and stay under the same roof would have been a greater disservice to me.”
“And your half-siblings?”
“Some lived elsewhere, several with my mother, none with my father, and all raised by governesses. And they generally hated me because I was not a bastard, although that didn’t keep my father from calling me one. Which just sounded hypocritical since the man undoubtedly sired bastards all over England.”
“That sounds awful. And sad, whether you’d like to say so or not.”
He shook his head, his eyes rolling shut. He breathed out his past in a long sigh. “I’m not affected by it. I know who I am.”
“And who are you?”
They had fallen into a complicated conversation. One that Cade generally avoided at all costs, and pity was the reason why. He also didn’t wish her to be unhappy on his account. She’d carried enough on her shoulders in the past year.
And she wanted to know who he was? For the love of God, he was the Duke of Justamere, who’d come to secure land and pretend to be a solicitor.
The task should have been easy. But he hadn’t planned on knowing her. Or liking her. Or worse, harboring an attraction, which seemed to be a problem for them both if he read his women correctly. And he usually did. Giving his proper name for a surname had been foolish, but how could he know she would mistake him for someone else? Like wondering about these things exonerated him in any way.
He rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. “Who I am is a story for another time.”
“You haven’t worked with the League for long, have you? Not that I think you incompetent.”
He chirped a laugh, shaking his head.
“Truly. I’m sure you’ve worked for other firms. I’ve no complaint at all, it’s just that most of the time, you look as if you’ve misplaced something.”
Like his mind.
“You’re correct when you say I haven’t been with this firm long. And I do feel out of place.”
“I don’t want you to feel that way. I thought staying here would make it easier for you, but I understand if you’d rather remain in town.” Her statement was threaded with disappointment.
“In truth, I didn’t want to stay. But now, I’m glad I did. Otherwise, I’d have missed all this.” He rolled his hand, indicating the place where she still sat. “You’re rather lovely, my lady, and I don’t think you know that.” His words were a thoughtful caress, and he meant them all.
A forlorn shadow fell over her, and her gaze slid away.
“I’ve bungled things and made you uncomfortable. I assure you that was not my intent. Sketching you was inappropriate, and I promise to behave in future.”
She licked her lips, unfolding her legs from under her and stretching her toes. Those bare-naked toes. He went to her and put out his hand to help her stand.
“You haven’t misbehaved.” She fisted her toes into the thick carpet. “I didn’t bring slippers. And by the way, Cade, I have not enjoyed myself so much in quite a long time. It’s been hell living here. Don’t misunderstand, I’m grateful to Henry for what he did, or tried to do, but I’m not certain it will make any difference. His family has never welcomed me even though I’ve never done a cruel thing to them. I don’t think I’ve ever done a cruel thing to anyone. I was just a poor girl whose employer took pity.”
“It wasn’t pity, I assure you.”
“That’s kind of you to say, but unnecessary. And”—she bent to retrieve the book—“this is going back where it belongs.” She cocked a wry brow. “Unless, of course, you’d like to take it in hand?” The double meaning was clear.