The Day of the Duchess (Scandal & Scoundrel #3)(51)

The words were soft and full of warm satisfaction. And he hated his brother-in-law in that moment. Hated him because he wanted that satisfaction. He wanted to give it to her.

He took a step toward her. She stiffened, and he stilled. “Shouldn’t you have a maid for that?”

“I am sharing Sesily’s. I didn’t bring one of my own.”

She was the duchess. The entire house was at her beck and call. “You needn’t share; there are a dozen girls belowstairs who—”

“I don’t need one,” she said, deftly buttoning the glove. “I’ve become quite skilled at dressing myself.”

“For stage.”

She nodded. “Among other things.”

He didn’t like the reference to her past without him. Didn’t like the way it made him want to ask a dozen questions, none of which she would answer. He tried for something lighter. “Did you know your sisters are taking bets on why I brought you here?”

She did not look up from her task. “I thought I was here to get you married?”

“Seleste thinks I’m a spy.”

She gave a little chuckle, and he was suddenly warmer than he had been in years. “Seleste reads a great deal of adventure novels.”

“It’s the best theory of the bunch.”

“What are the others?”

Suddenly, it seemed like the topic was a poor choice.

Sera heard his hesitation. “Shall I guess?”

Perhaps she’d get them wrong. “By all means.”

“Seline cares a great deal about our father, so I would expect she thinks you’re after Papa’s money. Which of course you’re not.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you were never after his money; you’ve always been rich as a king. You were after me,” she said, lightly, as though they were discussing anything but her family’s ruin at his hands. “Sophie thinks you are lower than dirt, so she likely believes you’re out for revenge.”

He hated the way his cheeks warmed with embarrassment. And with shame, for the way she said it, as though it was a perfectly reasonable thing for Sophie to think. Which it was. But dammit, it wasn’t reasonable. If he could take it all back, he would.

He cleared his throat, but before he could speak, she said, “Of course, she’s wrong, too.”

“She is?” he said, his voice an octave higher than he would have liked.

“You’re not trying to punish me. You know that it’s impossible.” She looked up then, blue eyes meeting his. “You can’t punish someone who has nothing to lose.”

The words stung. They had when she’d spoken them in his office at Parliament, and they stung now. Except here, he was closer. And he was looking more carefully. And that’s when he saw it. The truth. The lie.

She did have something to lose.

But what?

“You’re right. I am not out for revenge.” She looked away then, as though she knew he could see into her, and she wanted to protect herself. He pressed on. “Would you like to know what Sesily thinks?”

She missed the button she was working on. “No.”

He watched her grip the hook more firmly. Try again. Miss again. He stepped closer, taking the hook from her hand. Turning her toward him. She snatched her arm away. “I don’t need your help.”

“Of course you don’t,” he said. “You’ve never needed me.”

It’s always been I who needed you.

He left that bit out, instead extending his hand to her. “Dinner awaits.” Not that he cared. He’d stand here next to her, breathing her air, for the rest of time if she’d let him.

She exhaled too harshly and slapped her arm into his outstretched hand. “Fine.”

He worked the button hook, ignoring the irritation in her voice. “Sesily thinks I want you back.”

She shook her head. “Sesily doesn’t know anything about marriage.”

He rather thought she knew quite a bit. He finished the buttons and ran a thumb across the soft silk. “Finished.” He did not release her, but he did not hold her, either. Instead, he reveled in the feel of her, of this woman for whom he’d searched for years. For whom he’d longed for years.

I want you back.

What if he said it? What would she do?

Her eyes lifted to his, her black lashes impossibly long. For a moment, he thought she would say something. Something important. Something that might change everything. But she didn’t. Instead, she took her arm from his grasp and said the least important thing she could say. The thing he’d just said himself. “Dinner awaits.”

They never said the things that were important.

They were descending the great central manor stairs when she spoke again. “It’s time you participate in this process, Mal. You’ve a choice to make.”

You, he thought. I choose you.

He swallowed back the words. “The competition begins in earnest tonight then?”

She nodded. “It does.”

“With what? Fencing? Fighting? Cutthroat charades?” Her lips twitched in a little smile, and he was quite proud of himself.

“Nothing quite so . . . on the nose.”

“No rounds? What a pity.”

She snickered. “We begin with food. She must be able to keep your house.”