The Duke Effect (The Rogue Files #7) - Sophie Jordan Page 0,71
men adjourned to the library for their brandy and whisky. Constantine managed to feign a relaxed air, staying put when Prentiss rose from his chair before anyone else. “If you’ll beg my pardon. I think I will rejoin the ladies now.”
The duke chuckled. “Ah, our fair Miss Langley has snared your admiration? It seems the duchess’s matchmaking instincts are impeccable, as always.”
“Of course Miss Langley is delightful and has her charms, but I would not go so far as to say that.” Prentiss tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves, straightening his jacket.
“You will have to settle down some day, lad,” the duke intoned. “Your mother will insist.”
“Some day,” he agreed and then offered a rather sly grin that Constantine felt the violent urge to wipe off his face. “But not anytime soon.”
“Then what are your intentions with Miss Langley?” he asked, not giving a damn how aggressive the question sounded escaping him.
The man had just declared he was not interested in honorable marriage to any woman. So what did his flirtatious behavior with Nora mean then? Certainly he was not looking for any honorable liaison with Nora. Just a liaison then.
The duke chuckled. “You sound like an outraged papa, Constantine. Miss Langley is our guest here, but you needn’t be so protective of her.” His lips curled ever so slightly. “I think we can all agree that Miss Langley can take care of herself. She is a veritable bluestocking.”
“So that means no one should have a concern for her well-being while under this roof?” he asked mildly despite his tumultuous feelings. He turned his glass around in his hand, his fingers rotating along the rim with deceptive idleness. “Is a bluestocking somehow worth less consideration?”
The duke sputtered, “N-no. That is not what I said at all.”
Not what he said. But it was what he meant.
Ever since Constantine arrived here Birchwood had been schooling him on the things that, in his opinion, mattered. Things that were important to a future duke of the realm.
Nora Langley was not one of those things as far as Birchwood was concerned and he had made that abundantly clear.
Prentiss cleared his throat, looking confused. Perhaps justifiably. “I merely enjoy Miss Langley’s company. She has quite a number of interesting theories, and she is a winsome lass. Who would not appreciate her company?”
“Indeed. On both accounts,” Constantine agreed, still staring at the duke, finding him even more contemptible a person than Prentiss. It was troubling.
He’d always respected and admired the man, but now he was coming to the bitter fresh realization that Birchwood wasn’t a benevolent man. His honor and generosity extended only so long as they did not infringe on the way he thought the world ought to exist.
Prentiss motioned to the door. “I’ll . . . er . . . see you both in the drawing room shortly.”
The duke nodded. “We will join you soon. Take Miss Langley for a stroll in the garden, why don’t you? It’s a fine evening. Spring is in the air.”
The door shut behind Prentiss and they were left alone.
The duke and the heir.
They finished their drinks in silence. Words between them were unnecessary.
A line had been drawn. Tension throbbed on the air. They understood each other perfectly. Well, he understood the duke. Somehow he doubted that Birchwood understood him.
Men like Birchwood didn’t understand those who weren’t like him, and Constantine was beginning to realize that.
He was beginning to realize a great many things. One of which was that he could never be like the Duke of Birchwood. He didn’t want to be. Those aspirations were quite finished.
Such a thing was an impossibility.
Nora tried to pay attention to what Mr. Prentiss was saying.
It was a lovely evening for a stroll and he was not her usual dinner companion. He was interesting and spoke on a variety of topics.
Like Nora, he was interested in botany. Aside of Papa, she had never met another gentleman who knew that without Carl Linnaeus the world would have no formal naming system for any living thing.
He’d returned to the drawing room ahead of Constantine and Birchwood. She wondered what was keeping the two gentlemen, and then she quickly told herself that she did not care. Constantine’s actions were of no concern to her.
Constantine had sat at the other end of the dining table from her and every time she glanced his way he had seemed deep in conversation with Lady Elise. The sight had served as a proper reminder. They had no need for