Chapter Four
Realizing what she’d just done, Evie caught her breath, aghast. Servants didn’t comment on Parliamentary matters. Hellfire, not all of them knew how to read.
She’d spent her first few days cleaning whatever below-stairs rooms the duke was not using, gathering her bravery to venture into the library and thinking up ways to interact other than spilling something on him.
She’d groaned when she’d seen the thirty-person set of silverware to be polished in the dining room.
Then again at the mount of wood in the library to be dusted and polished.
Bookshelves, windowsills, tables—a round one for a light meal, the low one in the seating area, and a side table, and the duke’s desk.
She was behind the breakfast table on her knees, half dusting, half skimming the titles on the shelves in the far corner when the duke entered the library. Her heart raced as she remained quiet. This was the chance she’d been waiting for, to observe him without appearing impertinent.
He was quickly engrossed, staring so hard at the papers before him she thought they might ignite.
She edged closer to get a better look at him.
His fingers fidgeted with a pen seemingly held to take notes, and his brow was furrowed.
Despite those signs of irritation, he was as overwhelming and rugged as her aunt had said.
And goodness, that man was thick in all the best ways, no skinny fop in heeled shoes and floral waistcoat.
He wasn’t even wearing a waistcoat and in the few glimpses she’d had of him coming and going, she had yet to see him in a cravat.
She wanted to smooth away his frown, run her fingers through his thick blond-brown hair, and help him.
Her father only looked like that when he was reading some horribly oppressive bill.
Curious, she glanced over his shoulder. Seeing the expansion of the Insolvent Debtors Act, a burst of fear shook her.
Did he hate this, a law that she greatly admired?
She must have made some noise, because his head snapped up and he glared. This close, his dark piercing eyes stared as though he saw right through her pretense—indeed straight through her clothing. Without a cravat, she caught a tantalizing peek of neck and chest hair through his open shirt collar.
Her thoughts scattered at the view, and she spoke without thinking. Flutters in her belly distracted her from his open-mouthed reaction to her comments. Lingering to decipher his expression was out of the realm of possibility.
Instead, she fled to the kitchen to find the housekeeper.
“Mrs. Betters, the duke seemed, er, agitated. I wonder if it might be best if I work in the front parlor today and finish the library another time?” Everyone wanted to make a good impression on the new duke, and she knew she was taking shameless advantage of that with her excuse.
She’d never spent much time with her parents’ housekeepers, but Harriet Betters was hardworking, fair, and intelligent.
In fact, the woman’s discerning gaze had already made Evie wonder if the woman suspected her deception.
Her aunt had recommended her, and her servants had given Evie a quick tutorial on dusting, polishing, and rug beating.
She was young enough that she could claim only one household as her experience, giving her leeway to ask “how things were done here.” But she couldn’t disguise her accent, which was very much not working class.
When Mrs. Betters asked during their first meeting, she’d waved a hand and cited an earl’s London household as the reason.
The housekeeper had dropped the subject and hired her, but watched Evie closely.
By now, the housekeeper had seen her willingness to work and relaxed, smiling at Evie when she came with questions. She said, “That’ll be fine. Be sure to get back to the library tomorrow, assuming His Grace is in better spirits. Remember, the goal is to be inconspicuous.”
She gulped. Discussing a Parliamentary bill with him after reading over his shoulder was not conducive to invisibility. She must do better.
She stayed out of sight the rest of the day, hoping he’d forget the whole thing.
Only in her narrow servant’s bed did she consider his appeal as a future husband.
Just as her aunt had warned her, he was rather undukelike in many ways.
But on that physique, she could live without formal clothing when they were at home.
She’d never realized the hollow at the base of a man’s neck could be so alluring, like it was made for her fingertip… or her tongue.
She dreamed of his throat, finding it so fascinating that when she woke she worried she’d never look him in the eye again. However, her greater concern was being more careful in what she said.
The next day, she started her dusting duties near the duke’s desk before he arrived, then quickly moved to the other end of the library when he entered the room. Once he settled, she spent as much time sneaking sidelong glances at him as she did dusting.
His face was too rugged and masculine to be beautiful, but she could stare at it for hours.
Each facet reflected his life to date, especially his eyes.
Umber-colored, they contained a mix of warmth and directness, inviting one to meet him as an equal.
She imagined he sold a lot of drinks in that pub he’d managed with those eyes and a smile.
His time outside—no carriages for him—was reflected in his tanned skin, and smile lines spoke to a lifetime of joy, although she’d not seen him smile since she arrived.
Unlike the fashion of the day, he kept his hair short enough that only a hint of the wave highlighted the lighter streaks, as though he was short on time to style it.
All in all, it was a breathtaking visage even before she got to the exposed wedge of throat and the rest of him.
On the second morning, she was able to catch a glimpse of the papers he’d left scattered.
There was a pile to one side, facing down, and the page left up began in the middle of a sentence.
That likely meant he had become so frustrated with perusing it the day before, he’d left it mid-read.
Sure enough, an hour and a half later, he was muttering under his breath and raking his hand through his hair.
Thankful the library had so much to dust so she could observe him, she watched him covertly.
As much as she enjoyed his masculine physique, he appeared so frustrated that she spent more time wishing she could help him without giving herself away.
The next day, he’d been there less than an hour when he cleared his throat loudly, making her jump.
Swallowing her squeak of surprise, Evie cast yet another furtive look.
Goodness, he seemed to be staring at her—her backside, to be specific.
She stared blindly at the books in front of her on the shelf, dusting slowed to lackadaisical swipes.
It was one thing to be attracted to a man she might marry, but quite another for a duke to hungrily eye someone he thought was a servant.
A small part of her wished she knew enough about him to decide whether she wanted the betrothal contract, so she could explore the promise of pleasure, society rules be damned.
Another part was ready to cast aside those rules and her maid’s dress at his command.
However, she had her reputation and future to think of.
Stepping back, she nodded at the shelves as though satisfied with their condition, and then sped out of the room to find another place to dust.