“George will not return tonight with help, not with these wicked rains and winds.”
She glanced at the window at the sleeting rain, recalling that sly expression on George’s face. Kitty quite agreed; the man had no intention of returning, even if he could.
“We will have to serve each other.”
The truth of this observation struck her most forcibly. The words settled between them in the small space. The duke was without h
is valet and manservant, and he was a sodden, muddied mess. This would go beyond a shameless massage of his damaged muscles. His boots would have to be removed. His clothes. Her breath panted harshly. Dear God. And so would hers, and without a lady’s maid.
Good heavens.
“I see,” she murmured, thoroughly vexed with the heat flushing through her body and up to her cheeks. She couldn’t have stopped her blush if her life depended on it.
“Are you up to the task, then?” he asked, his tone coolly mocking, his eyes watchful.
The bonds of probity and all that was proper shattered and dissolved at her feet like fragile chinaware.
“Ah, your expressive face reveals your worry.”
She folded her arms across her waist and glared at him.
His slow smile made her heart beat suddenly faster.
“Do not fear— wretched, drowned cats are not to my taste,” the duke said with mock sympathy. “A tigress would be another matter entirely.”
The wretched tease! She released a breath she hadn’t been aware she held. “Of course I am up to the task,” she said with calm practicality. And she would find some way to cease the infernal blushes!
“I will accept your aid, Miss Danvers, but only after I have assisted you from those sodden garments and dried your hair. My conscience could not bear your death.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He pressed a hand against his heart and bowed. “It would be my honor to be your lady’s maid.”
There was no help for it. Taking a deep breath, she tried to find equanimity. Her flesh crawled with the desperate need to be out of her wet, muddied garments. She glanced around the cottage and made her way down a small hallway to another room. Right before it, there appeared to be a linen closet. There she found two small towels, a blanket, two sheets, and no more. They would have to do.
Then she went to the bedchamber, over to the armoire, and opened it. Only two dark plain dresses and a nightgown lingered within its confines, and at a glance she deduced the groundsman’s wife was a large lady. The garments would swallow Kitty. There was a fawn-colored shirt, a blue one, a jacket, and trousers also neatly folded.
With trembling fingers, she closed the door to the armoire.
“We’ll make do,” the duke murmured.
She stiffened at the closeness of his voice. She hadn’t heard his approach. Taking a soft, bracing breath, Kitty faced him. “I suppose we shall.”
Something unreadable touched his gaze for a fleeting moment. “Our situation is unusual, isn’t it?” he asked.
“It is.” And the dreadful anxiety coursing through her was intolerable. Worse, there was a strange but pleasant thrill thrumming through her veins. Kitty could not decide if she liked the sensation. It felt hungry and chaotic, and the secret heart of her liked being alone with the duke.
His midnight gaze bore into her, a searchlight, as it caressed over her face. “We’ll have to rely on each other until George returns with help.”
“Which could be days,” she pointed out, still disbelieving of that.
“Hmm, days.”
“Do you not think that deliberate, Your Grace?”
He gently turned her around. “I daresay it is time you call me Alexander…Katherine.”
She remained motionless for a moment. “Kitty,” she finally whispered. “My friends and family call me Kitty.”