Page 62 of Duke of Emeralds
The thought of Arabella biting into a still-warm biscuit—a proper, full-mouthed smile on the girl’s face—sent a rare surge of anticipation through Hester’s chest.There, that is how it begins,she thought.You allow yourself a kindness, and before long, you want to see it multiplied. God has delivered this child for a purpose.
The rawness of the thought startled her. She bundled it away, using brisk motion as her shield.
She thanked Cook, nodded to Mrs. Smith, and was already halfway down the back hallway toward her office when her body collided with a wall.
The impact knocked the bowl and plate sideways, but before either could spill its contents, a pair of strong hands closed around her arms and held her upright. She clung reflexively to the bowl, nearly upending the entire contents into her lap.
“Ye must be trying to run me down, Duchess,” Thomas said, his eyes creased at the corners. “If I was a proper wall, you’d have knocked me flat by now.”
She found herself half-laughing, half-out of breath. “If you were a proper wall, I would have walked around you, not through you.”
He surveyed the rescued carrot sticks then her face, then the bowl held protectively to her chest. “You’ve become more dangerous since last I saw you,” he said, hands still braced at her shoulders. “Is this how you spend your afternoons, sneaking about the kitchens?”
She narrowed her gaze. “Are you accusing me of culinary subterfuge?”
He opened his mouth to speak then seemed to notice his hands lingered a shade too long on her shoulder. He let them drop. “Only that yer arms are criminally strong for someone so slight,” he replied. Then he made a gentle swipe at the bowl which she raised defensively to eye level.
“Stop that,” she said, trying not to laugh. “You must wait for dinner like the rest of us.”
He arched a brow. “And who made ye an authority on the matter, Duchess?”
“I am the mistress of this castle,” she shot back. “If I choose to take lunch in the hallway, it is my right.”
He looked at her then up at the bowl hovering just above his reach. “Ye do realize, Hester, that you’re not as tall as you imagine?”
She glared at him then realized she had, in fact, lifted the bowl straight into his line of sight, if not his grasp.
He smiled then calmly reached up and plucked a carrot from the top. “Thank you,” he said, popping it into his mouth with theatrical satisfaction. “Delicious.”
She fumed but only a little because itwasfunny and because his hand, when it brushed hers, had been very warm. She dropped her arm and balanced the bowl between them.
“You really are insufferable,” she said, but it came out as a sigh.
“I’ve been called worse,” he replied.
She glared, but the sharpness dissolved as two footmen hurried past, each carrying what looked like dismantled segments of the old salon’s woodwork. “Are we renovating the entire wing?” she asked, tracking the retreating chaos. “I thought only the little salon was under assault.”
Thomas watched the footmen vanish then gave a noncommittal shrug. “Might as well do the job proper. Those rooms have not seen daylight in a century. I’m thinking to put a studio in.”
“A studio? For yourself?”
He straightened. “I’ve drawings that want finishing, and the drawing room is overrun with distractions.”
She eyed him. “You mean me.”
He smiled, very slightly. “Who else could it be?”
“Then I suppose you’ll just have to confine your artistry to your new studio,” she teased.
“Indeed,” he said, but his gaze slid away for a fraction of a second. It was the same look he wore when evading a difficult negotiation.
She caught it and catalogued it for later.
He cleared his throat. “Come, I have something for you in the drawing room.” And before she could protest, he was already moving, leaving her to follow with her bowl and plate in tow.
She trailed him down the hallway, aware of the warmth rising in her cheeks. They reached the drawing room, and he walked to the escritoire, plucked a letter from the stack, and held it out toher. “Arrived yesterday morning,” he said. “From your brother. I meant to bring it up, but you were otherwise occupied.”
She took the letter, noting the familiar scrawl on the back. “Thank you,” she said, more softly than intended.
