Page 31 of A Duke's Temptation Poetess
The coachman bowed smartly. “Your Grace, good morning!”
“Good morning, John. How is the repair?”
“It is finished,” he replied. “You should be able to reach Bath by nightfall. However, I am concerned about the weather, Your Grace.”
Colin tipped his head up, looking at the bloated, grey clouds that obscured the sky. He frowned. “What would you advise?”
“It is possible that you may become stuck in the muddy road if you leave out today, so although arriving in Bath may theoretically be possible, you might find it best to wait until tomorrow morning.”
Colin grimaced. A delay was not especially desirable, but it was better to be safe than sorry. He certainly did not want to be responsible for Aunt Matilda and two ladies being stranded in the countryside in the midst of a terrible storm. “I trust your judgement,” Colin said. “We will wait until tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Colin returned to the inn a short distance away. He glanced at the grey sky, as if it might have miraculously cleared. It had not, of course, so he entered the inn and set his course for the parlour, where he knew breakfast would be waiting for him. That would lift his spirits if nothing else.
He seated himself in the parlour. Breakfast was brought. As he ate his eggs, muffins, and fruit, he flipped through the pages of Lady Clarissa’s book. It was a strange experience reading the book now that he knew she was the author. In many respects, she was precisely the sort of lady who he had imagined would have written such poems.
Soft footfalls drew his attention away from the book, and he turned around to see Clarissa herself standing the doorway. Their eyes locked, and pink slowly blossomed over Lady Clarissa’s cheeks, right before his very eyes. Her eyes snapped down, presumably lingering on the book he held.
“Apologies for disturbing you, Your Grace,” Lady Clarissa said.
Colin smiled and gestured for her to join him. “No need. If anyone ought to be apologising, it is surely me. My behaviour yesterday did not befit a gentleman. We have a chaperone now,” he said, waving to the maid who had set about cleaning the room.
“Very well,” Lady Clarissa replied, seating herself beside Colin.
“And I believe this belongs to you,” he said, placing the book of poems in her hand.
Lady Clarissa smiled and took it. Their fingertips brushed, and Colin felt that anxious tingle jolt through him, as if he had been struck by lightning. He ached to feel her warm, soft hands rather than the silk gloves which covered them.
For a long moment, they simply stared at one another, and Colin felt that same mingling of uncertainty and fire that he had felt when he leaned forward and nearly kissed her. His thoughts pivoted to that dream of her undressing before him and the way he had unlaced her stays and tossed them aside.
Colin cleared his throat and tore his hand away, as if he had been burned. “So,” he said, “who is your favourite poet?”
Lady Clarissa set the book in her lap and curled her hands around it, something vaguely protective in the gesture. “There are too many poets to choose from,” she said. “If it were a modern poet, I suppose I would say Phillis Wheatley. If it were an ancient poet, perhaps Marie de France.”
Colin arched an eyebrow. “Those are twoverydifferent poets.”
“I am aware, but if I am to be a great poet myself, I feel as though I should be widely read, not just in authors, but also in their styles.”
Colin slowly nodded. “I quite agree with you.”
“And you?”
“The author ofDon Juan,” he said immediately. “That is the best thing I have read of late. I suppose I also favour some older poets, but I cannot say that I ever developed an appreciation for most of the mediaeval poems.”
Lady Clarissa shook her head, appearing somewhat amused. “Do you read often?”
“Oh, yes. Every place I go, I try to return with a book from,” he replied. “I have read all sorts of texts from all over Britain and beyond.”
“I would never have guessed that,” Lady Clarissa confessed.
“I do not make a habit of discussing it much,” Colin conceded.
“Why ever not?”
Colin hummed. He had not really thought much about why he did not feel inclined to talk about his love for reading with many of the ton. “Well…” he said hesitantly, mulling the question over, “I suppose I do not feel as if I really belong in the ton, so I try not to reveal too much about myself.”
Lady Clarissa frowned, looking confused.
