Page 83 of A Duke in the Rough

While he waited a few more minutes before taking his leave, muted voices once again echoed from outside the building.

The door opened, and this time, Honoria stepped inside.

Honoria had been strollingthrough the gardens when Miranda stopped her.

“I’ve received some news aboutThe Muckrakerfrom my contact in London. I saw Charlotte and Anne go inside the orangery a while ago. It will be a quiet place for an impromptu meeting. If you hurry, you should catch them, and I’ll join you shortly. I have to attend to something first.”

Before Honoria could ask any questions, Miranda hurried off toward the house.

As she stepped through the door, the familiar fragrance greeted her, and memories of her father’s orangery bubbled up. She scanned the lush foliage dotted with orange globes.

Where are they?

“Charlotte? Anne?”

Crunch. Crunch.

Footsteps sounded.

She turned in their direction.

There. Drake emerged from the green foliage and raised his hand in greeting.

“I’m looking for Lady Charlotte and Anne. Have you seen them?”

His gaze darted to the left, then returned to her. “I . . . I haven’t spoken to them this morning, no.”

Had Miranda sent her to the orangery knowing Drake was inside? Perhaps that’s why she chose not to join her. “I should go.”

Drake reached out an arm. In his hand, he clutched an orange. “Don’t!”

She stopped short at his pleading expression. Besides, she could never refuse him anything. “Very well, but how would it appear shouldsomeone happen upon us? Especially Anne? I was told to meet her and Charlotte here.”

“We shall keep a respectable distance.” And yet he took several steps closer. “Besides, you can’t leave until you’ve tried an orange.”

She looked down at the one in his hand, a smile tugging her lips. “It appears you’ve already enjoyed that one.”

He plucked another from a tree and, coming even closer, handed it to her. “Go on, then.”

Oh, she shouldn’t. They weren’t sixteen and nineteen any longer. It wasn’t dignified. Yet she saw the puncture in the orange he held.

“Very well.” She broke through the rind with her thumb. Juice squirted out, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Remember?” He whispered the question, a note of hope in the word.

“How could I forget?” The words sounded wistful to her own ears.

He took another step closer. What happened to keeping their distance? She found she didn’t care.

“Go on.” He prodded her, his eyes never leaving her face.

She lifted the orange to her mouth and, as daintily as she could, sucked the juice. A drop lingered on her bottom lip.

Before it could trickle down her chin, he brushed it away with his thumb, his touch caressingly tender. Then he placed his thumb in his mouth. “Sweet.” He closed the distance with another step, standing but a breath away from her.

His gaze dipped to her lips.

Her knees grew weak. Had the temperature risen? Was it the room or him?

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