Page 3 of Her Duke to Seduce
“I am hardly alone.” She gestured toward him. “I haveyoufor company, do I not?”
He could not argue with that logic, as ridiculous as it was. Whoever this girl was, she possessed an impertinence unlike anything he had encountered before. It was… oddly refreshing. Most children, particularly young ladies, cowered before a marquess—even one merely five and ten like him. This one, however, stood her ground as though she were the Queen of England herself.
“Well, nameless girl from Winston Manor,” he said, smirking, “I must insist on escorting you back. I cannot risk your coming to harm, or I will feel responsible.”
She hesitated before sighing, as if resigning herself to an inevitable fate. “I suppose you will not let this go.”
“I will not,” he confirmed.
“Very well, then,” she said, lifting her chin with dramatic grandeur. “You may call me Lissy.”
“Lissy?” he repeated. “That is all you will tell me? Surely that is not your only name.”
She shrugged. “It is all Iwilltell you.”
Aiden extended his arm, expecting her to take it as any proper young lady would. Instead, she eyed it as though it were an amusing relic from some bygone age.
“I would rather not,” she said primly. “I prefer my independence.”
Aiden laughed outright this time. “You are a peculiar little thing.”
Lissy shrugged. “I prefer to think of myself asextraordinary.”
“Extraordinary, is it?” He shook his head, marveling at her confidence. He found he liked her even if she were a bit frustrating. “Well then, Miss Lissy, shall we return to Winston Manor now?”
“I suppose I must return,” she said with great reluctance, then sighed dramatically. “But you arenotgoing to escort me.”
“And why is that?”
“Because, as I said,” she replied, lifting her chin, “I do notrequireyou to.” With that, she turned and ran off, never once looking back.
Aiden shook his head as he watched her go. Heshouldgo after her, but he did not bother. She would be fine. It was unlikely she would come to any harm between the pond and Winston Manor. Still, he found himself wondering about her. Would he see her again? If she was a servant’s child, perhaps. But he had other concerns far more pressing than a cheeky little hellion and whatever future she might forge for herself. With a sigh, he turned back toward his own home, his thoughts returning to his mother. He could not afford to be distracted. Not now.
One
Felicity strolled into the library at her father’s estate. She loved books—had always loved books. They held far more appeal than most things offered in society. She had no desire to attend a ball, a soirée, or even something so mundane as a picnic. People always disappointed her, and she did not believe that would change. Books, however, were a comfort, and one she often returned to.
She ran her fingers over the leather-bound tomes and smiled. Felicity closed her eyes and inhaled, breathing in the familiar scent of parchment, ink, and aged leather. Yes, this was where she went to ease any discomfort. It was like coming home and being wrapped in warmth.
Winter was about to come to an end, and spring was on the horizon. The warmer months would arrive soon enough, and she could enjoy reading in the gardens. But for now, she would have to be content in the library, a fire crackling in the hearth. She stared at the shelves. But what book should she choose? There were so many wonderful stories, histories, and biographies. Did she want something to study or something to become lost in?
Well, who was she fooling? It did not matter the topic—she would always become lost within the pages of any book she heldin her hands. That was how she found peace, after all. She loved learning.
She nibbled on her bottom lip, then reached toward the shelf and plucked a tome at random. It did not matter what she would find within its pages. There was no book she found distasteful. All topics held merit and deserved to be read. If one hoped to have a proper education, everything should be considered, and she had read a great many books in her years—even during the summer she had spent at Winston Manor with her Aunt Enid ten years earlier.
She had to be sneaky then, for her aunt had singular ideas about what a young lady ought to learn. Still, Felicity had managed to steal time for her books. She had gained a great deal of knowledge that summer. She had learned to dance, to use watercolors, and even a bit of cross-stitching. She had not exactly hated any of it, but neither had she loved it. She was passable at watercolors and abysmal at cross-stitching.
Dancing, however—she had discovered quite the aptitude for it, much to her aunt’s delight. Aunt Enid had claimed that through dancing, she would win a gentleman’s heart. Felicity had merely rolled her eyes. As if dancing could solve any dilemma.
“Lady Felicity.”
She turned and smiled at the butler in the entry way to the library. His silver-streaked dark hair was trimmed neatly. Wrinkles had begun to form at the corners of his soft blue eyes, and that stern expression had become a fixture Felicity had come to expect. “Hello, Bivens,” she said. “What is it?”
“Your father wishes for you to attend him in his study,” he said.
“Now?” she asked. That was unusual for her father. He never summoned her. There was no reason to. She never left the estate, and they saw each other at meals. She understood thather father, as the Earl of Sheffield, was busy. He had a lot to oversee in the earldom.
“Yes, my lady,” Bivens answered. “He said it is most urgent.”
