Page 20 of Cinderella's Charade With the Duke
‘Simmons, please see if that door can be oiled and I have some correspondence for you to—’ He turned his head to her and his words fell off into an abyss. ‘Miss Potts,’ he spluttered out. He haphazardly folded the broadsheet he was reading, pulled his feet down from where they had been crossed at the ankles and propped on the corner of his desk, and stood.
Blast.She knew she should have waited.She gripped the edges of her skirts. What had she been thinking?
‘I am sorry. It is an early hour. I just wished to speak with you, Your Grace. I tend to be an early riser and I did not think—’ She did an awkward curtsy although she had no idea why. Theywere far beyond such ridiculous formalities. She righted herself quickly and as she took in the sight of him her throat dried.
Lord, he was handsome.
His untied cravat dangled about his neck and his loosened tunic gaped open, revealing a clean ‘v’ of skin at his throat and a sliver of his fine collarbone and chest. His brown hair was dishevelled as if he’d been running his hands through it and he had a shadow of stubble darkening his face. Once again, she was reminded he was no elderly Duke, but a man in his prime. A man only a handful of years older than her.
A man who was also her employer.
Her face heated. But she was also a woman in her prime.
Even a dead woman would notice his fine features.
Hattie almost giggled aloud as Ophelia’s often-used phrase popped into her head. She pressed her lips together instead, gripped her hands in front of her, and prayed that the candlelit room was too dim for him to see the hot blush that was now heating her entire body. She stared at the fine rug for a few seconds to regain her composure. When she glanced back up, His Grace had shrugged on the jacket that had been hanging loosely on the back of his chair. His hair had also been somewhat smoothed.
But it didn’t matter. Her eyes couldn’t unsee what he had looked like before: disastrously handsome. How had she not noticed it before? How could she not notice it now?
‘Miss Potts?’
She started and met his gaze. He furrowed his brow. She had missed his question.Blast.Woolgathering was going to be the end of her.
‘I came to speak with you about…yesterday, Your Grace. I have a few questions before I make my decision.’
‘At five in the morning?’ He lifted a brow at her.
Her gaze slid to the large mantel clock to her right and cringed. Was it really that early?
She flushed again. ‘My apologies. I slept soundly from the tonic Mrs Chisolm brought me and I wanted to talk to you about…the proposal you made to me yesterday as soon as I woke…’ She paused, uncertain if she should say it aloud or not. ‘I did not even check the time.’
His eyebrows shot up higher and he smirked. ‘My proposal to you?’ he asked.
All the colour drained from her face when she realised her faulty word choice. It made it seem as though she believed his offer for her to be his fake betrothed was a real offer of marriage.
‘I…’ she began, unsure how to unwind her words.
‘I am teasing you, Miss Potts. I know what you are referring to. Come, sit.’ His smile was warm and welcoming and she released a shaky breath. She smiled back at him, relieved by his good humour. She sat in the chair across from his desk.
‘What questions do you have?’ he asked as he settled into the large chair behind his desk and leaned forward, letting his arms rest on his desk and linking his hands together. ‘Oh, and did you enjoy the book and the story of the Cinder girl?’
‘Truthfully, I fell asleep before I finished all of it, but I believe I understand the gist of it. You wish to transform me into a princess, or, in this case, Lady Penelope Denning, for the evening to fool thetonand then I shall be returned to my governess position.’
‘Yes. Exactly. For one evening, I will show you off to thetonas my future bride. Then, you will return to…wherever we decide you are from to await our wedding after a very long engagement.’
‘And then you hope thetonwill forget?’
‘While I know they will not forget, I hope it will at least buy us some peace and quiet for a bit.’
Her stomach flipped. ‘You do not worry they will want more?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘You have had men trespassing for just the name of a possible bride and to revive gossip about your family. Will they not want more than one opportunity of seeing us together at your upcoming ball? What if more than one event is required?’ This was the question that plagued her: that it might not be a one-day affair. She couldn’t imagine surviving more than one evening pretending, so she needed to know what his expectations were. She was not the actress Ophelia was.
‘Does this worry you?’
She stared down at her hands. ‘Yes,’ she replied, daring to meet his gaze again. ‘I am a horrible liar, Your Grace. I am afraid I will be discovered if people ask too many questions.’
