Page 15 of Yours Truly, the Duke
Fredericka turned toward the doorway and saw her housekeeper. “Yes, Mrs. Dryden.”
“Mr. Maywaring is here to see you. Should I ask him to wait in the music room?”
Fredericka looked back to the duke.
“Maywaring?” he asked with questioning eyes that seemed to want to delve too deeply into her soul.
“A prospective husband,” she admitted with no small amount of sudden dread, and surprisingly feeling a little guilty that she hadn’t told the duke about him right away.
The duke’s mouth thinned. A deeper frown returned to his face. He muttered a near-silent oath. “I don’t think you have time for a cup of tea, Miss Hale.”
CHAPTER 5
LINES TO A BELLE
FOR THE ORCHIS
—O. W. HOLMES
Yes, lady! I can ne’er forget
That once in other years we met;
Thy memory may perchance recall
A festal eve—a rose-wreathed hall.
He had unexpected competition.
Slightly bemused, Wyatt studied Miss Hale with heightened concentration. She was everything Epworth said she was and 100 percent more. His interest in her was acute and stimulating beyond anything he could have imagined. He’d caught the scent of wildflowers drifting from her skin when she’d moved in so close to him he could have pressed her lips beneath his before she had a chance to blink.
And he had been tempted to do just that.
He didn’t know how he’d stopped and held himself in check. Perhaps it was an inner sense warning that he needed much more from her than a single kiss. Surely that’s all he would have ever gotten from this miss had he followed his primal urge.
The fragrance of field flowers had surprised him. He would have guessed, and been wrong, that she would use rose water. Perhaps lavender. Seldom was he fooledwhen it came to a lady. Or a woman. Miss Hale looked so prim and sedate in her pale-amethyst dress with its modest neckline and long, sheer sleeves. The fine silk of her skirts swished and fluttered invitingly around her legs every time she moved. A large gemstone nestled sweetly in the hollow of her throat.
Despite their less than desirable beginning, because of his misstep with the children, she was approachable and as beautiful as a cool, starry night. Yet her true beauty wasn’t just in the fetching shade of her golden-brown eyes, the slight tilt to her small nose, or the bow shape of her rosebud lips. Not even the scowls she’d given him, and there had been plenty, could obscure the natural pink tint of her cheeks or the stirring beauty of her delicate-looking, parchment-pale skin and arched brows.
His attraction to her was due more to the way she presented herself with confident ease and took him to task without an ounce of reservation. Surprising as it was, he liked the manner in which she talked to him, having no fear to say what she was feeling no matter what the consequences might be. That let him know she was the right lady for him. He had a feeling she wouldn’t be easily tamed—if he ever had the desire to do so.
Her spirit and strength were evident in everything she’d said and how she’d reacted from the moment their eyes met. She was not the shrinking violet he’d envisioned. Far from it. That pleased him.
Miss Hale appeared a little strict with her nieces and nephew. Maybe more than a little. But once he had a son with her, he would be in charge. They would have a talk about her thinking children should be proper at all times and march around like little soldiers. There was nothing wrong with a little bad behavior, his father always said, and Wyatt agreed.
For now, he’d keep that bit of information to himself.
He hadn’t won her over even though attraction flowed between them as easily as a fine silk thread through the eye of a needle every time their eyes met. Attraction he felt certain she sensed as well.
He stood quietly and listened as Miss Hale spoke in soft tones to Mrs. Dryden about fruit tarts and chocolate for the children and where she should have Mr. Maywaring wait. After the housekeeper left, Miss Hale turned and gave her attention back to Wyatt.
Apprehension swept across her features and she swallowed hard as her lashes fluttered. She didn’t immediately say anything and suddenly appeared uncertain. Wyatt had the feeling she struggled with how to best proceed now that she was actually faced with the prospect of two marriage proposals.
On the same day. At the same time.
Clasping her hands together in front of her waist, she cautiously glanced around the room as if hoping she might find an answer to her dilemma hidden behind the blue velvet draperies or lurking somewhere in the room. He wasn’t thrilled to be in this position either—vying to win her hand from another. What he’d expected to be a simple matter he could finish quickly and be on his way was turning into an ordeal.
Wyatt couldn’t say he minded the extended reprieve from continuing their conversation. He was still trying to put aside his masculine instincts of wanting to pull her close and smell the bouquet of her fresh-washed hair, nuzzle the warmth at the curve of her neck, and kiss the slight swell of breasts showing so pillowy soft from above the neckline of her dress.
