She inhaled softly to steady her nerves, then dipped into a deep curtsy before rising. Kitty thought it prudent to keep her gaze discreetly lowered. “Your Grace, how delightful to see you again.”
“I do not believe it for a moment.”
“Believe what, Your Grace?” she asked without removing her eyes from the elegance of his tied cravat.
“This sweet, contrite, submissive act, my impudent minx.”
That shocking, outrageous description had her snapping her gaze to his in undisguised alarm. The dictates of civility forbade her from uttering a scathing retort, and she did not know the manner of this man. They assessed each other in a silent duel of sorts, and it befuddled her to see the crafty humor in his gaze.
The duke strolled farther into the room. “So, we are delighted, then, and not apprehensive to see me?”
Clearly the duke wasn’t one for polite subterfuge. “Of course not. Are we not to be friends of sorts?” She forced out the words as if such a thing could ever be a reasonable proposition.
“I can fairly see that you are biting your tongue, Miss Danvers. I’ve roused your ire.”
“A lady should never be uncivil, you know,” Kitty said with a small, self-conscious laugh.
His eyes were sharp and assessing upon her person. “I wonder, can one be crafty and delightfully wicked and still pretend quaint gentility and a soft heart, which define ladylike qualities?”
She gasped softly at this effrontery and could only gaze at him open-mouthed. “You’ve visited to cross wits with me, Your Grace? Or to discuss the terms of our…attachment?”
He smiled, and her heart trembled.
She looked at him with misgiving and said, “Please, won’t you be seated? I will ring for refreshments.”
He lowered himself to the single sofa opposite her. The housekeeper, who’d been on alert of his arrival and possibly just as anxious as Kitty, bustled in with a tea service.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hedgepole,” Kitty murmured, preparing tea for the duke.
She felt the weight of his stare, the way his gaze seemed to trace every visible inch of her.
Kitty handed him a cup with a saucer, which seemed to be swallowed between his large yet surprisingly elegant hands. Fine networks of scars slashed ragged over the back of his left hand. Her gaze lingered a moment there before snapping up to his face.
He regarded her over the rim of his cup as he took several sips. The cup was then lowered to the small walnut table between them. “I passed an overly enthusiastic journalist lingering by your front door. He tried to engage me in a conversation, but I did not oblige the man.”
She cleared her throat. “Your resurrection is noteworthy and will add fuel to the flames that had already been dancing around me. You…you have been away for years. I am still in disbelief you are actually sitting before me.”
A brief smile touched his lips, but he made no reply, seemingly content with staring at her. Surely he knew such an unabashed regard was rude and provoking.
“Miss Danvers—”
“Your Grace—”
She detected laughter in his steady gaze and was disconcerted by it.
“It seems we are both eager to get to the heart of our compromise.”
Kitty laughed, a trifle nervously. “I do admit I have been baffled as to how a…friendship with me is beneficial to you, Your Grace.”
There it was again, a flash of haunting shadows in his eyes.
“I haven’t found much to fascinate me in recent years. When I do find such a treasure, I explore it thoroughly until I am satisfied.”
Dear God. And she was that treasure? “And then?”
“Then I move on to the next interesting one,” he said with mild surprise, as if that thought should be evident.
An odd chill of warning kissed down her spine. Whatever transaction she entered into with this man, she would have to be infinitely careful, lest her heart become tangled only to be casually discarded later.