Page 87 of His Grace, the Duke
“Yes, I do. Now close the curtains.”
He opened his mouth then shut it again, his brows lowered in confusion. “What happens when I do?”
She smiled. “Close them and find out.”
With a frown, he turned away and went to the window. “Not all the way,” she directed, wandering over to his bookshelves. “Do you have any novels in here?”
James stilled, one hand on the curtain. “Novels?”
“Yes, James. Novels. Works of fiction, often with fantastical settings. Perhaps a story with a windswept castle on a moor. I’m in the mood for something brooding. It seems fitting for this atmosphere.”
“To the left,” he muttered. “Are we going to read in the dark?”
“Oh, perfect.” She tugged loose a copy ofThe Castles of Athlin and Dunbayneand tucked it under her arm. “Iam going to read,” she corrected. “Youare going to nap.”
“What?”
She sank onto the end of his sofa. “I’m starting to feel like you’re being obtuse on purpose. Is my English incorrect? Anap, James. It is the act of sleeping during the day. Hounds do it, children do it, and now so will you.”
“I can’t possibly nap,” he said with a huff of indignation.
“Of course, you can. Close the curtains and come here. Take off your boots.”
Grumbling, James pulled the curtain halfway closed. The effect was immediate, creating a darker, more intimate space. He tugged loose his cravat. She watched the flash of skin at his throat as he swallowed. He sat on the other end of the sofa and made quick work of his boots. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered.
She set her book on the arm of the sofa, propping her feet up on the little pouf. “Yes, I am ridiculous and impossible and full of deceit, James, I know.”
“Rosalie—”
“With any luck, we have two hours before the others return, if not three,” she said over him. “Either way, until I hear the sounds of return, you will lie here in my lap.” She put a pillow over her legs, patting it with a smile. “Sleep or don’t sleep, I don’t care. But youwillrest, James. You’re not moving from this sofa until I say.”
His lips twitched. “You’re a tyrant, and this will not work.”
She gave him her best steely, determined look. “Put your head in my lap, James.”
He flopped down, his weight pressing into her. Feeling him so close had her heart pounding. She swallowed it down before it dared to fly away. Could he hear it? Could hefeelit? Oh heavens, was this a mistake?
He lay there on his side, his legs half-curled up on the sofa. His body was stiff as a board.
“I can feel your eyes open,” she murmured. “Close them.” He let out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing a little.
“God, you’re exhausting.”
She smirked. “I’m not exhausting, you’re exhausted. There’s a difference. Now, close your stubborn eyes.”
He relaxed a little more and she moved one hand to his hair. She liked the auburn color, how it went darker at the tips. It only curled around his ears. At the first stroke of her fingers, he let out a soft groan, sinking deeper into her. She petted his hair, humming a little tune under her breath. As he relaxed, his breathing slowing, she opened her book one-handed and began to read.
“What are you humming?” he murmured.
“A lullaby. I think it might be Italian. I only know the tune. My mother favored it.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Do you miss her?”
She buried the ache deep in her chest. “Yes.”
He shifted a little. “I miss my father... but I can’t say it without facing rebuke. The longer he’s dead, the more my mother tries to poison his memory... and I begin to doubt. He was cold and demanding, it’s true. But, while he lived, I never worried that Alcott was being managed.”
Her hand stilled in his hair. “It’s wrong of your mother to try and take what was good away. He can be imperfectandyour father. You can mourn his loss.”
