When a Duchess Says I Do - Grace Burrowes Page 0,6
her as susceptible to tears.
She could offer her rehearsed story and leaven it with a bit of truth. A pickpocket had explained to her that a little honesty made the mendacity more convincing. The child could not have been more than eight years old, but had had good health to show for his light fingers and lying.
“I thought I could kill the rabbit before the poachers returned,” Matilda said. “I couldn’t do it. I stood in the trees for a good quarter hour, arguing with myself. Then you showed up in the shadows at the edge of the clearing.” The small recitation left a lump in her throat, not because holding a gun on armed men had been upsetting—she’d very nearly gloried in those moments, and that was upsetting—but because the rabbit had gone free.
She’d been spared the terrible decision to kill the rabbit, and the little creature had gone free.
Mr. Wentworth poured her a third, hot, lovely cup of tea. “A tender heart can be an endless burden. Do go on.”
Chapter Two
Duncan’s wrist throbbed, and such was the inconvenience of his injury that even lifting a teapot worsened the pain. More fool he, for using a sharp blade in the vicinity of a desperate creature—two desperate creatures. The lady had eaten with the measured focus of the newly starving, and her hands had trembled through her first and second cups of tea.
“I might be able to shoot game roaming freely,” she said, “but to see that poor beast ensnared…and that was my fault, you see.”
“You set the snare?”
She dropped a small lump of sugar into her tea, the first he’d seen her sweeten her drink. “I disturbed the rabbit on my rambles and drove it into the snare.”
Her afflictions included a conscience in addition to a tender heart, and yet, she’d stuffed a gun into the pocket of her cape and buttered rolls in the pockets of her dress. The part of Duncan that had delighted in the novelty and variety of the Continental capitals took notice of that.
She was interesting, an anomalous element in an otherwise dreary landscape of responsibility and drudgery. Damn Cousin Quinn for his dubious generosity anyway.
“Shall I ring for more tea?” Duncan asked.
“No, thank you. I must be going.”
“Madam, you must be staying. My footman’s mother’s knees are aching, incontrovertible proof that our first snow of the year will soon arrive. The temperature dropped even during the two hours I spent inspecting my home wood.”
Two hours devoted to avoiding the home farm, the gardens, the dairy, the laundry, the tenants, the vicar, the vicar’s nosy wife…
“Then the sooner I’m on my way, the better.” She cradled the teacup in her hands, as if she’d take the warmth rather than the sustenance with her.
“That I cannot allow. You are a guest in my home and, I suspect, a damsel in distress. Permit me to impersonate a knight errant and set right what I can.”
Every sensible knight knew that damsels in distress merited aid so that they might take their problems, drama, and difficulties elsewhere. Duncan did not want this woman to leave, though, which was very bad of him.
She was an antidote to boredom, a distraction from the weight of resentment. When Quinn’s next letter arrived asking for a progress report, Duncan could reply that his home wood had become a hotbed of violence and intrigue, with armed felons and intrepid maidens lurking behind every tree.
Though of course, that would bring dear Quinn charging up the drive, for the Wentworth family would not allow Duncan to hoard drama for his own entertainment.
Then too, the lady might not be a maiden, though that didn’t signify.
“I am loath to impose,” she said, hunching over her teacup. “You have been most generous already.”
She did not set aside her last cup of tea, rise, and curtsy, and Duncan knew why. That locked door, the blazing fire in the hearth, the evidence of a hearty midday meal, made this cozy dining parlor a haven from the cruelty of a harsh world. She longed for sanctuary, which yearning he would exploit shamelessly to ensure she didn’t take a precipitous leave of him.
“I have merely provided a meal from stores that are more than ample. You, on the other hand, provided timely intervention at a delicate moment. I am in your debt, and Wentworths always repay their obligations.”
Duncan had been about five seconds away from disabling the first poacher and disarming his mate, but a moral creature would need a morally sound