Page 30 of His Mad Duchess
She stopped before a boy near the end. Dark hair combed flat. Shoulders braced, as if ordered to stand still for hours.
“Sebastian,” she murmured.
The same green eyes stared back at her—cool, careful—but the mouth was too tight for a child.
“Did you ever laugh?” she wondered aloud. “Run here without checking who watched?”
Her fingers hovered near the carved frame.
Farther down, half-hidden in the shadow where the gallery turned, another canvas loomed. She could not see the face clearly from where she stood. Something about the posture, rigid and slightly turned just so, caught at the base of her neck. A chill flicked down her spine, an old echo she couldn’t name. She didn’t linger. She backed away, the hem of her gown brushing the marble threshold.
Without thinking, she pressed her palm to the first door she found, needing to be anywhere else. The brass latch was cool under her fingertips. She pushed it open.
“Lost your way, Duchess?”
CHAPTER 10
Sebastian watched her close the door behind her, skirts whispering across the carpet. She looked like she was deciding whether to sit or flee. He lifted his glass. “You do realize,” he said dryly, “you have an unfortunate habit of finding me in libraries.”
Margaret crossed her arms lightly, the flicker of a frown crossing her face. “And you have an unfortunate habit of hiding in them.”
He tipped his head, conceding that. “A man needs somewhere to breathe.”
“Most men choose a club,” she shot back. “Or a bottle.”
He lifted his glass an inch. “I’ve the bottle covered, thank you. And as for the club, I am, after all, abiding by the rules you set.”
“Rules you’ve already tried to twist,” she countered.
“Twist? I’ve done nothing but honor them. Look at me, minding my own business, keeping a respectable distance, behaving as though I were a model of restraint.”
She gave a short laugh. “If this is restraint, Heaven help us when you decide to misbehave.”
His mouth tipped into a grin. “Ah, but that would require you to amend the rules, and I wouldn’t dare presume.”
Her brow arched. “You make it sound as though I handed down commandments.”
“You did,” he said, mock-solemn, eyes glinting over the rim of his glass. “Chapter and verse. No gambling, no taverns, no midnight scandals.”
“Rules any sensible man ought not need reminding of,” she retorted.
“Ah, but I am not sensible,” he returned, leaning back with deliberate ease. “I am dutiful. Entirely at your mercy.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was a warmth to it that he hadn’t seen in her at the chapel or the carriage. He found he liked it enough that a strange little thought nudged him to keep it going.
He saw her look at the door, then back at him, and the memory of that wretched locked door between them flickered up. Beforeshe could speak, he cut in. “If you’re worried, the door’s not locked this time.”
Margaret snorted softly, a sound he’d never expected from her lips. “A pity. Another scandal might’ve freed me altogether.”
“Careful,” Sebastian said, mouth curving. “You might give me ideas.”
Margaret hesitated in the doorway, fingers skimming the polished wood as if testing whether it might shut her out again.
“A library does have doors, Your Grace,” she said lightly, voice edged with a memory he half-wished she’d forget.
He tilted his head. “A door you’re quite fond of trespassing through.”
She raised her brows, stepping inside at last. “Not locked, I trust?”
