Victoria handed Lord Westley her diaphanous lace kerchief with which he mopped her sneeze from his visage. When the task was completed he did not appear pleased. Amber eyes flashed beneath stern brows and she winced, wishing that there was some way that she could manoeuvre back under the desk, sight unseen, although that hardly seemed likely given that she had already sneezed all over his face.
"Umm... Je suis desolee," Victoria uttered hopefully.
"What?" Lord Westley roared.
"I said I'm sorry," Victoria balked as he squeezed her shoulders in a vice grip. "Now, please release me."
Anthony stepped away instantly and scowled. "What are you doing here Miss Hastings? Shouldn't you be in the ballroom with all your friends?"
Victoria extricated herself from the furniture and wound her way around to place the desk solidly between them. "There are two problems with that assertion. One is that you assume I am wanted in the ballroom and secondly you imagine that I have friends."
The dukes eyes widened. "I beg your pardon."
Victoria shrugged. "You heard me, your grace."
Anthony rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of how to respond. The last thing that he expected to see in his adopted father's study was Miss Victoria Hastings. Three years ago she was most horridly abused by a friend of her family and had never truly recovered. For at least a year she was the sole provider of grist for the gossip mill and then she was shunned for the two after that. He only saw her on the brief occasions that he returned from the Orient, and even then she was not often to be seen in the ballrooms. Now he knew why, the little stowaway was frequenting libraries all across London.
Victoria could see the duke struggle for the right words to complement the situation and quickly deflected any oncoming pity. "Do not trouble yourself on my account, your Grace. I was just about to leave. Sorry to have encroached upon your time."
She headed swiftly for the door, hoping to brush off some of the dust in the hallway before she was seen. After so many years of whispered accusations and hushed gossipmongers as she walked by, Victoria knew how to hold her head high despite the swirling void of mortification she harboured internally. She tried not to let the scent of his heated flesh and musky cologne distract her but as her hand seized the brass doorknob she slanted her eyes over her left shoulder for one last peep.
He had leaned back against the edge of his desk with palms laid out flat on either side. His shirt was still open to the waist, revealing a hard, muscled chest that glistened under the lamplight like ripples of water in the sun. Russet suspenders dangled loose about his thighs encased in tan breeches that clung to his legs in a mockery of the purpose of pants. Victoria didn't exactly swoon but she did release a sound from her throat that was part way between a moan and a sigh. The duke's eyes glinted like emerald shards and she shut her disloyal mouth.
"Un momento, por favour," Lord Westley murmured in the dark.
"Pardon," Victoria frowned.
The duke stood up with slow deliberation and strode towards her. "It's Spanish. Have you not yet expanded your linguistics thus far? Surely you understand me."
"Si," she answered as her eyes narrowed to slits. What was he playing at?
"Can I call upon you tomorrow morning?" he asked with brandy smoothing the rough thread of his voice.
"Whatever for?" Victoria squawked and gripped the edge of the doorframe.
The duke's lips tilted ever so slightly at one corner. "Because it would amuse me."
YOU ARE READING
The Seduction of a Spinster
Historical FictionMiss Victoria Hastings, aged twenty-four, was a confirmed spinster. At the height of her glory she was once considered a diamond of the first water, although she had since descended closer to consistency of mud. And, once the ton believed you had be...
