Page 73 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“I look forward to it,” he said quietly, then bowed and took his leave, vowing to spend every day between now and Wednesday scraping all remnants of Joanna Porter from his mind.
Chapter Twenty-One
Clutching the notebook to her chest, Jo looked up at the stately entrance to the Duke of Crestmont’s Mayfair home.
What was she thinking? That she’d just walk up and knock on the door? His butler would probably laugh in her face, and if anyone else saw her here…
Glancing furtively this way and that, she saw no one she knew, but that did not mean that people weren’t peeking at her from behind curtains.
She’d slipped out to take an afternoon walk—on her own, which was bad enough. Being a spinster came with a few freedoms, but traipsing about London alone was something she’d never done before. She’d told herself to avoid places where anyone might recognize her, especially to avoid the duke’s house. Nevertheless, her legs had marched her straight into Mayfair—the center of London society—and to his front door.
When had she become so reckless? When had her logic and practicality vanished under this rush of impulsivity and daring? She was too old to succumb to foolish ideas of romance and passion. And yet, here she was.
This was madness.
She turned on her heel and stalked away from the house, keeping her head down. When she came to the lane that led to the mews, she turned into it. If she went the back way, she’d have less of a chance of being seen.
Finally, she was allowing common sense to prevail.
When she was tucked in the lane behind the row of townhouses, her steps slowed a little, and so did her breaths, which had been coming in short gasps.
It was all right. It was likely no one had been paying any attention to her whatsoever in the busy afternoon. All was well. She’d be perfectly fine.
“Miss Porter?”
Her head whipped up, and when she saw the handsome man a few feet away from her standing adjacent to his familiar, shiny black carriage, her heart leaped so high she thought it might break through the wall of her chest.
She swallowed, trying to regain some moisture into her suddenly dry throat. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”
Lord, he was handsome, standing there with his walking stick and his well-fitted clothes, the sunlight washing his brown eyes with amber as he studied her.
Beautiful, and soulful, and wonderful.
“Are you all right?” Matthew asked her, his eyes going from her face to the notebook she clutched at her chest then back to her face again. She realized she’d been stopped on mews she shouldn’t be in, staring at him as if he were one of the antiquities on display at the British Museum.
“No…Yes. Yes, of course I am.”
He raised a skeptical brow. “Why are you here?”
“Here?” She glanced around as if surprised by the setting. “Oh. I—” She began to panic. “I…uh… This.” She thrust the notebook out to him.
“What’s this?”
“It’s Lilly’s. It contains her most recent creation. You said you were interested in her designs, so…I brought it here. For you.”
He raised one brow, then took the book from her. “Wait here a moment.” He walked around to the front of the carriage and murmured a few words to the coachman. The man nodded and drove the carriage back into its spot in the stables on the opposite side of the mews.
When the duke returned to her, she asked, “Were you going somewhere, Your Grace?”
“Nowhere of importance.”
“I’m so sorry—please don’t change your plans on my behalf,” she said.
“Jo, I said it wasn’t important.”
“Very well. But why areyouin the mews?” she asked. Most gentlemen spent little time in such places. They simply called for their carriages to be brought round, and they’d step out their front doors a few minutes later and find their conveyance ready to take them wherever they wished to go.
