Page 25 of The Devil's Accidental Duchess
CHAPTER 8
Philip could think of a great many things he could do on a moonless night.
He had snuck into enemy territory several times under cover of darkness and earned merits for his efforts. He had also snuck into many a willing woman’s bed on similar nights, but those merits were of a different nature.
He had not, however, taken a young lady on a tour of the gardens in such poorly lit circumstances. Chaperoned.
Women have the most absurd notions of romance.
Or was it simply his more-than-slightly addled grandmother? There was hardly anything romantic about aimlessly wandering in the dark. Only a highwayman would be out on such a night. Or a reckless libertine. Not a gentleman who was supposed to be courting a well-bred young lady.
Was his grandmother truly trying to portray a romantic scene or tempting scandal?
He cast a sideways glance at Selina, noting the gentle slope of her nose. Her thick hair was swept up into an elegant chignon—much simpler than what he had observed was currently in fashion in town, but a far better state than it had been that afternoon when she had been trying to reason with her irate sire.
Just like that afternoon, he wondered what it was like to sink his fingers into that thick, heavy mass of luscious chocolate waves as he held her head steady to receive his kiss?—
“Your Grace.”
He had been caught unawares again, damn it. He had to stop making a habit of it.
“My Lady.” His gaze dropped to her lips—a complete error in judgment, if he ever saw one.
The hunger he had momentarily banished to the back of his mind now returned to the fore with a vengeance.
“I am not particularly fond of making small talk. Shallow conversations about the weather and the goings-on of the ton never appealed to me.”
He smirked. “Then perhaps we should count ourselves fortunate, for I am not inclined to engage in inane conversation as well.”
She nodded. “Yes, but an uncomfortable silence is just as horrid, would you not agree?”
On regular days, Philip might have been disinclined to agree, but he rather liked hearing her voice. It was not particularly as high-pitched as a shrieking debutante’s or as low as that of a sultry widow attempting seduction.
“So, what do you want to talk about?” he asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.
A young lady with a penchant for books and mischief—he had to admit that his interest wasmildlypiqued as to what she would find intriguing enough to talk about. Perhaps he could humor her with some conversation as they toured the gardens.
She seemed to consider the question, her lips pressed together in adorable concentration.
Adorable? Since when did I start regarding anything as adorable?
It was a term women used for puppies and babies. Whatever recognition he had of the word, he thought it would have long been stamped out of his consciousness.
Until now, apparently.
“You already know I have a great fondness for books,” she began.
He nodded, but mentally addedmischiefto the list.
“But I have no idea whatyoulike,” she continued. “I know that you joined the army?—”
Correction—he wassentto the army. Thrown. Discarded as if he were of no more value than a pair of worn stockings. There was a vast difference between the two.
“—and I memorized your titles fromPeerage?—”
Of course, Debrett’s famous volumes were required reading for young ladies making an entry into Society. He recalled Lizzy despairing over it for months before she made her bow.
“—but aside from that, I know absolutelynothingabout you,” she sighed. “And I dare not base my assumptions on gossip, for I know how inaccurate it can be.”
