Chapter 9 #2
She stopped walking and placed her gloved fists on her hips. “Are you afraid of heights and skates?”
“I’m not afraid,” he said defensively. “I’m a duke with no heirs. I could die falling down twenty flights of stairs, and I could die sinking through a patch of ice that’s supposed to hold my weight, but doesn’t.”
“And you could die if your French chef decides to poison you, or if a squirrel spooks your horses and your carriage rolls off of a bridge. We all eventually die, whether we want to or not. The question is how you want to live.”
“I...” he said.
Whatever he’d been about to say vanished as the six-foot, fourteen-stone duke darted from the path in a futile attempt to hide behind a leaf-less sapling.
“Did you see a squirrel?” she whispered.
“People,” he whispered back. “I thought I heard voices I recognized.”
Ah. The one thing that scared His Grace more than thin ice and tall towers and steep cliffs: being caught on a public path in proximity to Cynthia Louise Finch.
Not insulting at all.
The voices indeed belonged to people, and without doubt at least one of them knew Nottingvale well: the Duke of Azureford and his new bride strolled up the winding path arm-in-arm.
“Cynthia Louise!” squealed the Duchess of Azureford, better known as Cynthia’s childhood friend Carole. Because Houville was so close to Cressmouth, they’d seen each other at least monthly for decades.
The ladies bussed cheeks and the Duke of Azureford inclined his head to the Duke of Nottingvale, who had wisely abandoned the spindly sapling he’d hoped would disguise him.
“I hear you’re as terrible at billiards as I am,” Azureford said with a chuckle.
“Wonderful.” Nottingvale sent Cynthia a dark look. “I’m now being gossiped about.”
“I didn’t create the gossip,” she informed him. “Or invite you to billiards.”
“We’re inviting you both,” said the duchess. “Cynthia Louise has visited our new billiards room countless times, but it would be lovely to play with partners. Perhaps later this week?”
“Er,” said Nottingvale.
“He’s hosting a party,” Cynthia explained. “Right now, at this very second.”
He shot her an even darker look.
“Of course it’s still going on,” the duchess said with a shake of her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Perhaps Epiphany, then? Once the guests have departed?”
“We’ll let you know,” Cynthia said quickly. “In fact, I’ll drop by tomorrow for tea, and catch you up on the latest scandal broth.”
At Nottingvale’s startled look, she whispered, “I’ll leave out the good bits.”
His face flushed crimson.
“Well, then,” said the duchess. “You two look... busy. We’ll carry on. I’ll see you tomorrow, Cynthia Louise!”
As soon as they disappeared from sight, Alexander groaned and rubbed his face. “I cannot possibly play couples’ billiards.”
“Why not?” She raised her brows. “Is there some way to die from it? Their rank is as high as yours, and they’re perfectly respectable. Besides, you already played couples’ billiards with me at the le Ducs’ house.”
“I didn’t mean to,” he said. “Everything that happened was an accident.”
“Some of the best things in life happen by accident,” she told him. “The others happen on purpose. For example, by saying ‘yes’ when friends invite you to visit them. Unless...”
“They’re friends,” Alexander said quickly. “I’m not shy or a misanthrope. I just... always have something else I ought to be doing. If I say yes to them, I’ll have to say yes to everyone who asks, and then I’ll never have time to attend to my responsibilities.”
“Actually, no,” Cynthia said. “I receive far more invitations than I could possibly accept. I am indescribably talented at accepting only the best ones, and sending polite regrets to the others. ‘Polite regrets,’” she informed him, “are generally more socially acceptable than hiding behind a tree.”
“In your circles,” he muttered.
“What you need,” she said, “is to separate the ‘duke’ from the ‘duty.’ One is a thing you are, and the other is a thing you do. Sometimes. When it fits in your calendar. Not all of the time, such as when you should be sleeping or relaxing.”
“There’s no time for relaxing,” he said.
“Then you’re doing the ‘duke’ bit wrong. Don’t you have a secretary?”
“Yes, but—”
“And a man of business?”
“Yes, but—”
“And presumably an entire army of bankers and solicitors to manage the piles of gold in your coffers?”
“A team of five,” he said. “And I wouldn’t claim ‘piles’ of—”
“Alexander, you can live. You should live. I don’t know who told you that your worth comes from working yourself to the bone attending to every detail yourself, but they lied.
Your duty is to ensure the important things are accomplished.
Disregarding your own needs isn’t virtuous.
It’ll send you to an early grave.” She poked at his chest. “That’s what you should be afraid of. ”
He stared at her for a long moment.
“I am afraid of that,” he said. “I’m afraid of not doing my duty. I’m afraid of doing nothing but my duty. I’m afraid of taking time for myself only to discover I no longer know who that is.”
“Find out,” she said softly. “Let yourself try. At the least, being less tightly wound will help you terrify fewer debutantes.”
He sent her a flat look.
She grinned at him and smoothed his lapel. “It’s an excellent experiment. If being New Relaxed Nottingvale helps you to woo your bride, it’s practically an act of charity. You owe it to your future duchess to have less of a stick up your—” She cleared her throat into her fist.
“I thought the phrase was ‘stick-in-the-mud,’” he said drily.
“I changed the words,” she murmured.
He frowned. “Do you really think I’m boring and fusty?”
“No,” she said. “I think you think that. Some well-intentioned goose told you a duke is nothing but constant duty, and you’ve convinced yourself duty is all you’re good for.
It’s not true, Alexander. You can be a good duke, a good friend, a good kisser, and a terrible billiards player all at the same time. ”
His gaze heated. “A good kisser?”
“A mediocre kisser,” she said. “Actually, I cannot even recall your kisses. I forget them at once, and don’t want you to feel bad for not making much of an impression—”
He shut her up by whirling her behind the trees and covering her mouth with his.
Very well, she hadn’t forgotten a single detail about his kisses. They were melting, searing deliciousness that haunted her dreams and caused her skin to tickle with gooseflesh every time his eyes met hers.
She wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him back.
There was no winning this game. She knew she couldn’t keep him. But maybe it was all right to pretend, just for this fortnight.
As long as she was careful to remember that kissing was just kissing, she could keep the armor around her heart intact.
He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers with obvious reluctance. “The sun is setting. I have to return to the party.”
“I’ll go with you,” she said. “I have to check on Gertie.”
“What are your plans for tomorrow?”
“I’ve a date to gossip about you behind your back at four o’clock.”
“Before that,” he amended.
“Hmm.” She pretended to think it over. “I have a party I was planning not to attend.”
“Excellent,” he said. “I’ll go with you.”
She bit her lip to hide a wicked smile. “Only if you agree to do any activity of my choosing.”
“I’m going to regret this,” he muttered. “But yes. Anything.”
Cynthia kissed him.
Tomorrow, he would truly live.