Waking Up With the Duke Read Free Page B

normalcy for a few days.
    An expectation that splattered before her when she strode into the breakfast dining room and saw Ainsley already seated at the table. She’d assumed he would sleep in, not be up with the sun.
    Ainsley immediately set aside his teacup and rose to his feet. “Lady Walfort.”
    “Your Grace.”
    “I hope you’re well.”
    “Your hopes do not concern me, Your Grace.”
    She thought she noticed a tautening in his jaw. She was not usually a termagant, but for him she was more than willing to make an exception.
    “Allow me to express my appreciation for the lovely accommodations,” he said laconically.
    It seemed they would spar with words this morning. Already she was weary of it.
    Walfort would be upset with her if he knew she’d given his exalted guest the smallest bedchamber in the farthest corner of the manor. As a duke, he should have been given a suite of rooms. She suddenly, against her will, felt petty. “We have so many guests arriving—”
    “No need to explain. I rather enjoy overlooking the stables.”
    She wanted the subject changed before she offered him a more accommodating room. “I’d not expected you to be about so early.”
    “I thought I might be of service.”
    Had she been eating she would have choked. “Here? Now? You arrogant cad! To think that I would accept anything at all from you, but especially—”
    “My help with the hounds?” he interrupted. “Yes, of course. Forgive me. I’m sure your huntsman is quite up to the task of seeing that all is ready tomorrow for the hunt.”
    She went light-headed and chilled, aware of all the blood draining from her face. He’d been offering to help her prepare for her guests. That was the service to which he alluded. Not bedding her, not getting her with child. Walfort had put these silly notions into her head and she seemed unable to rid herself of them.
    “Yes, he is. Quite.” She hated that her voice sounded unsteady, that she was unnerved by what she’d interpreted him to be saying. She swept over to the sideboard, striving to stop the trembling in her hands as she selected ham, eggs, and a muffin for her plate.
    Drat it! He was waiting to assist her with her chair when she turned around. At least he had the grace to put her at the end of the table farthest from where he was seated. He’d not taken the head of the table, but rather, a chair along the side.
    “I desire nothing from you,” she whispered as she took the chair he offered.
    He leaned in, filling her nostrils with his rich, tangy scent of bergamot and clove. “Then nothing you shall have,” he said, his voice low, sensually belying the words he’d spoken, indicating instead that she would have it all. Everything.
    The man was indeed a master at seduction, but she would not be seduced. She and Ainsley sat without speaking for several interminable minutes, the only sound the scraping of silver over china.
    Finally she dared to peer up at him, only to find his gaze homed in on her as he slowly chewed. He was as handsome as the devil, too beautiful, really. He had one imperfection, and it was presently not visible to her. A scar on his jaw. The wound had still been bleeding when he came to tell her there had been an accident and Walfort was horribly injured. Ainsley had reeked of excesses and indulgences . . . and the coppery scent of blood. Her husband’s blood had stained his torn and rumpled clothing.
    Ainsley had looked scared that night. And young. It was easy to forget that he was only a little older than she. He had always seemed so mature, in control. Many thought he was the oldest of the three brothers, but in fact he was the youngest. The night she first met him, she was struck by his stylishness and confidence. She knew of his reputation, of course. Women swooned at his feet. Of late there seemed to be an inordinate abundance of spinsters, as women refrained from accepting offers of marriage on the off chance that Ainsley would honor one