Page 21 of The Sainted Duchess
She tried. Instinct made her glance at the lamp, and she dragged herself back.
One. Two.
Heat came up her neck without her permission, and she looked down, furious with her own blood. Stephen’s mouth edged into a smile.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Blushing is honest,” he said. “Men like honesty that they can pretend to have caused.”
“That is unflattering to your entire gender.”
“It is accurate.” He tipped his head. “Your blush is a declaration:This matters.That is the only interesting thing either gender ever says.”
She had not meant to laugh, but could not help herself.
“You speak as if you have spent years taking notes.”
“I have spent years trying to avoid boredom,” he said. “It leaves one with an education.”
“Convenient,” she said. “For a rake.”
“Ah. At last, she says the word.”
“Am I not permitted?”
“You may call me whatever the house calls me,” he said, amused. “I will endeavor to be worse by breakfast.”
“I am already scandalized,” she said primly, for the pleasure of seeing his smile spread a fraction. “You appear to know very well what gentlemen want.”
“Professional courtesy,” he said. “It is useful to know the habits of one’s competitors.”
She wrinkled her nose.
“If you arecompetingwith other men for a woman, how are we to know which one is the gentleman and which is the… other?”
“Ask yourself who listens,” he said simply. “Also: who stops when you say ‘enough.’ We tend to reveal ourselves long before we intend to. Again. Keep me.”
She wanted to groan. Instead, she said, “What do you do when you cannot sleep?”
“Read,” he said. “Or sharpen things.”
“You cannot mean knives,” she said.
“Words,” he said. “Mostly. Sometimes knives.” His eyes glinted. “Now, your truth. Make it careless. As if it occurred to you just this moment.”
She searched for something small enough not to cost her.
“When people talk in crowded rooms, I imagine where they think they are instead of where they stand. It makes them… easier.”
“You replace people.”
“It passes the time.”
“It ends wars,” he said softly, as if to himself. “Tuck your hair again.”
She did. The curl disobeyed once more; it brushed her jaw and stayed.
