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Pride & Passion
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“I didn’t hear you come in.”
“That’s because I was already here when you arrived.”
Glancing away, she watched the cascade of water stream over the stones, and into the fountain base. “You should have said, should have announced your presence. I … I would have left you to your privacy.”
Shrugging, he glanced away and plucked a brilliant pink lily from its stem. “It is not an unwelcome presence.”
Their gazes met across the room, through the display of flowers and shrubs and gently waving palm fronds.
Waving his hand, he indicated the room. “What do you think? A labor of love that was the pride of the previous duchess.”
“I think it lovely,” she answered truthfully. “If I had a room such as this, very little would tempt me from it.”
He smiled, and Lucy found herself momentarily disarmed by the beauty of that smile—of him.
“Perhaps one shouldn’t be tempted from this room, but tempted in it.”
This did not sound like the duke. It did not look like the duke, either. His cravat was loosened, and his hair was rumpled, as if he had been running his fingers through it. He was still wearing his dark jacket, and silver waistcoat, but she could see the wrinkles in the fine wool, the way it hung not quite as immaculately as it had when she had first seen him.
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