Bound By Love. Rosemary Rogers
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to intrude into a dead woman’s privacy made her stomach twist with dread.
Besides, it was entirely possible that the Duchess of Huntley used this beautiful room to write her correspondence.
Her decision made, she crossed to the desk and, bending down, she jerked open one of the upper drawers. She grimaced at the sight of the deep pile of papers, realizing this might take more time than she had first assumed.
Dividing her attention between the papers and the door leading to the hallway, she reached the last drawer when the unmistakable sound of footsteps had her slamming it shut and racing toward the nearest shelf, her heart in her throat.
She was blindly studying the leather-bound books when someone entered the room. With a pretense of indifference, she glanced to the side, fully expecting the grim butler to request she take her leave. Instead it was the Duke who stepped over the threshold, his expression hard as he studied her with an unnerving intensity.
Leonida froze. Good lord, he was beautiful. Disturbingly beautiful with his dark, perfectly chiseled features and his muscular body shown to advantage in his blue coat and buckskins.
At the moment his raven curls were tumbled from the wind and his cravat loosened to reveal the strong column of his throat, a testament to his hours in the fields, but his casual appearance only added to his potent attraction.
But it was the relentless intelligence in his dark blue eyes that sent a chill down her spine.
This man was no fool and she sensed he already had suspicions of her arrival in Surrey.
Dangerous.
The silence lasted for several painful heartbeats, then with a smile that did not meet his eyes, he was smoothly moving forward to take her hand and lift it to his lips.
“Miss Karkoff,” he murmured. “My butler informed me I would find you here.”
She tugged her hand from his grasp, unsettled by the tingles of pleasure that raced up her arm.
“I…” She halted to clear the husky fear from her voice. “I did not expect you.”
He arched a brow. “No?”
“Lady Summerville mentioned you spent most afternoons in your fields.”
Something flashed through his eyes. Curiosity? Suspicion? “As a rule, although I do occasionally spend time with my accounts.”
So much for trusting in luck. She would not make that mistake again.
“I hope you do not mind my intrusion, your Grace?”
“Of course not.” He casually leaned a shoulder against the sturdy shelf, his powerful presence filling the room as his gaze slid blatantly over her sprigged muslin gown with tiny satin roses sewn along the scooped bodice. At last he returned his attention to the blush staining her cheeks. “I did invite you to make use of the library. Have you not discovered anything of interest?”
She managed a meaningless smile. She had not spent years among the treacherous Russian society without developing some skill in dissembling.
“I was indulging in my love for browsing. Your collection is quite magnificent.”
“In all fairness I must confess that I inherited a large portion of the collection from my various ancestors, although I do occasionally add a few books.”
She glanced to the wrapped packages sitting on the scrolled satinwood table near the door. She would bet her favorite pearl necklace they held newly arrived books.
“How occasionally?”
“Perhaps occasionally is not quite the proper word,” he conceded, a heart-melting twinkle entering his eyes.
Her stomach quivered. She was too aware of his potent appeal.
“I did not mean to disturb you. I will return…
Without warning, he reached out to grasp her arm and steered her toward the wing chairs.
“Please have a seat, Miss Karkoff. I have requested that Mrs. Slater bring us tea. I believe you will find her seedcake to be the finest in England.”
She briefly debated the odds of making it to the door before he could catch her, only to swiftly dismiss the ludicrous thought.
She had been well and truly cornered, and there was nothing to do but brave it out.
She sank gracefully into one of the chairs and folded her hands in her lap, hoping the penetrating blue eyes did not notice they were shaking.
“Thank you.”
Taking his own seat, the Duke stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankle and putting at risk the fine gloss on his Hessians.
“Tell me what you have seen of the house.”
She stiffened. Seen of the house? Mon Dieu. Did he suspect she had come to search Meadowland?
“I beg your pardon?”
“I thought perhaps Goodson had given you a tour. He is inordinately proud of the rambling old place and inclined to haul unsuspecting guests from room to room regardless of their boredom.”
“No.” She breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Of course, I did have the opportunity to admire the front foyer and your very fine marble staircase. I can readily understand your butler’s pride.”
“Edmond claims that it shall soon be a shabby ruin if I do not devote myself to renovations.”
“It is hardly a ruin,” she protested, faintly smiling at the lift of his brows. “Although it might be a tiny bit frayed,” she conceded. “Still, it is perfectly understandable you would be reluctant to have the house altered in any way.”
“And why do you believe me to be reluctant?”
“As I recall, you lost your parents at a very young age. It is only to be expected you would cherish their memory, especially within your home.”
He sucked in a sharp breath, as if startled by her words. Strange. From all her discreet inquiries regarding the Duke of Huntley it seemed perfectly obvious to her that he still mourned his parents. Did he believe he kept his pain hidden?
Whatever he might say, however, was halted as the door was opened and a young maid entered carrying a large tray.
“Ah, tea,” he murmured, waving the maid to place the tray on the table set beside Leonida’s chair.
Completing her task, the pretty maid with a mass of brown curls and big brown eyes dipped a curtsy.
“Is there anything else you need, your Grace?”
The Duke’s gaze never wavered from Leonida. “That will be all, Maggie. Thank you.”
The maid left and closed the door behind her.
“If you will pour, Miss Karkoff?” he requested as the maid scurried from the room.
“Certainly.” She reached to arrange the fine Wedgewood china. “Sugar?”
“Just milk.”
Happy to have something to distract herself from his unwavering gaze, Leonida poured the tea and filled two plates with the tiny sandwiches and seedcake.
Unfortunately, he merely set aside the refreshments, continuing to study her as if she were a weed that had dared to stray into his well-tended field.
Sipping her tea, Leonida attempted to appear impervious to his rude stare, allowing her own gaze to travel over the nearby fireplace to the large portrait hung over the mantle.
“Is that a portrait of your parents?”
“Yes, it was done shortly after their marriage.”
She studied the couple, not surprised that the previous Duke was a tall gentleman with dark hair and an air of power visible