Page 20 of Plucked By the Orc

“You’ve done a brilliant job of it today, Miss Gabbert,” Duncan told her, gathering the cards. “And I understand there is a mince pie awaiting you after the main courses of your luncheon. Well deserved, I should say.”

“We got through twenty of them things already?” Iris asked.

“Thosethings.”

“Thosethings,” she muttered. “I thought we had another hour to go, at least.”

Duncan gave a brusque chortle, a pleasing sound once a girl got used to it, though she couldn’t count it as a genuine laugh.“Why, it wasn’t so long ago that you swore getting through twenty a day was nearly impossible.”

Duncan Higgins might have his leather bound notebook with all his so-called observations about human society. Everything that would help her.

But she had a flair for a certain science, if that’s what you wanted to call it. Iris prided herself on figuring out what made people tick like a clock. Well, this one in front of her was a massive clock tower, but every so often, he showed what was really going on inside that giant skull of his.

Duncan was an odd duck if ever there was one. While he walked and spoke with self-assurance, he also grumbled about the world around him such that one might be fair in suspecting he disdained most everyone and everything about it. Yet, a tenderness underneath it all lent an awkward charm to his manner. He was quick to praise when she pronounced a word correctly or allowed a twitch at the corner of his lips when she mentioned something she’d read in the papers, as though he also wished to discuss more than the weather. A person had to pay close attention to sense that softness in him, but then who was in a better position to do so than Iris?

Of everything he had experienced, that was the most surprising of all. Irisenjoyedtalking to Duncan Higgins. That he kept his exterior so reserved made it all the more satisfying when he let her glimpse beyond the grouchy demeanor and see who he was deep inside. For all his pomp and nonsense and “that not which” and “did not done,” she was starting tolikeDuncan Higgins.

And so she wanted to get to know him better. That was normal, wasn’t it? Sensible even. She hadn’t met an orc nor talked to one of them before. Somewhere in that enormous form of his was a tender heart and a sense of humor. It wasn’tallschedules and language cards with this gent.

For example, no sooner had she mentioned that she had gone through these twenty cards faster than expected than Duncan reached into his roll-top desk and produced a box of chocolates.

“La!” she said, affecting greater surprise than the unexpected treat warranted. “Why, it’s not even the end of the day!”

“You deserve it.”

Iris ran her finger in the air, not touching the candy but silently reviewing the chocolates before choosing one of her favorites with pink sugared ribbon fondant on the top. When she bit inside, she was rewarded with a burst of raspberry cream.

“Absolute heaven,” she said, carefully pronouncing the “h.”

And then, like a miracle sent from above, Duncan Higgins grinned. It started on just one side of his mouth, causing a prominent front incisor to show and glint in the lamplight, and then spread so that it became a genuine smile: an astounding thing that transformed his entire countenance. He seemed almost friendly. And quite handsome in his unique way.

This victory, making this bloke so disposed to gloominess smile, bolstered her confidence more than conquering those bloody “h’s.”

“Say, I’ve a notion,” she told him once she’d polished off the chocolate, resisting the urge to lick her fingers. She knew from experience that the duke was none too pleased when she did that. Instead, she reached for the handkerchief Duncan had taught her to always keep in one of her pockets. “Why don’t you join me at luncheon today?”

“Join you?” He shook his head, truly not understanding what she meant, though she couldn’t help but note his intense gaze resting on her lips as she dabbed remnants of the chocolate away.

“You like mince pie, don’t you?” she said. “Maybe we could have a laugh together while we’re eating it.”

The smile she had so enjoyed a moment earlier disappeared, replaced by his usual glower.

“Just for good company, your grace,” she told him. “Where’s the harm in that?”

“As you know, it is my custom to take luncheon with my brother Albion on Tuesdays and Thursdays at our club. Today is Thursday.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,” Iris said.

“Even if Albion were to agree to a change in plan, I don’t deem it appropriate for the two of us to dine together. I’m your tutor, Miss Gabbert. When not engaged in lessons, we must keep an appropriate distance from one another. That’s only respectable.”

Respectable. Dismay blanched her cheeks. If she had a chocolate for every time he used that word, she’d have … well, lots of chocolate, for sure.

Besides, she couldn’t believe concerns for respectability alone kept Duncan at a distance. After all, he’d only three servants in his entire townhouse, which even the likes of Iris Gabbert knew was understaffed for a manse of this size.

For all that Duncan Higgins could beebullientin his praise—an adjective she’d caught on to when reading one of the many intimidating, yet intriguing, books in his library—his response gave her the feeling he still looked down on her. The idea of taking his luncheon in her company was no more appealing to him than sitting down to listen to strangers ramble about days gone by had been for her, back when she ate her meals at a church’s open kitchen in Covent Garden.

Despite Duncan not caring for the English manner of living, at least not that of theton, he seemed to take on well enough to the snobbery of high society. Iris feared that no matter how elegant her speech or how perfect her manners were, in Duncan’s eyes, she would never quite meet his standards. And he would treat her accordingly.

She hated the sudden drop in her stomach at the notion. It shouldn’t have mattered a whit whether he did or did not see her as worthy of his companionship. And yet it did.

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