Page 18 of Her Runaway Duke
Her eyes caught on paper that was lying on the bottom of the grate. It was the same stationary she had written upon just this morning, she realized as she reached out a hand and plucked it out. In fact, that was her handwriting upon the page.
Her brow furrowed as her eyes ran over the letter she had written to Eliza, fury growing inside of her. How did the duke think he had any right to not only read her letter but set it aside to be destroyed? Before she could decide just what she was going to do about it, the door creaked behind her, and she whirled around to find the duke’s imposing figure filling the frame.
“What do you think you are doing?” he ground out, and she jumped, startled.
“I was simply wandering the estate,” she said, telling herself to stand her ground, that she was not in the wrong here. “As I did so, you must understand how surprised I was to find a letter that I wrote to my friend in your fireplace, prepared to be burned!”
He started, and she realized then that perhaps her choice of words had disconcerted him.
“You do not seem to understand the meaning of secrets,” he said, passing beside her, his body just brushing against hers as he took a seat behind the desk, crossing his arms over his chestas he stared her down. She appreciated that he was no longer hiding his face from her, as annoyed as she was with his actions. No one should feel ashamed for having been injured. It was his words and actions that upset her.
“Eliza is my closest friend in the entire world, and she would never tell another where I am or who I am with,” Siena said, willing herself to be patient. “She was the one who helped me escape.”
“A fine job she did of it,” he muttered, and Siena, most annoyed that he would insult Eliza, walked over to the desk, flattening her palms down upon it.
“You could have asked me to rewrite it,” she said. “What if I had never found it? I would not have known that Eliza did not know where I was or who I was with.”
“All the better.”
“You… you…” She tried to find the words. “You are not very nice.”
He scoffed. “I’ve been called worse.”
“I will be writing her again,” Siena said resolutely, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Do show me what you’ve written next time.”
“It is personal correspondence.”
“Not when it is being written from my home.”
She took deep breaths, rubbing her temples as she began to pace back and forth in front of him.
“How long until the roads are passable again?”
He looked out the window and shrugged. “First the rain would have to let up. After that, I would say we have a few days, depending on how much sun we get. In a hurry?”
“I thought you wanted me gone.”
“I do.”
“Then I will leave as soon as I am able. You clearly do not want me here and I am not particularly enjoying myself withyou. I do not like to be an unwelcome house guest and you have not allowed me to do any work for you to repay you.”
He sat forward, looking up at her. “Fine.”
“Fine, what?”
“Fine, I have work that you can do.”
He said nothing else, and she waited, until finally, she asked, “Are you going to share anything else about it?”
“You can inventory the paintings.”
“Inventory?”
“Go through this house and make a list of the paintings,” he said, waving his hand around. “No one has lived here for years, and I have no idea if any of them have value or if they are the work of some ancestor who fancied themselves an artist.”
“How will I know the difference?”
