of shaving cream and soap making her all too aware of his presence. “I have been known to give good advice.”
She shifted away. “I have no interest in advice.”
“Then how do you expect to overcome whatever ails you?”
“Nothing ails me.”
He smirked. “Is that your way of saying everything ails you?”
She eyed him. “Is there something you wanted, Your Grace? Aside from trying to play Samaritan to a woman sixteen years younger than yourself?”
He was quiet for a moment. “Am I to be honest in this?”
“Honesty is always appreciated considering how little of it exists in the world.”
A gruff laugh escaped him. “A bit cynical, are we? You may want to stay away from that. Cynicism eats away at one’s heart over time, and you, my dear, are far too young to have so much of it. Even I don’t have that much at five and thirty.”
“I see. And is that your advice to an ignorant and tragically naive lady trapped in the woes of her first Season?”
He eyed her, his features tightening. “Do you want me to leave, Lady Ascott? Because I can. Despite what you think, I am not here to burden you. I have only been trying to gain your favor. The question is, is your favor really worth gaining given the way you are treating me?”
A part of her crumbled. Since when had she taken on the role of a diffident monster? This wasn’t her. This was but the shell of a person who no longer wanted to suffer.
She swallowed. “Forgive me. Quite a bit is weighing upon my soul. I wish I could…say more, but I can’t. Simply know that at heart, I am not this and that your kindness has been noted and appreciated.”
His brow and the grim set of that masculine mouth softened. Averting his dark gaze, he surveyed the grounds before them, stretching out one booted leg before him and leaning an elbow on his other knee. “Do you need someone to confide in?”.”
Augustine blinked in astonishment, observing that masculine profile that continued to survey the garden, instead of her. Though she desperately wanted and needed someone to confide in, she knew she couldn’t bring herself to trust anyone. Not even him.
He adjusted his morning coat against his chest, but kept his gaze firmly fixed on the garden before them. “Whilst you think on whether I am worthy of confidence, might we touch on the portrait you were just looking at?”
Her throat tightened, realizing he had seen her with her brother’s portrait. She fingered her reticule, drawing it closer against herself. “Please don’t tell anyone about it, Your Grace. Especially my father. I’m not supposed to have it. He would confiscate it if he knew.”
He angled himself toward her, his large knee grazing her thigh. “One of those. I see.” His eyes flicked toward her lips before meeting her gaze. “I hope to God you are not allowing this gentleman to take advantage of you.”
She stilled, her heart pounding at the realization that he actually thought it was a lover. “I beg your pardon, but the portrait is of my brother, Your Grace. I am appalled that you would insinuate otherwise.”
He winced and shifted away from her. “Forgive me. That was incredibly rude.” He winced again. “Incredibly. Had I known, I wouldn’t have…I was only trying to…” He shifted his shaven jaw and rose to his full height, gesturing toward the path leading back toward the festivities. “I should take my leave. I have clearly burdened you long enough. Simply know that should you need someone to confide in, send word at any time as to how I may assist, as I am genuinely worried about you. Good day.”
He had been worried about her? Augustine drew in a shaky breath and let it out, suddenly not wanting him to leave. She’d been alone in her head and in her heart for far too long and a part of her wanted it to end.
As he quietly rounded her to move past, she leaned forward and grabbed hold of his large, gloved hand, yanking him to a halt with the tug of his arm. “Stay. You are the first to have ever inquired about my thoughts or to have noticed that I had any. ?Tis incredibly kind of you to have sought me out like this given all the guests you have and given how insolently I’ve behaved.”
His dark brows rose as he slowly turned back toward her and the bench. His hand tightened around hers, fully encasing it in its heat. “I have sensed for some time that you are wary and need someone that you can trust. You can trust me.”
Heat spread across not only her face but her soul. There was an intensity in his tone and in his touch that whispered to her that this man was everything known as genuine.
And yet a part of her panicked. She hadn’t entrusted herself to anyone in so long. Not since…Nathaniel.
Releasing her hand with the slow turn of his wrist, the duke leaned down toward her, his dark hair falling onto his forehead. “I know you and your family have endured quite a bit these past two years and it is my hope you will allow me to assist in any manner I can. Anything you say will be held in strict confidence. That I vow.”
She swallowed, struggling to face what she had been ruthlessly planning since being forced to return to London from New York without Nathaniel. It was going to be a long, treacherous journey of scouring uncobbled streets of a foreign city hostile to the British. She knew she was going to have to take on the role of a commoner and find work to pay for whatever expenses her voyage would bring, beyond the hundred pounds she had managed to tuck away from the sight of her parents.
Sweeping her hand up again, the duke pressed it tightly against his own and clasped it with his other hand. She bit her lip, staring at her hand which was encased in his in so intimate a manner. She knew it wasn’t proper for them to be touching like this, and most certainly given that they were alone, but it felt so…blessedly right. More important, it felt real.
His fingers dug into her palm. “My devotion is real. I want you to know that.”
She jerked her chin upward and gawked up at him, her lips parting. Tightening her hold on his hand, she blurted, “You about read my mind.”
A small smile touched his lips. “One of my many talents.” His large fingers grazed their way upward toward her wrist before releasing her hand. His dark brows came together. “Might I ask why you do not seem to find me trustworthy? I thought we had long veered past all things superficial. I have come to think of us as good friends. Or rather…I was hoping a bit more than just friends.”
More? She swallowed and nervously brought her hands together, fingering the wrist he had just touched. “Well, I…although I do find you to be very pleasant, I…” Why couldn’t she focus on saying anything coherent?
Lowering himself to the bench again, he searched her face and said huskily, “Pleasant. I suppose there are worse things I could be.” He hesitated and then tossed out, “Do I interest you? At all? As a man? Or am I overreaching here?”
Blooming heat pulsed against her entire face, sensing this was veering onto a very different path. One she wasn’t prepared for, let alone capable of entertaining. “I am not…looking.”
“You are taking part in the Season, Lady Ascott. Therefore I would say, yes, you are looking.” He cleared his throat. “Your mother called on me last week.”
Dread seized her. “She did?”
“Yes. She, uh…pleaded that I make an offer on you. Apparently she noticed that I have more than a mild interest in you–-which I will admit I do—and insisted that I offer as she intends to have you married by June for reasons she was unable to disclose. Needless to say, her visit has been weighing on me since. She seemed panicked. Very panicked, actually.”
She cringed. Her mother had become pathetically desperate. Though she understood the woman only sought to protect her by removing her out of the care of her father, marriage was not the solution. Finding Nathaniel was.
He leaned in closer and lingered.