The Duke Effect (The Rogue Files #7) - Sophie Jordan Page 0,20

though trying to empty his glass. Of course he was anxious to take his leave.

Why should he be any different from any other gentleman she ever met?

Heavens knew he was eager to make his escape. When he’d left her in the gardens she thought he would be leaving then.

But he’d remained. Now she had a second chance at him. A second chance to change his mind about her before he ruined her reputation and the only patient she would be allowed to treat in Brambledon would be the random chicken.

Charm, however elusive for her, was something she was going to have to implement. She cleared her throat. “What made you decide to stay, Mr. Sinclair?” She fixed a smile to her face.

He stared at her thoughtfully as though debating whether or not he would answer her.

Speak. Please speak. It would only heighten the awkwardness if he chose to ignore her.

At last, his voice filled the air between them. “Your brother-in-law can be very persuasive.”

“Nathaniel?” She blinked in some surprise. Nate had gone after him and convinced him to remain? Why had he done that? What had he said? He was not a garrulous sort, and she hardly thought he cared enough about Sinclair to make such an effort to keep him here.

“Yes. Although I believe he was prompted by your sister.”

“Ah.” That, she could believe. Nathaniel would do just about anything for her. “I think it’s more accurate to say my sister is persuasive.”

“I did spot her through the window looking rather hopeful as he invited me.”

“There you have it.” She nodded. It was all Marian’s doing.

“Well, I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“What do you mean? Because Warrington was nudged into inviting you for the night?” She shrugged. “Do not most wives control the guest lists?”

“I suppose. I don’t have a wife.”

“Allow me to enlighten you then. The lady of the house controls all. At least socially.”

“If it was important to your sister that I spend the evening here, why has she abandoned me to your tender clutches?”

Obviously Nora couldn’t reveal her suspicions—that her sister was playing matchmaker. She shot a furtive look at the silent footman, bothered that he was a silent witness to their conversation.

“Danny?” she inquired.

His gaze snapped to her face. “Miss?”

“Leave us please.”

His gaze shifted uncertainly to Sinclair before looking back at her. “Begging your pardon?”

“Please leave us.”

“Are you certain—”

“Quite.” She nodded, and then watched in silence as he turned and exited the room.

“I don’t think that was necessary,” Sinclair murmured once they were alone.

“And risk you airing the matter of my . . . charade?”

“Charade?” He released a rough bite of laughter. “That’s a delicate phrasing of your dishonesty, but you needn’t have worried.” He motioned around the fine drawing room. “I am rather new to all of this, but I know to watch what I say in front of the servants. I won’t expose your fraud. Yet.”

Yet. The word fell heavily on the air, the threat as alarming as ever.

She resisted the urge to defend her actions. She had already attempted that and it had not dissuaded him.

“Ah. Yes.” She fixed her smile in place once again. “You find yourself in the enviable position of being heir to a duke.”

“I don’t know if I would call it enviable. It took the premature deaths of my three cousins for me to become heir.”

Had she mentioned she lacked charm? She closed her eyes in a long miserable blink.

“Well, now I feel perfectly wretched.”

He grunted in a way that sounded very . . . self-satisfied.

She narrowed her eyes. “But that was your intention, was it not? To keep me in the box where you have allocated me.”

“I don’t understand your meaning. What box do you speak of?”

“The box where you relegate things you dislike. I am sure I exist in this box for you.”

He blinked and shook his head in bewilderment. “I don’t . . .”

“Let’s see.” She angled her head and started counting on her fingers. “My box contains mottled sheep liver. And jellied quail eggs. Warrington’s cook has introduced me to both and I wish I had never tasted the like.”

He stared at her without expression.

“Do you care for jellied quail eggs?” she asked.

“I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

“But you’ve had the pleasure of me.” And he did not like her. Not anymore. Not since realizing she was not her father.

He was staring at her rather oddly now, his dark eyes gleaming. She angled her head, wondering at the sudden intensity of