Page 64 of Falling Into Bed with a Duke
She feared something was wrong with her moral compass because she felt no shame at all for knowing all these details.
While the hours ticked by until it was an acceptable time for a gentleman to call, she sat in the morning room trying to read. After scanning the same sentence a hundred times, she finally closed the book and walked around the outer edge of the room. A light rain had begun to fall, so she couldn’t go into the garden. She considered writing a letter to theTimeson the need for more people to engage in charitable works, but she doubted she’d be able to concentrate enough to make it eloquent or convincing.
Her nerves were stretched taut when the butler finally entered and announced she had a caller. Still, she was taken aback by the joy—
“Lord Burleigh,” Dixon continued, his words slamming into Minerva and halting her progress across the room.
“Lord Burleigh?” she repeated as though she’d taken leave of her senses. The man had never called on her before, had never danced with her. They’d spoken in passing, but he certainly hadn’t indicated an interest.
“Yes, miss. I saw him to the parlor. Your mother is joining him there.”
Perhaps she should take out an advert announcing that she was no longer in search of a husband. On the other hand, she would be foolish to discount the possibility that she might find love late in life. Of course, any man now might have to accept her scandalous behavior. Not that Ashebury seemed to have any problem with it. “All right then.”
Lord Burleigh, whose physique suited his name, jumped up from the sofa as soon as she entered the room. “Miss Dodger.”
“My lord, how nice of you to call. I’ve rung fortea.”
“I’ll leave you two young people to visit,” her mother said as she picked up her stitchery and moved to a distant corner of the room to give them a bit of privacy.
Minerva sat on the sofa. Lord Burleigh joined her, keeping a respectful distance. She tried to imagine Ashebury doing the same and found it quite impossible.
“It’s a rather dreary day,” Burleigh said.
“I like the rain.”
“As do I. Many people don’t. It’s good for reflection.”
“It is that.”
“I enjoy the sound of droplets pattering against the pane.”
“That was rather poetic phrasing. Are you a poet, my lord?”
His cheeks turned red. “I dabble.”
“Bravo for you!”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you mocking me, Miss Dodger?”
“No, absolutely not. I think all creative endeavors are to be applauded.”
“Apologies. I’d heard—” He snapped his mouth closed, took out his pocket watch, glanced at the time, no doubt disappointed to discover not even two minutes had passed.
“You’d heard what precisely, my lord?”
Shaking his head, he stuffed his watch back into his pocket just as the tea arrived. Thank goodness. Minerva set about preparing him some.
“Three lumps of sugar,” he said. “A dash of cream.”
She handed him his cup, which he expertly balanced on his thigh.
“Mother?” she asked.
“No, thank you, darling.” She barely looked up from her needlework. Minerva could never become so absorbed poking and pulling thread through cloth although she certainly envied those who were able to create such lovely tapestries.
After preparing her own tea, Minerva glanced over at Burleigh to find him studying her. She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile.
Drawing his brows together, he cleared his throat. “I saw you at the Lovingdon ball last night.”
