Page 40 of Nothing Compares to the Duke
Thatwas not surprising. He’d never met anyone with such a fertile mind. “I’d like to hear it.”
“Good.” The smile that bloomed on her full pink lips was too brief. “But what I wish to say will require some explanation.”
“Then let’s do this inside.” He gestured toward the conservatory door and she allowed him to lead her toward his father’s study. He’d come to think of the room as the place where the dreaded ledgers were housed, and it had become such a frequent haunt he was almost prepared to think of it as his own.
When they were both inside the dark-paneled room, Rhys closed the door. Something told him that whatever she’d come to say wasn’t meant for Meg or anyone else to hear.
“I can ring for tea or anything you might wish. Have you eaten?”
“No.” She waved off the question as if it was the least of her concerns. “I couldn’t.” She began pacing the edge of the dark ivy-decorated carpet, behind the settees and tables, making her way around the room. “Maybe tea.”
Rhys strode to the bellpull, tugged the fabric, and waited. Not for the servants, who would be up in minutes with tea and whatever scone had just emerged from the oven, but for Bella.
This ritual of being patient while she thought of how to phrase all that she wished to say was a familiar one. While he could ramble for an hour when an idea struck, Bella preferred to speak when she’d sorted outprecisely what to say. She didn’t like to make mistakes and was unforgiving toward herself when she did.
“You make deals in London.” She didn’t stop pacing but she turned her gaze his way expectantly.
“Yes.”
“And you gamble?”
“Occasionally.” He didn’t wish to admit that he’d once been exactly the sort of nobleman who made an enterprise like Lyon’s Gentlemen’s Club profitable. Night after night, he’d find himself leaning on the green baize tables, throwing away money in the foolish hope he could make his pounds and promissory notes multiply into much more.
He was a lucky man, wasn’t he? He’d never placed a bet without expecting to win.
Bella circled the room’s settee and perched on the center cushion. “Will you sit with me?” She gestured to a chair as if she was the lady of the house and he was a visitor.
He kept his gaze fixed on her as he sat, settling back on the cushions. Not a single muscle in his body felt relaxed, but he did his best to feign ease.
“Whatever it is you’ve come to say,” he urged her, “I’m willing to hear it.” Eager was more like it.
“I want to make a deal with you.” Her tone was confident, her voice clear, and yet Rhys was almost certain he’d misheard her.
“You mean a wager?”
When they were children, they’d place nominal bets on things like how far a frog could leap or who between them would win a foot race across the fields. He couldn’t imagine what Bella would wish to wager on now.
“More of an exchange,” she said a little too brightly.
“We already worked out our exchange, did we not?” He slept better knowing she’d agreed to assist him with Edgecombe’s financial mystery, and he was willing to sit at her family’s dinner table or hold her in his arms for as many waltzes as she wished.
“I’d like to change the terms.”
Rhys couldn’t repress a chuckle. “That’s rarely allowed.”
“Rarely means it sometimes is allowed.” She leaned toward him. “Let this be one of those exceptions.”
When she was determined on a course, Bella was the most immovable woman he’d ever known. He liked her determination. Except when he was the object in her way.
“Tell me what you have in mind.” A great many images came to Rhys’s mind. The same wayward thoughts that plagued him whenever she was near. Very little of it was appropriate.
She stared at him and little lines of worry pinched between her brows.
“Bella, just say it.”
“You’re the talk of the county.”
“Am I? I haven’t been here long enough to do anything dastardly.”
