It's Hard Out Here for a Duke(11)

“You will, Your Grace.”

“Forget this talk of marriage—what of pleasure?”

“I am merely a servant, but I’m not the kind that exists for the whims of the master of the house.”

“I would never think that. Or act thusly,” he said, eyes flashing. He was not that kind of man and was offended she’d even considered it.

The truth of their situation was dawning on them both. Whatever had transpired that night in Southampton could not happen again. There were intangible, but real, barriers between them. His position was high and permanent; hers low and forever uncertain. This wasn’t exactly news to her, but she’d never felt it so palpably before.

Meredith took one, two, three, four steps up so that she could look him in the eye.

“I owe everything to the duchess. Everything,” Meredith said in a low, strong voice, thinking of the situation from which she’d been rescued long ago and the unbelievable chances she’d been given. “I will not forget that. Not for you, not for anyone. I am determined to keep my position as her companion secure. I have saved enough of my allowance that I could leave with some independence, but know this, Duke, I will never leave the duchess.”

“I just wish to know you better. To know you more. I like you. I like what we shared. I would like to share it again.” His fingers anxiously tugged the buttons on the ridiculously fancy coat someone insisted he wear. It didn’t suit him; he seemed uncomfortable in all that finery. “If it should please you.”

“The night we met, I didn’t know who you were,” she said. “I didn’t know until you stepped out of the carriage. Otherwise, I would have never smiled at you across that crowded room.”

“I see,” he said grimly. Her heart did ache for him—what a day he must have had and how his whole world must have turned on its head. She had an inkling of what he was going through: giving up freedom for wealth and duty, restraining one’s true self in order to follow protocol, stifling passion for the “wrong” person because of the rules.

“As long as I have my reputation, I have a chance at security,” she said. “If you care for me at all, you won’t take that from me. You, Your Grace, will never have such worries. But I had one night, Duke. One. Just one, Just James. That’s all it will ever be.”





Chapter 2




A duke is often the most high-ranking, the most powerful, the most handsome, and the most wealthy man in the room. He ought to keep this in mind and conduct himself accordingly.

—The Rules for Dukes




The next day

In a drawing room



“The first rule of being a duke is to remember, at all times, that you are the master of high society,” the duchess declared. “Only a few people outrank you—the king and queen, of course, plus the royal dukes. As such, you are likely to be the most powerful high-ranking person in any given room.”

And so it began. Duke lessons.

They were in a drawing room—not the drawing room where he and his sisters had been yesterday, but a different one, because there were multiple ones. It seemed excessive.

His sisters were still abed, still exhausted from their travels. He was the only one up, and so James was trapped in this chamber alone with the duchess.

And Miss Green.

She was demure and pretty in that blue frock as she sat beside, and a little behind, the duchess. She hardly seemed like the kind of woman who had a passionate encounter with a man she’d only just met. He couldn’t reconcile the girl he’d met in Southampton with the lady who sat primly before him.

This only had the effect of intriguing him more.

Of course he stole a glance or two with the hopes that she’d changed her mind about maintaining a distance between them. But no, she was deliberately avoiding his gaze. Those doe eyes of hers would not connect with his.

He understood that they were to pretend not to know each other.

He understood that she was very aware of the differences in their stations, even if he hadn’t accepted that yet, because he hadn’t accepted that he was a duke.

And he idly wondered just why she was so loyal to the duchess.

I owe everything to the duchess. Everything, she had said last night, in a fierce whisper. What long, secret history existed between them that would make her forgo the attentions of the highest-ranking and most powerful person in the room?

“So I am the highest-ranking and most powerful person in this room?” James confirmed.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“So my word is as good as command.”

“Yes.” The duchess pressed her lips into a thin line indicating that she did not care for the direction in which he was taking the conversation. She was eyeing him sharply, but her hands and posture gave no indication that he was rattling her. She was good.