Page 9 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
“Except love,” Miss Porter mumbled.
He pretended not to hear. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” Her steely eyes met his, and this time, there was something stubborn in them.
“I do not believe in love,” he said stiffly.
“Then why marry at all?”
He pasted a bored expression on his face. “To procure an heir, of course. It is time.” Past time. He’d delayed the inevitable long enough.
She looked intensely disappointed in him.
“I suppose,” he said, trying to throw her a bone, if only the tiniest of tiny herringbones, “if you wish me to describe a single character trait of my ideal duchess beyond her capability to perform her role, it would beamiable.”
“Amiable,” Miss Porter repeated as if the word tasted rancid.
“Yes, yes.” He gestured impatiently at her list. “Write it down, if you please. A-m-i-a-b-l-e.”
With her lips pursed, she did as she was told, though her demeanor was stiff and annoyed—not amiable at all. When she finished writing the word, she asked, “Are there any additional features of your perfect duchess you’d like to share?”
He thought about it a moment. “Yes, perhaps one more.”
“What is it?”
“Well, while she must be a wonderful hostess, she must be cognizant of her elevated social status.”
She eyed him critically, and he had the sudden urge to defend his statement. “You must understand, there are those who, given any opportunity, will take advantage of a duke’s—and a duchess’s—power and wealth.”
“Oh, of that there is no question,” she said airily, scribbling down his latest requirement. When she finished, she looked up at him with glittering eyes. “You’d best be careful. I am liable to pick your pocket at any moment.”
Her incessant impertinence kept startling him, but also…he found his lips twitching with the desire to smile at her. A desire he quickly quelled. “I have become quite skilled at assessing signs of danger, and I assure you, you are—”
“—not dangerous.” She sighed. “You are so perceptive, Your Grace. Most people find me terrifying at first glance.”
A laugh bubbled up in him—he quelled that, too. “I rather doubt that,” he said stiffly. “In any case, women are more vulnerable to such things, and she will be new to the role she shall be required to play.”
“Of course. I, myself, am vulnerable to the schemes of the lower classes daily, and I imagine it would besomuch more of a problem if I were a duchess.”
Sarcasm. Another trait he rarely saw in women and never saw in the ladies parading themselves on the marriage mart. He supposed most men found sarcasm in women unappealing. Maybe he would as well, in his wife. But not in Miss Porter. In her, he found it interesting. Attractive.
She laid her pen down and drew a watch from a pocket in her frock. “Ah,” she said. “It is four o’clock. I apologize, but I must cut this meeting short. I’m late for another engagement.”
She stood, and he did as well, clapping his hat back on. “I understand.”
“Yes, you see, I always have tea with my housekeeper and maid this time of day. I know they are of a lower class than I, but I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I adore them. My maid is one of my best friends in the world.”
She looked him straight in the eye, and he understood perfectly. She was sending away a duke to go to her servants. And she wanted him to know it.
“But,” she continued, “we have only just begun our exploration into finding your perfect match. Shall we meet again? Saturday, at, say, one o’clock?”
He was due at the boathouse Saturday afternoon at two, but meeting with Miss Porter felt important, and in any case, that should be enough time for Miss Porter and him to take care of their business for the day. “Right,” he said. “One o’clock.”
“See you then.” She nodded at him in a curt gesture he’d make to one of his own servants.
He’d been dismissed.
Chapter Four
