Lame horses. Hysterical valets. Mud . Pigs. And you. You ,
Miss Honeywell, are quite a lot to sort out. As you refuse to give me a
straight answer to anything, it is all I can do not to throttle you,” he said
in a dry, level voice. “I am … unused … to such treatment.”
“Clearly.”
“However, I promise to refrain from throttling you, if you
would start cooperating,” he finished, flicking invisible lint from his sleeves
and looking as if this offer of conciliation should solve all of their
problems.
And for some bizarre reason, all of her anger at him and
all of her hurt feelings over the incident with her eyes drained out of her in
that moment. He looked, facing her in the lane, wearing an expression of such
smug arrogance, precisely like a ten-year-old boy determined to have his way.
Which made the ten-year-old girl inside of her dig her
heels in.
Roddy had warned her not to grouse the Duke. But she was
already in too deep. She was now quite glad she had run into his chest rather
than contradict his assumption about the condition of the estate. For if he
discovered the truth – that it was flourishing, not languishing –
then he was bound to figure out that her family had been bilking the dukedom
for generations.
Or, at least, that was how he would see it. To Astrid’s mind and the minds of her forebears,
however, no laws were being broken.
Again, the Duke was bound to see things in a different
light, and Astrid did not want to spend the rest of her life in Newgate. Who
would take care of her sisters, or the brewery, or the tenants?
She would not panic. Not now.
She wasn’t any closer to figuring out what to do with the
Duke or the muddle between them, but she wasn’t about to let him have the upper
hand. The only thing to do at the moment was stall, evade, and so flummox the
Duke that he never had a chance to get his bearings long enough to discover the
truth.
And lord knew the Duke could use some flummoxing. She had
never seen such a stiff collar or rigid spine or tense jaw. She wondered how he
did not shatter under the weight of such self-importance. He was wound even
tighter than Roddy had been.
The most remote man
to walk the earth.
She raised her eyes to his and considered Roddy’s
assessment as she saw the Duke … no, actually saw him , for the first time. Not Montford. Not her loathed nemesis. Not
a stuffed shirt in shiny boots. But him ,
the man beneath, the one who reminded her of a ten-year-old boy, the one who
had stolen a look at her breasts this morning and eaten one of her biscuits
last night with such an expression of surprised ecstasy Astrid had nearly
dropped her tea in her lap. The man who kept peeking out at the world behind
that dour, icy demeanor.
She realized Roddy was quite wrong. Montford was not the
most remote man to walk the earth. He was the loneliest man … no, the saddest man she had ever met, and he was
so coiled up in himself he didn’t even realize he was miserable.
Her heart swelled in her chest, and he was no longer a ten-year-old
bully, but a child of four, alone on the side of a highway, tears streaking
down a face covered in dirt and dried blood. She could picture him in her mind
as clearly as if she had been there. She wanted to reach out to him, take him
in her arms and soothe his hurt, take away his pain, kiss away his tears …
Damn Roddy for telling her such a heartrending tale. Damn
him for making Montford … human to
her.
But once Astrid’s heart swelled like that, there was no
turning back. She would never let anyone know the truth – that beneath
her prickly tongue and bluestocking tendencies she was a sentimental fool. She
had always been a sap when it came to wounded animals, teary-eyed little boys,
and lost causes. It never failed that she wanted to take broken creatures under
her wing and fix them, even though most of her projects eventually found a way
to, either literally or figuratively, bite the hand that fed them. But she
never
Miss Honeywell, are quite a lot to sort out. As you refuse to give me a
straight answer to anything, it is all I can do not to throttle you,” he said
in a dry, level voice. “I am … unused … to such treatment.”
“Clearly.”
“However, I promise to refrain from throttling you, if you
would start cooperating,” he finished, flicking invisible lint from his sleeves
and looking as if this offer of conciliation should solve all of their
problems.
And for some bizarre reason, all of her anger at him and
all of her hurt feelings over the incident with her eyes drained out of her in
that moment. He looked, facing her in the lane, wearing an expression of such
smug arrogance, precisely like a ten-year-old boy determined to have his way.
Which made the ten-year-old girl inside of her dig her
heels in.
Roddy had warned her not to grouse the Duke. But she was
already in too deep. She was now quite glad she had run into his chest rather
than contradict his assumption about the condition of the estate. For if he
discovered the truth – that it was flourishing, not languishing –
then he was bound to figure out that her family had been bilking the dukedom
for generations.
Or, at least, that was how he would see it. To Astrid’s mind and the minds of her forebears,
however, no laws were being broken.
Again, the Duke was bound to see things in a different
light, and Astrid did not want to spend the rest of her life in Newgate. Who
would take care of her sisters, or the brewery, or the tenants?
She would not panic. Not now.
She wasn’t any closer to figuring out what to do with the
Duke or the muddle between them, but she wasn’t about to let him have the upper
hand. The only thing to do at the moment was stall, evade, and so flummox the
Duke that he never had a chance to get his bearings long enough to discover the
truth.
And lord knew the Duke could use some flummoxing. She had
never seen such a stiff collar or rigid spine or tense jaw. She wondered how he
did not shatter under the weight of such self-importance. He was wound even
tighter than Roddy had been.
The most remote man
to walk the earth.
She raised her eyes to his and considered Roddy’s
assessment as she saw the Duke … no, actually saw him , for the first time. Not Montford. Not her loathed nemesis. Not
a stuffed shirt in shiny boots. But him ,
the man beneath, the one who reminded her of a ten-year-old boy, the one who
had stolen a look at her breasts this morning and eaten one of her biscuits
last night with such an expression of surprised ecstasy Astrid had nearly
dropped her tea in her lap. The man who kept peeking out at the world behind
that dour, icy demeanor.
She realized Roddy was quite wrong. Montford was not the
most remote man to walk the earth. He was the loneliest man … no, the saddest man she had ever met, and he was
so coiled up in himself he didn’t even realize he was miserable.
Her heart swelled in her chest, and he was no longer a ten-year-old
bully, but a child of four, alone on the side of a highway, tears streaking
down a face covered in dirt and dried blood. She could picture him in her mind
as clearly as if she had been there. She wanted to reach out to him, take him
in her arms and soothe his hurt, take away his pain, kiss away his tears …
Damn Roddy for telling her such a heartrending tale. Damn
him for making Montford … human to
her.
But once Astrid’s heart swelled like that, there was no
turning back. She would never let anyone know the truth – that beneath
her prickly tongue and bluestocking tendencies she was a sentimental fool. She
had always been a sap when it came to wounded animals, teary-eyed little boys,
and lost causes. It never failed that she wanted to take broken creatures under
her wing and fix them, even though most of her projects eventually found a way
to, either literally or figuratively, bite the hand that fed them. But she
never
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