Page 18 of The Best-Kept Secrets
Without any indication of jesting or embarrassment, he answered, “I do.” He replaced the cork and returned the jug to its compartment.
Eve took a small sip of water. Duke took gentle hold of her injured finger once more, examining the handkerchief bandage.
“Has it bled through?”
“No,” he said. “So we may not have to amputate, though I will make no guarantee.”
She smiled at him over her tin cup. “What a relief.”
Duke sat back once more, but he didn’t take up his newspaper. It was too dim for reading now.
“Was there anything interesting in your paper?” she asked.
“Not really,” he said. “Parliament recently reconvened in London to address the Peterloo Massacre. But this paper is too out-of-date to include any new information on that matter.”
“Do you have an interest in political matters, or did the topic draw your attention because Peterloo occurred in your home county?”
“Both,” he said.
She took another sip of water. “Do you mean to enter politics now that you are finished at Cambridge?”
“No.”
“But it does interest you?”
“Yes, but a man must own land to stand for a seat in the House of Commons.”
Ah. Duke would someday inherit his family’s estate, but that did not permit him to pursue a parliamentary career now. “Would you pursue it otherwise?”
“Are you worried about my future, Eve?” He didn’t sound offended.
“I like the idea of someone being able to claim a dreamed-of future. I’m hoping there is a way for you to be that person.”
“Why would that person not beyou?” he asked.
“Because I have the unfortunate tendency to dream of impossible things.”
Duke’s gaze turned studying. “What impossible dream are you nursing currently?”
She shook her head. “I believe I will break with my usual approach and, instead, keep my mouth shut.”
“I am a good listener, if ever you do want to talk.”
In what amounted to an immediate abandonment of her declaration mere moments earlier, she blurted out a thought as it entered her mind. “Guess.”
“You’d like me to attempt to ascertain what you dream of in your future?”
“I would very much like for you to.” In her excitement, shemotioned broadly with both arms, accidentally splashing a bit of water on her face. “Ah, the state of me.” With one hand holding a cup and the other sporting a bandaged finger, she wasn’t certain how to address the situation she’d created.
Duke brushed the cuff of his jacket along her cheek, wiping away the water. There was nothing truly romantic or tender in the gesture, yet her heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t actually touching her, but he was studying her with his sapphire eyes. She swallowed, finding breathing a little difficult.
“It is a very good thing thatwasn’tcider. Imagine if Grandmother awoke to find you smelling of spirits.” She enjoyed hearing his deep, velvety voice, especially when he tucked a hint of laughter into it, as he was doing just then.
Eve shook off the tingling his voice had rippled over her, but she didn’t manage to say anything.
Duke reached under the bench and pulled out a carriage blanket. He flicked it out and over her lap. “There is likely at least a half hour before we reach the inn. You should try to rest until then.”
Her heart was pounding far too hard for rest. Good heavens, what was happening? This was Duke, a friend, one of the Pack. Yes, he had a voice like a warm blanket on a cold day and eyes so gorgeously blue that they ought to be against the law somewhere, but that didn’t mean she was justified in being ridiculous.
