Page 231 of Dukes for Dessert

“You went to a fortuneteller?” she repeated in disbelief.

Nothing could have proven how wrong they were for each other more clearly. Carole believed in logic and rationality. She only trusted what she could verify with maths or confirm with her own senses. And the aloof, powerful Duke of Azureford…

She stepped backward in horror. “Please don’t tell me Parliament relies on magic.”

Azureford’s fierce expression went from accusing to embarrassed to droll.

“Essex magic,” he assured her. “The very best. Only fools trust magic from ‘the old country.’”

She burst out laughing. “What other insights did this extremely reputable clairvoyant share with you?”

“That I take myself too seriously,” he said with a sigh. “And probably her, too. She was my first fortuneteller.”

“Will you try again?”

“Never.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “I’ve been a madman for two days, seeing signs where there aren’t any.”

“Magic isn’t real.”

“I know that.” He wiped imaginary sweat from his brow. “Now I can go back to normal.”

Normally, you don’t talk to me, was on the tip of Carole’s tongue. She welcomed this burst of abnormality. Or was it? Which version was the real Azureford?

She tilted her head to consider him. Logic dictated that things were often exactly as they seemed, if one knew how and where to look. It was a matter of simplifying the extraneous and following the pattern to its core.

Fact: At his party, the host hadn’t spoken a single word to her.

Fact: At his party, Azureford hadn’t spoken to anyone.

Fact: When she’d burst back into his life unexpectedly, he’d been flustered—but he’d spoken to her.

Fact: They’d teased each other about magic. Teased, as in jokes. Like friends.

Fact: Despite her flimsy story and even feebler claim of masterful library cataloguing skills, Azureford had handed her a blank journal and welcomed her to stay.

Conclusion: The Duke of Azureford wasn’t an arrogant, disdainful prig.

He was shy.

“You hate small talk,” she said in wonder.

“I like small talk,” he protested despite the immediate flash of panic in his brown eyes.

She couldn’t believe one of the most powerful men in England was intimidated by something as innocuous as conversation. His party must have been hell on earth to him.

“Did the fortuneteller advise you to give away your library for some reason?”

He shook his head. “I’m putting in a billiard room.”

Her mouth fell open. She had not seen that explanation coming. “You’re swapping books for billiards?”

“Books are something you read by yourself.” His gaze seemed far away. “Billiards are something that must be played with others.”

Ought to be played with others, she mentally corrected. She’d long ago perfected the art of the one-person billiard tournament.

“Who are you hoping to play with?” she asked with interest.

“Everyone,” he said shyly. “It’s a game men and women can play. Since the game is so fast and there’s only two players at a time, everyone will have to pay attention and rotate turns and…”

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