Page 33 of Good Duke Gone Far

Was there any chance that she was still keen on making it to Scotland without him? It was impossible. Wasn’t it? She couldn’t be that cold. That independent. She couldn’t have done what she had with him and then left him for a greater mission, could she have?

Clink! Plop!

A few sounds chimed around him, pulling all his senses to the present. He pushed himself to a seated position and wiped his hands down his face. Finally his eyes flung open.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was observing. Kat stood over a tray with a few bowls and was placing spoons in various smaller bowls. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, stood, and examined the table before her.

“Trouble with breakfast?”

She jumped a couple of inches and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh! I didn’t realize you were awake.”

“I am. Just now.”

Kat’s cheeks flushed. Up until now, he hadn’t seen her blush. What was she doing? She was acting as though he had caught her trying to escape, but when he looked around, he could see no signs of an attempt to flee.

“It’s time for breakfast.” She motioned to the chairs.

Quinn rolled out of bed. Without thinking, he turned around, bent over, and grabbed his breeches.

Kat gasped at the unintentional show.

He tugged his breeches on, saying, “You’ve seen it all now, doll.”

“Oh my, yes.”

He thought he could hear her heart pounding from across the room, but dismissed it as silliness. It was probably his heart. She was breathtaking.

Even in her day old frock and self done hair. She had the glow of a woman who had been good and truly loved all night.

Loved.

He cleared his throat.

“What’s for breakfast?”

Kat pulled out the chairs and sat down. “Porridge.”

“What a charming coincidence.”

Kat stared down at the porridge, and murmured, “Yes, charming.”

Quinn studied the table. Porridge. Honey. Milk. His breakfast. The one he had every morning at home. The breakfast he would have every morning with Kat in the future, if she wanted it.

“This is my breakfast.” Quinn didn’t pose it as a question. Except it was a question. It was a question to ask how much she thought of him, in what way she thought of him, and if she cared for him.

“Yes, that’s yours. It’s your bowl.” She took a bite of porridge. “It’s right in front of you, isn’t it?”

“You did this.” His voice was heavy, and as he watched Kat take another nonchalant bite, all he could think was that there was nothing nonchalant about this. They were alone in a room together, had shared the deepest parts of themselves with each other, and now she was preparing his breakfast.Hisbreakfast.

“Why did you do this?”

Kat took another bite.

“Stop eating and answer me.”

The spoon clattered to the table. “You’re making too big a deal of this. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. It’s my breakfast.”

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