Page 20 of Disciplined by the Duke
“Good afternoon, Miss Smith. Lovely day.”Lovely day?He sounded like a fool, too.
“Uh, yes, Your Grace.” She bit her lip. “It’s my free afternoon. I’m not shunning my duties.”
She also wasn’t popping up to her feet to curtsy her master, he noted. Marcus settled himself on the soft grass beside her, hiding a smile when her eyes grew even larger. “I didn’t come to berate you. Don’t concern yourself on that account.”
“Why did you come?”
Damn. Why did he come? He couldn’t tell her he wanted to look upon her face again. Trace her figure with his eyes. His gaze flicked down to where her rump met the soft earth, to the curve of her breasts pressed against her legs.
He frowned. Had she lost weight since her arrival? He didn’t think Mr. Todd worked the servants that hard.
A tiny furrow appeared above her nose. “Your Grace?”
Ah, yes. Why he’d come. “I was merely making a circuit of my estate and saw you sitting here.” He shifted on the ground and stuck one leg out to lie flat. After a moment, he brought it back in and stuck out the other one. How did she look so at ease sitting on the ground when he couldn’t get comfortable?
“Oh.” She faced the brook, her hands clenching the pages of the open book.
Clearly she was uncomfortable. And why shouldn’t she be? It was most unusual for a lord, let alone a duke, to speak to a maid. At least not during the daytime hours. Marcus knew many peers who saw their female servants as nighttime playthings. He tugged down at the hem of his jacket with both hands. He hoped she didn’t think he was trying to engage in such behavior. Yes, she was enjoyable to look at, but he would never toy with someone under his power.
The silence between them thickened, became almost tangible. He waited. Waited for her nerves to force her to speak, for her body to give away her emotions in some mindless fidget.
She was as still and silent as a statue.
He tapped his thumb against his thigh, saw what he was doing, and stilled his hand. Christ, he was the one filled with nerves. For the first time, he was the one who couldn’t bear the silence. Tipping the cover of her book up, he read the title. “Les Jardins? Do you enjoy the works of Delille?”
“I haven’t decided yet. This is the first I’ve read of him.” She tipped her head, the brim of her hat blocking her face. “This is one of your books, Your Grace. You did say your library was open.”
The corners of his mouth tugged up. So this was one of the books she’d gone to so much trouble to borrow that night. A volume of French poetry.
He paused. His chambermaid read French poetry. That wasn’t usual, even for a duke’s household. He tipped her hat back, wanting to see her face. The straw concoction slid off her head and landed on her back, pulling tight the pink ribbons that were joined in a bow under her chin. “Sorry,” he muttered, tried to right the bonnet. It didn’t want to sit on her head properly, so he pushed down on the crown more firmly. The straw bent under his fingers, and he cursed.
“I apologize, Miss Smith. I believe I’ve ruined your bonnet.”
She unlaced the ribbons and took the dented covering off her head. “That’s all right, Your Grace. It wasn’t worth much.” She pushed at the crown from the inside and managed to remove most of the depression. “There. Good as new.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Well, good enough to serve its purpose.” She resettled the hat on her head, smiled at him from under the crooked brim. His heart skipped a beat. “It blocks the sun and that’s all I need.”
A woman who needed so little. He was used to simpering chits and maneuvering widows whose hats generally had more feathers than the birds they plucked them from. But his little maid cared for the functionality of an item instead of its appearance. How refreshing. That didn’t explain why Marcus had the urge to buy Miss Smith a new hat, something elegant and expensive.
Something a woman in her situation would never have an opportunity to wear. He sighed.
“How did you come to learn to read French?”
Miss Smith flinched at his abrupt question. “I suppose how anyone does, Your Grace. A man my father knew spoke French fluently and taught me and my sister. She speaks it much better than I.” The brim tipped down, brushing her knees.
“Where is your sister now? Does she have a similar situation?” He’d only meant it as a friendly inquiry, something to keep the conversation flowing. He didn’t expect the woman to bolt upright and slam the book shut. He rose to his feet and stared down at her flushed face, curious.
“Yes,” she said tightly. “Something similar.” She brushed a hand down her skirts, shaking them out. “Now, I must return, Your Grace. Thank you for the loan of the book.”
She turned and started walking up the hill, away from him.
Without waiting to be dismissed.
He caught up and took her elbow. “Wait a moment, Miss Smith. I didn’t intend to make you uncomfortable.”
“Nor did you. It’s merely time for me to leave.” She tugged her arm, but he didn’t release it from his clasp.
