Page 32 of A Duke Changes Everything
Mina tiptoed over. A few inches from the table, she spotted two polished black boots sticking out.
In a room filled with overstuffed furniture, he’d chosen to sit on the floor?
She cleared her throat, and the duke immediately got to his feet, rising from behind the table. He wore the same expression she imagined on her own face when Mrs. Darley caught her filching fresh scones from the baking tray.
“Miss Thorne.” He glanced down at the book in his hands and cast the slim volume onto the table, as if it held no interest at all. “I was just—”
“Hiding?”
“Reading.”
“You chose a good spot.”
He cast her a hesitant gaze, as if assessing whether she intended to taunt.
“This room is always kept a bit too dark, if you ask me.” She hadn’t meant to tease him. She approved of anyone longing for peace and quiet and the solace of a book, though meeting the vicar was a duty he could only avoid for so long. “I always thought the maids should open the curtains a bit wider.”
“My father forbade it. He insisted his books’ leather must never fade.” His voice roughened whenever he spoke of the late duke.
“But the room was created to diminish that possibility. The window is there and the bookshelves—”
“—are all arranged so they don’t receive direct sunlight,” he said, completing her thought. “An ingenious design.”
“Yes.” In her enthusiasm to point out the window’s location, Mina stepped close to him. Close enough to notice how his clean scent contrasted with the mustiness of the room.
He gestured behind him. “When I was young, I’d dive beneath the table and read, squinting in the dim light, straining to see the words. But I don’t seem to fit underneath anymore.”
No, he wouldn’t. Every part of him was fashioned on a generous scale. The top of Mina’s head barely aligned with his chin.
Pointing toward the tall drape-covered window, she confessed, “I used to sit in the bay window, behind the curtain.”
“Whom were you hiding from?”
“My father, and yours, I suppose, though the old duke rarely visited the library.”
“Why were you hiding from your father?”
“Because of the kinds of books I liked to read. He didn’t approve of them.”
Nicholas Lyon’s dark brows twitched up on his forehead. “What exactly were you reading?”
“Nothing awful.” When Mina hesitated to say more, he approached and began a slow circular prowl around her. Mina turned rather than have him at her back.
“Come, confess it. Your father isn’t here to chastise you.” He scratched his chin and twisted his mouth thoughtfully. “Adventure stories by Sir Walter Scott?”
“No.”
“Something sentimental then. Dickens?”
Mina nodded reluctantly. “I do enjoy Mr. Dickens, but his stories can be rather—”
“Maudlin?”
“Exactly.”
“I know.” He stuck a finger in the air. “With your fondness for ballrooms, no doubt you admire Miss Austen’s novels.”
“Haveyouread Jane Austen?” The only copies in Enderley’s library were delicate little octavo editions that would disappear in the man’s enormous hands.
