Page 57 of The Heiress Gets a Duke
“Good morning, Miss Crenshaw.” He rose, marveling at how his body nearly vibrated as she stepped into the room.
“I didn’t know anyone was in here. I thought you were in your study working.”
“I needed to spread them out.” He gestured to the unwieldy stacks of paper. The truth was that he had missed her at breakfast and hoped to see her. She was lovely in a plum day dress that seemed to mold itself to her breasts. He had to rip his gaze from the row of tiny buttons up the front.
“Contracts are rather boring, aren’t they?” Overcoming her reticence to disturb him, she walked over and glanced at one. “May I?”
“Of course.”
She snapped it up and read the first page with remarkable speed. His throat constricted with how unbelievably attractive he found that. To hide the effect, he sat back down, but it only made it worse. Now his face was on level with her bosom, and her scent surrounded him. He picked up another contract and tried to focus on it.
“I don’t envy you. You could be here all day,” she said, laying the paper on the table and making her way around the room. She seemed to have forgotten him as she perused the shelves.
He mumbled an appropriate reply as he went through the one in his hand, marking out the extraneous penalties for late payments his estate manager had added.
“I am glad to see you are taking my advice,” she said, when he was certain she had forgotten him.
“I have made note of all of your suggestions from yesterday.” It was true. He had written down every one.
Finished with the paper in his hand, he pushed it aside and snatched up another one, but he could not concentrate. Of course he could not. She was there, hovering in his peripheral, and it was not long before the shape of her back as it narrowedtoward her hips proved endlessly fascinating. Or the tender skin of the nape of her neck. Her hair was pulled up in a simple chignon, leaving the graceful arc there exposed. He imagined that would be the perfect spot to kiss her, because he could bury his nose in her hair and fill himself up on her scent.
Grabbing a book off a shelf, she turned in profile as she opened it and momentarily propped herself against the bookcase to skim a page. The small mounds of her breasts seemed to be pushed up higher today than normal, and he remembered how they had looked above the bodice of the scarlet ball gown. And how they had tasted in Hereford’s library. Absently, she toyed with a strand of baby-fine hair that had slipped from the knot at the back of her head. His fingers itched to stroke it and then bury themselves in the mass, pulling it free of its pins.
The rustling of paper had him returning his attention to the crumpled contract on the table before him. She gave him an absent smile and turned back to the books, reshelving that one and making her way behind him.
“Could I help you find something?” he heard himself asking.
“No, thank you. The twins gave us a tour yesterday, and I was quite taken with the library. Since it’s raining today, I thought it would be a good time to explore. The twins have Violet playing charades, so I have a bit of leisure time alone.”
Was it his imagination, or had she put a twist on the wordalone? As if she meant everyone were busy and they would not be disturbed? He glanced to the door, disappointed to see that she had left it open a bit. Definitely his imagination. “I apologize for them. They rarely have visitors and never anyone close to their own age.”
“Please don’t apologize. They’re lovely. I’m simply more accustomed to having several hours to myself every day. Violet is the outgoing one.”
His disappointment grew. Clearly, she meant that she wanted to be alone, and he was twisting the scenario in his mind because he could not seem to get enough of her. From nowhere came the image of the respectable Miss Crenshaw sitting very prim and proper on the table while he kneltbefore her, pushing her skirts up and—Cease this at once!He rubbed his eyes to try to dash the image out of his head.
The soft waft of her scent warned him a moment before she dropped a heavy stack of books down on the table. Dust flew off the leather bindings to settle on the gleaming oak surface. He did not have to read the title on the first cover to know that she had found William’s writings.
Thank God William is heir. Evan will amount to nothing. The boy has the brawn of a bull and the brain of one, too.
His father’s words had lost the sting they had possessed when Evan had overheard the man say them to his mother, though they were as true now as ever. William would have made the better duke.
“A treatise on observations of Rhetorica ad Herennium in the grand style as it relates to Greek philosophyby William, Marquess of Langston.” August’s voice turned the title into something almost musical. Raising her gaze to him, she asked, “Your brother?”
He nodded, a peculiar lump lodging itself in his throat. “He was something of a scholar.”
“I see.” She went on to read the cover of each tome aloud. Each more obscure and convoluted than the last.
When she finished, he said, “There is likely another stack or two on the shelf. He wrote extensively on Latin and Greek scholarship.”
She picked up one thick tome to flip through it. “My, he was... thorough.”
“I was in awe of him.” Evan opened the next book on the stack, noting the neatly elaborate script and the lack of lines marking out any mistakes. He stopped when he became aware of her watching him.
“I am sorry for his passing.” Her voice was far too gentle, its warmth seeping into the cold hollows of his chest.
He shrugged, trying to deny how good it felt, and stared down at the page. “It was years ago.”
Her hand covered his, drawing his gaze to her. “Nevertheless, I am sorry. I can see how you cared for him.”
