Loved by a Duke (The Heart of a Duke #4)(45)

Agnes hopped up and hurried to the door.

“I do not require refreshments.”

The maid froze with one foot over the threshold. She looked expectantly at her mistress.

He’d come into her home and play matchmaker? “I believe you do,” Daisy bit out. For she’d known him the whole of her life to know he’d not care to have his ears blistered before her maid.

Agnes completed her step.

Auric furrowed his brow in consternation. “I assure you, I do not.” He turned to her maid.

By God, if he gave directives to her maid, she’d have him tossed on his pompous, ducal arse before the whole of London Society. “Agnes, refreshments.” Auric might be an all-powerful duke who could command a room with his stare alone, but she would not be cowed by him. Nor would her maid.

The relieved young woman all but sprinted from the room.

Silence filled the parlor. Auric broke it. “Did you not care for Lord Astor?” He spoke as though selecting a potential bridegroom in the same way as choosing a chocolate biscuit over a sweet, fig pudding for dessert.

Daisy counted to five for patience. “I don’t know, Auric,” she said in calm, quiet tones. “Beyond his opinion about me not being horrid and a possible suggestion of my being graceful, he said all of two statements.” Excluding his greeting and hasty goodbye.

Auric gave a curt nod of agreement. “I quite agree. He’d make you a deplorable husband.”

Despite outrage over his highhandedness, Daisy’s lips twitched and the blistering words on her lips died. He’d determined all of that with but a handful of exchanges? Even as a boy he’d possessed the same arrogance. Then, when one was born heir to one of the oldest, most respected dukedoms, such bumptiousness was inevitable.

He took a step toward her, and then another, and another, until only a hairsbreadth separated them. Heat spilled off his muscle-hewn frame and her pulse quickened at his body’s nearness. Struggling to rein in the warring annoyance and almost pained amusement thrumming through her, she tipped her head back and held his stare.

A tight curl slipped from her chignon and almost in a reflexive movement, Auric captured the strand between his thumb and forefinger. He studied the dark tress as though he’d never before seen a single lock of hair before this one. “What else do you require in a husband, Daisy?” His voice, a deep, husky whisper washed over her and her brain had to remind her lungs to draw in air and release it once more. “Tell me and I’ll find him for you.”

She’d already found him. Only he was too blind to see her. She wetted her lips and his gaze dipped lower, following that subtle movement. “Confidence,” she managed to force the single word out.

His thick lashes swept down.

“I’d want him to be resolute.” So that a mere glower from another man, even if that other man happened to be a duke, didn’t send him fleeing with wan cheeks. Auric the boy and now Auric the man was fearless and bold in all matters.

He released her strand of hair, as though burned and then took a step away. Then another. “Resolute,” he repeated, as though to himself.

“In all matters.” Of the heart, in his beliefs, in his hopes and dreams. Just as Auric would be.

With another bow, he turned on his heel and wordlessly took his leave.

Her shoulders sank and she wandered over to the window. She peeled back the curtain and stared down into the street. The front door opened and Auric stepped outside. He paused on the top step and surveyed the street. Then, as though feeling her gaze upon him, he looked up. With a gasp, she released the curtain and let it fall back into place.

“Daisy?”

She spun around, slapping a hand to her breast. “Mother.” Whatever was her mother doing from her chambers? She so very rarely took herself from her rooms.

“He’s left, Mother,” she informed the lady. Or rather, he’d run off. The coward.

A wistful expression stole over her face. “I believe he’s courting you,” she whispered, the faintest hint of joy underscoring those words. Odd, how any and every other Society mama would be fixed upon that link to the Duke of Crawford for his title, and yet her own mother craved that connection for altogether very different reasons. Reasons that were not at all material.

Daisy loathed robbing her sad parent of the one hint of something that brought her a remote bit of happiness. “He’s not courting me, Mama,” she said gently. She could not, however, allow her to hang upon false hope.

Mother walked over in a flurry of black, bombazine skirts. She came to a stop in front of Daisy. “He visits you.”

“He arrived with the Earl of Astor.”

“The Earl of Astor?” Lines of concern creased her brow. “Is he friendly with the earl?”

She didn’t believe Auric to be friendly with anyone beyond Marcus. As she saw no other way to gently let the other woman down, she said, “He’s playing matchmaker, Mama.”

“He’s matchmaking for you?” Her mother pursed her lips. “Do not be silly. Why would Auric play matchmaker?”

Likely because he felt some form of brotherly obligation to her. Except, there was nothing brotherly in his kiss. “Perhaps from some misbegotten sense of loyalty to Lionel.” Auric’s devotion to Lionel through the years in life and in death had been steadfast.

Daisy may as well have thrust a dagger into her mother’s chest. Those words, the mere mention of Lionel jerked the other woman erect. “Don’t be silly.”