Page 64 of Never Beguile a Duke
“My stepfather,” she replied, her voice wobbling.
She scrubbed her cheek with her palm, catching the tear that fell.
“I was fairly young when he and my mother married. The night before the wedding, Mother informed me that I shouldn’t expect him to treat me as kindly as he did Nora.” Miss Fernsby-Webb’s mouth crooked into a watery smile. “She was incorrect in her estimation of him.”
Silas drew Miss Fernsby-Webb’s head against his chest, affording her privacy should she wish to cry while ruminating on her deceased stepfather.
“What do you remember of Mr. Webb?” he asked, tucking a loose dark brown tendril behind her ear.
“When we first arrived at the residence with our trunks, he took me into his office for a private discussion.” Miss Fernsby-Webb glanced up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “He asked me what foods I liked, my favorite color, and other trivial questions. Then he paused, came round the desk, lowered himself to my height, and asked one final query.”
“Which was?” Silas trailed the side of his finger beneath her eye, catching a wayward tear.
“If I would swear to inform him the moment that I believed him acting unfairly toward me.” She released a shuddering sigh. “I trusted him from then on.”
“Did you ever need to point out his behavior?” Silas asked, leaning to the side and retrieving her corset from the floor.
“Not once.” Miss Fernsby-Webb took the corset and, climbing off his lap, pulled the material over her head. “I believe that irritated Mother more than she would admit.”
“Perhaps she felt it was a dishonor to your true father,” he said, leaning forward and helping tug the garment into place.
Miss Fernsby-Webb glanced over with a snort, her fingers positioned over the hook and eye closure of the corset. “If she’d believed that, she would have waited longer than a month to remarry.”
He dragged her dress from the back of the chair and held out the article of clothing, hoping their fingers would brush when she accepted the outfit—they did, resulting in a most delightful jolt which flew up his arm and pierced his heart.
“You don’t think it possible for affection to grow over such a short period of time?” he asked, his fingers twitching with the urge to rip the dress from Miss Fernsby-Webb’s body.
“I believe all things are possible, Your Grace,” she said, spinning around and indicating the ties on the back of her clothing.
He rose, tugged up his pants, hooking his suspenders over his shoulders, and approached from behind. Her breath caught as his fingertips skated across her skin.
“I would like a second chance at seduction,” she murmured, leaning back against his torso and looking up at him.
“I swear to behave better next time.” As his lips touched her ear, the realization that he could lose any opportunity for a repeat of this type of intimacy smacked into his thick skull, and he swore.
“Your Grace!” Miss Fernsby-Webb whipped around, her mouth hanging open.
He should have explained himself, should have bared his feelings at that moment, but instead he said, “I was nine once, and not only would I wager that Juliette is waiting for you atop the main staircase, but I would also wager that she’s verified you are not in your bedchamber, either.”
“Tenacious. Not unlike her father, I assume.”
Inclining his head, he escorted Miss Fernsby-Webb to his bedchamber’s entrance, cracked open the door, peeked into the corridor, and caught a glimpse of Juliette’s mismatched hair ribbons as she prowled the second-floor landing.
He closed the door with a soft click. “To complete the ruse, you’ll need to descend the servants’ staircase without Juliette catching you, hurry through the downstairs corridor, and ascend the main staircase without appearing as though you’ve run the length of the house.”
“I can do that,” Miss Fernsby-Webb replied, reaching for the door handle.
He blocked her. “Have you an excuse to give when my daughter accosts you?”
“That you mentioned you may have a book on sledding in the library,” Miss Fernsby-Webb replied, then she smiled. “However, I was unable to find the tome.”
“Very good.” Silas grasped the handle and opened the door a sliver.
When he was certain Juliette faced the opposite direction, he gestured for Miss Fernsby-Webb to slip past him. Her body briefly brushed against his, and the unique citrus scent that clung to her skin caressed his face. Then she was gone, disappearing down the servants’ staircase without a sound.
He waited, hoping to catch a glimpse of her dark brown hair when she reappeared at the other end of the corridor, but a door opened halfway down the hallway, and he ducked back into his chamber, swathed in disappointment and the distressing realization that if Miss Fernsby-Webb left Wiltshire, she’d take his heart with her.
And he set his mind to preventing that very result.
