Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(16)

And it occurred to him with that disappointed little breath of air escaping her lips and the crestfallen expression falling over her heart-shaped face, Miss Hermione Rogers had evaluated him and found him lacking. The earlier annoyance with her scrutiny, now replaced by indignation. “Is there a problem with that, Miss Rogers?”



“Er, no problem,” she lied. Rather there were any number of problems with Sebastian Fitzhugh, the 5th Duke of Mallen as her duke.

Hermione mentally ticked off a list. Golden blond hair. She shook her head. Well, that would never do. An affable grin, when everyone who read a single Gothic novel knew quite well readers far preferred those brooding dukes not inclined to smile? That wouldn’t help any author’s story. Nor would his thick golden lashes fit with the nefarious duke she required. The menacing manner in which he studied her through heavy lashes however, would prove useful. With the exception of golden lashes, of course. Those would need to be black. His aquiline nose and rugged features too handsome to be intriguing. The cleft in his chin… Hmm, that slight indentation lent an air of interest to a man better suited as the subject of a sculptor chiseling a Greek god.

“Are you certain?” His tone as dry as autumn leaves jerked her back from her musings. “You’ve gone rather quiet.”

An astute gentleman, the Duke of Mallen had noted her awkward tendency to fill voids of silence. A stubborn strand of hair fell over her eye and she brushed it behind her ear. Hermione opened her mouth to explain some of her disappointment but then promptly closed it. She really didn’t want to go and offend the poor man. It was hardly his fault that he wasn’t the brooding, interesting sort.

Hermione dropped to a knee and hastened to gather her stolen pages. She should have considered what she would do with the sheets. Or perhaps she could simply fold them and stuff them into her reticule and—

“Have you dismissed me?”

A gasp escaped her lips and the pages went fluttering back to the floor. She looked up and frowned. “You should have a care. Sneaking up on a lady, startling her. It’s not at all the gentlemanly thing to do.” She shook her head and returned her attention to the stolen sheets. She’d written on just the one page and it would therefore be far easier to return to the ballroom with a scrap of…

A shadow moved over her paper and she shrieked.

“I’m not accustomed to being so disregarded, madam.”

Well, the arrogance of him…She stilled. The arrogance? Hmm. Hermione ran her gaze up the midnight black breeches that encased impossibly long, well-muscled legs, up, up, to the equally black waistcoat and jacket, ever upward to the muscle that twitched at the right corner of his eye. She angled her head. Staring at him, in this precise moment, all earlier affability gone, this stranger might be… He very well could be…one of those interesting dukes.

She struggled to her feet. It did not escape her notice that he failed to offer his assistance. Oh, prideful gentlemen and their offended sensibilities. “I didn’t mean to insult you,” she said in the gentling tone reserved for Addie and Hugh after heated arguments. Except, he studied her through thick, golden lashes. The glint in his eyes suggested he was anything but pleased by her cajoling tone. She hurried on. “I’m certain you are a…er…very effective duke.” He just wasn’t a duke who’d do for her research purposes.

“Thank you.” His droll response however, hardly conveyed appreciation. Not that she expected his appreciation per se. His shoulders shook. She squinted into the dimly lit room at his frame. She did not however, expect him to have fun at her expense.

She bristled. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Yes.”

“Humph.” She sank back on her heels, not at all liking that, and understanding a bit more his earlier annoyance at her dismissal. “Well, then.” She cleared her throat. She jerked her chin toward the door. “I said, ahem.”

His lip turned up in one corner in a crooked grin that momentarily robbed her of speech. Goodness, she could pen a thousand Gothic novels and never create a more stunning hero…“Do you have something in your throat, Miss Rogers?” The amusement in his question ended any and all fanciful musings.

Something in her throat? More likely cobwebs in her brain…

She stomped a foot in annoyance and then caught herself mid-stomp. Of the Rogers siblings she was the practical, logical one who’d not done something as immature as to stomp her foot since she’d been Addie’s age. “I’m suggesting you leave,” she said firmly.

The duke walked over to her, and she retreated until her back thumped against the wall. But he merely propped his hip on the edge of Lord Denley’s desk and continued to study her. “Do you know, Miss Rogers, I think I shall stay.”

Which was a bold, blatant challenge from a man surely accustomed to having his wishes obeyed for no other reason than his exalted title alone. That and his commanding figure.

Hermione caught her chin between her thumb and forefinger. Hmm.

“I imagine a young lady such as you is not often without words and yet, you’ve gone silent.”

Her hand fell back to her side. “You can’t know that about me,” she said, resenting the accuracy of his supposition. She’d always had a nervous tendency to fill uncomfortable stretches of silence. This moment was no exception.