Page 53 of The Good Duke
Nay, the duke. A self-possessed, austere man could only ever be thought of as “the duke.”
He still didn’t say anything. Not a single word.
And in that instant, he reminded her so very much of the boy who’d not been uncomfortable with silences because he’d used them to help steady his words.
How ironic he now used that same stillness to disconcert the person opposite him. Said person being Persephone.
She dropped her gaze a smidge, and her eyes collided with the implicative trace of red upon his rumpled cravat. Why…why…was she the one feeling unsettled? Her, Persephone? When he had been the one doing…doing…wicked things with whichever woman it was who’d left that stain upon his garments.
Done being the unsettled person in their pair, Persephone sniffed at the air.
When he didn’t take the bait, she leaned more pronouncedly over the surface of his desk and took another whiff.
“Is there a problem, Miss Forsyth?” he asked impatiently.
“I merely wondered, given you’ve become a connoisseur of brandy and cognac. Can one smell a difference on a person? Or does one’s stench remain the same?”
There emerged a strangled sound of mirth from behind them.
They ignored Mrs. Trowbridge.
“Stench?” he said. “I don’t have a stench.”
Given the terseness of his tone, she’d do well to let the matter be.
Alas, some things did not change between them—her inability tonotprovoke a reaction in him being one.
“No, that is fair,” Persephone allowed. “You don’t have a stench.”
Some of the tension left his frame.
“You have asmell,” she added. “And given thatscenton your person is offensive tosome, the wordstenchstill applies.”
A flush mottled his cheeks.
“I trust we’ve more important business to attend than whether or not I’ve been drinking,” he snapped.
She couldn’t help herself. “You have.”
He stared blankly back.
Persephone elucidated. “Well, it is just whether you’ve been drinking is not in question.” She paused again for effect. “We were discussing the fact you stink.”
His nostrils flared.
From behind Simon, she caught Mrs. Trowbridge’s smothered laugh.
Simon looked past Persephone. “That will be all, Mrs. Trowbridge.”
Persephone cast an envious glance back as the housekeeper took her leave.
The older woman dropped another curtsy—this one quick. She sent a supportive wink Persephone’s way, and Persephone smiled gratefully in return.
And then she was gone.
Lucky lady.
The moment Persephone redirected her attention forward, Simon motioned to the pair of Hepplewhite chairs in front of his desk.
