Page 18 of The Truth About Dukes
“The one with the lock on the door.” Robert held open the French door. “We’ll see you when the kitchen bell rings.”
Althea rose from the desk and took Nathaniel by the hand. The happy couple scampered from the library without another word, and within two seconds, Constance was snickering, then giggling, then overcome with hilarity.
“The potting shed,” she managed, some minutes later. “The one with the l-locking door. My next niece or nephew will be named for a p-potting shed. Sprout, perhaps. Seedling Rothmere. You are very naughty, Your Grace. Very naughty indeed.”
“Nathaniel iscarrying oninmylibrary withyoursister and you sayIam naughty?”
She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and beamed at him. No careful, ladylike smile, but rather, a mischievous grin that did odd things to Robert’s insides.
“Nathaniel is very lucky to have you as a brother, Your Grace. My brothers would have barged in without knocking and enjoyed themselves thoroughly at my expense.”
“I did enjoy myself.” Robert was still enjoying himself, and that peculiar fact captured his attention.
He had realized in the past few days that Lady Constance Wentworth had trod a path he had yet to travel. She had traversed the difficult terrain between absolute social obscurity and general acceptance by good company. She had left her employment at the asylum, and years later, she was an unremarkable fixture during the London Season, while Robert dreaded travel by coach, and felt uncomfortable under open skies.
He needed to know what she knew, needed her insights and skills, her instincts and wisdom, as he attempted to take his proper place in the world. He hadn’t figured out how to entice her into sharing those challenges with him, but he was nothing if not tenacious with mental puzzles.
Hearing her fill his library with laughter, though, watching her scold Nathaniel within an inch of his handsome pride, seeing her arranging the flowers on the sideboard, Robert came to another conclusion:
He needed her, if he was to make a convincing adjustment into the role of duke.
More than that, though—and this astounded a man who’d parted ways with astonishment years ago—he desired her.He still desired her.
Chapter Five
For Constance, paying attention to her surroundings had originated not from artistic curiosity or a romantic fascination with nature, but rather, from the sheer compulsion to stay alive. Jack Wentworth had been both the sole beacon of safety in his children’s lives and the greatest threat to their well-being.
Constance had learned to notice differences in Jack’s tread outside the door—was he tired, drunk, seething, jaunty, or—most dangerous condition of all—sober? Did he come home bearing a whiff of cheap perfume, or did the brisk approach of his steps signal a new scheme afoot, a run of good luck with the cards?
She had paid attention to Jack for the same reason a sailor took note of the wind and a farmer studied the sky. Life and death had turned on Jack’s moods. More than once, she’d wakened Althea and Stephen to hustle them out the window as Jack fumbled at the door. By the tone and vileness of his curses, she’d known he was determined to once again take gambling losses out on those unable to defend themselves.
Nowshe paid attention to Robert, Duke of Rothhaven, who had created a spectacular garden at the very edge of the bleakest moors, and who had made her laugh until her sides ached.
“You are easily amused,” he said. “In life, that quality has to be an asset. We have a portrait gallery in the duchess’s wing, if you’d like to see it while we’re waiting for our meal.”
“Perhaps another time. I’m tempted to spy on your potting shed instead.”
“You are being kind. Let’s take a stroll on the drive, shall we?” He headed for the door, opened it, and waited for her.
“I thought you didn’t care for the out-of-doors.”
“My relationship with the natural world is complicated. As a boy, I wanted nothing so much as to be outside, away from my tutors and very especially away from my father. He watched me as if he knew I was about to disappoint him, as if sooner or later, I would stumble or give an incorrect answer. Then I realized hewantedme to disappoint him so that he could correct and rebuke me. Calculating how short of perfection I needed to fall and how often became my consuming burden. The only time I felt free was when Nathaniel and I were truant.”
Rothhaven Hall could be a pretty home, in Constance’s opinion, but it wanted fresh air. A breeze stirring the curtains. The sound of birdsong piping through an open window. The place was clean enough for an enormous dwelling with an aging staff, but the house was notalive.
“So you escaped to the out-of-doors as a boy,” Constance said as they approached the foyer. “What about now?”
“Now…” His Grace peered out the window at a beautiful sunny day, his expression suggesting he beheld torrents of sleet. “It’s difficult. When I was sent away, Dr. Soames realized that if I was to be made amenable to his various regimens and experiments, he needed to manipulate the things I longed for most. He withheld from me the privileges of the yard, and after a time…”
“The yard came to symbolize his power, not your freedom. What a hideous man, to pervert your joy into fear and rage. I knew I detested him for good reason. So why are we going outside now?”
Rothhaven was no longer studying the sky, but rather, regarding Constance. “Because it is time I reclaimed my joy, or at least put the rage and fear into the past. You are dangerously perceptive, my lady.”
“Dr. Soames was a dictator, as was your father. Dictators teach those beneath them to be alert.” She marched onto the terrace and waited for the duke to join her. He again glanced up, then scanned the front drive and the overgrown park on either side of it.
Constance beckoned to her host. “I have yet to see any giant birds swooping through the Yorkshire sky, ready to devour unsuspecting dukes. Nor have any French patrols been spotted in the environs. Come along, sir. We must make a list.”
He stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind him. “Perhaps we should have spied on the potting shed instead. My driveway is not a very cheering prospect, is it?”
