Page 76 of Falling Into Bed with a Duke
He’d rather she be the pupil for what he wanted to teach her—how much passion could flare between them. Still, he knew a man would be a fool to pass on her offer, but he couldn’t accept without the risk of her discovering his shortcomings. So he decided to turn the conversation in a totally different vein. “Did you ask your brother about his garden?”
“What about my garden?” Lovingdon asked, in such a way that Ashe was left with the feeling that he either didn’t like him or didn’t trust him. Smarts obviously ran in the family.
“Ashe was wondering if he could use it to take a photograph ... of me.”
The last two words carried a self-conscious lilt. Ironic that she was uncomfortable posing for him fully clothed when she’d been willing to do so with silk hiked up to the edge of her hips. Recalling that he’d heard the duke had acquired his heir, he said, “To show my appreciation, I’d be willing to photograph your family.”
“You saw the pictures from his trip to Africa,” Minerva said. “You know how talented he is.”
He studied Ashe as though searching for an ulterior motive. He shifted his gaze to his wife, who gave him a smile that seemed to communicate far more than any words ever could. “I suppose there’s no harm in it,” he finally groused, as though he thought there probably was harm in it. He simply couldn’t figure it out.
“Lovely. When would you like to do it?” Minerva asked.
“If the weather is clear tomorrow, around ten if that’s agreeable,” Ashe said. “Morning sunlight is more forgiving.”
“Forgiving of what?” Lovingdon asked.
“My meager talents. It creates a softer image, which I prefer over stark lines.”
“How did you ever learn all this?” the Duchess of Lovingdon asked.
“Mostly trial and error, searching for perfection.”
“I’ve never found perfection particularly interesting,” the Duchess of Avendale said, looking at Ashe as though she’d just discovered he’d stepped into a pile of horse manure. She wasn’t particularly pretty, and he wondered how, as a commoner, she’d managed to snag herself a duke. Of course, Minerva was a commoner as well, and she was going to nab a duke, but then, she was bringing with her a fortune. The Duchess of Avendale had brought only a criminal record.
“Perfection in my style, not my subject.” Although in his private collection he was searching for perfection in lines, something to shove out the horrific images that had bombarded him as a child.
The duchess lifted a shoulder as though to say that perhaps his boots weren’t so mucked up after all.
“Are we going to play cards?” Avendale asked.
“You can’t play and talk?” Ashe challenged.
“Not the way we play,” Minerva said. “We’re all terribly serious about winning.”
She also thoroughly enjoyed the game, that much was obvious. And he enjoyed every aspect of her. Proving to her that what he felt for her would be enough was more challenging than he’d anticipated. But he wasn’t going to give up. He wanted her back in his bed permanently.
THE following morning Minerva fought not to be nervous. She kept reminding herself that this was Ashe and that she had posed for him wearing far less. He was setting up his camera on a tripod while she paced near the pond.
Before Ashe had arrived, she’d had a small spat with her brother because he’d wanted to stand watch. But she wanted to be alone with the duke without her brother interfering. Ashe had departed from the club last night before they’d finished their card game, so she hadn’t had a private moment withhim.
She stopped her pacing. “Why do you want to photograph me?”
He looked up from whatever it was he was adjusting. “You’re not comfortable with your features.”
“That’s no secret. As I’ve told you before, I look like my father.”
He gave her a small, provocative smile that warmed the depths of her heart. “Hardly.”
He went back to work, she went back to pacing. Halted in her tracks. “Why did you toss your scotch on Sheridan?”
He straightened completely. “Because I don’t like him.”
“He wanted to marry me.”
He studied her for a moment, but it appeared he was carrying on an inner debate. Finally, he met her gaze head-on. “He was bemoaning the fact that you had rejected his suit. I took exception to some things he was uttering. While he didn’t admit it to Darling, before we were done, I hit him.”
She couldn’t help the wonderful sense of satisfaction that swamped her. “You were being my champion?”
