The Duke Effect (The Rogue Files #7) - Sophie Jordan Page 0,13
to be the Duke of Warrington who reigned over Haverston Hall. He had that air of nobility about him.
“Nora?” the lovely woman inquired. The fact that she was increasing with child did not distract from her beauty or grace. “Who is your guest?”
So the girl was named Nora—and apparently of some station from the way the refined and polished lady was looking at her in a familiar and intimate manner.
“Ehh . . .” Nora looked at him with a bit of alarm in her eyes, and it occurred to him that he had not even given her his name.
Warrington, presumably, stepped forward to rectify that situation. “I’m Warrington and this is my wife, the Duchess of Warrington.” He settled a hand under his wife’s elbow. “And you are, sir?”
“Sinclair.” He inclined his head. “Constantine Sinclair.”
“Oh! Colonel Constantine Sinclair?” The duchess perked up. “How delightful.” She looked to Nora. “Are you not delighted, Nora? It’s your Colonel Sinclair whom you’ve been writing to all these years!”
Your Colonel Sinclair.
Nora looked perfectly horrified at her sister’s choice of words.
He sank back on his heels and stared hard at the girl who gaped almost comically, her mouth clearly searching for words. Obviously she had no defense.
She had duped him. Mystery solved. Nora had been the one writing to him, pretending to be the late Dr. Langley. He didn’t understand why or to what end, but he vowed he would soon have an explanation from her.
“It was you? You’ve been writing to me?” he demanded, taking a step toward her and then stopping. Angry as he was, he did not wish to appear a charging bull. It was undignified and conduct he did not imagine fitting as Birchwood’s heir.
Her cheeks pinked up. “Yes,” she admitted.
He shook his head in disgusted awe. “All this time I thought it was Dr. Langley with whom I corresponded. Foolish, I suppose,” he said tightly, “to have made that assumption as each letter was signed from Dr. Langley.”
She winced at his derisive tone and gave a single resolved nod. “It is true. I signed Papa’s name.”
“You what?” the duchess exclaimed. “Oh, Nora. You didn’t!”
“The colonel wrote asking for some medical advice.” She shrugged, and that lighthearted action only inflamed his temper. For her this had been some little thing. An inconsequential game. Only for him, it was no game. For him it was a matter of life and death. Standing here, the hope he had placed in locating Dr. Langley withered a bitter end.
She continued, “Papa had died already, but I knew what to say . . . and how to respond to the colonel’s questions, and it was ever so much easier to reply as Papa. I didn’t expect a stranger would heed the advice of the late doctor’s daughter.” Her lips twisted a little as though she had firsthand experience with this.
“Indeed,” he muttered, feeling . . . betrayed. Perhaps it was not the most fitting descriptor, but it felt accurate nonetheless. For years now, he had penned letters to this female, believing he was communicating with a medical professional, a kind and elderly gentleman concerned with bringing goodness into the world by healing and saving lives. Constantine had been friendly. After a time, he had shared things. Details of himself and his inner thoughts . . . the hardships of living in strange lands, of taking orders without blinking, of leading soldiers into uncertainty, always under the cloud of danger.
None of it embarrassing precisely. He was embarrassed only now. She had made a fool of him. He’d believed he was writing to one person and in fact it had been her.
For years he had watched soldiers writing their letters over campfires to their sweethearts, to their families and friends back home. He had never had anyone to write to before. There had never been anyone out there who expected to hear how Constantine Sinclair was managing through life—if he was managing at all. Until Langley. And that had turned out to be a lie.
Nora Langley (as he now knew her to be) turned her gaze back on him, and it was full of fiery challenge. “Admit it. What merit would you have given a young girl’s words on medical matters?” Was that a sneer in her voice? Directed at him? As though he had done something wrong here.
He stared back at her with her no small amount of incredulity.