“Miss Oliver, this is my friend Deckard Payne, Duke of Warburton.”
“Very pleased to make your acquaintance, your grace. Lord Dane, you’re looking well this morning.”
Dane eyed her suspiciously. “Haven’t brought any sticky beverages to douse me with, have you?”
“I brought no weapons.”
Except herself. That warm smile, those heart-stopping curves. There seemed to be more of her bosom on display today, which made it difficult for Dane to form complete thoughts. And her hair was arranged in swirling curls on top of her head instead of in a simple knot at the nape of her neck.
“I assumed you’d left London, Miss Oliver,” Dane said.
“You thought I’d be in a carriage on my way back to my mother, crying my eyes out, languishing limply and ruing my lot in life?”
Warburton grinned. “I told him you were braver than that.”
“Oh indeed, your grace. Lord Dane is not the only one who becomes a completely different person at will. I’m a London lady now, both brave and bold.”
London Sandrine smelled overpoweringly of a French rose garden and wore a gleaming pearlpendant nestled in her cleavage that made him want to go diving between her breasts with his tongue. And that’s when he saw the pink sash tied around her waist.
“Aha! I knew it. Those Pink Ladies put you up to this. They did all of that”—he waved his hand at her hair and the mouthwatering display of her breasts—“and they’ve told you to use your feminine wiles to persuade me to grant you the manor house. But it won’t work. I’ve already found a prospective buyer who’ll want to demolish the manor and build something more modern.”
Her smile faltered. “You can’t demolish the manor. Where would Lucidora and Coraline live?”
It required a moment to remember that those were the names of the ill-fated spinsters whose ghosts she’d befriended. This woman had goodness baked into her soul like sugar into a macaroon. She even cared about the fate of ghosts.
“They’ll have to find a new house to haunt. Squalton Manor is too far gone.”
“This petition”—she pulled a scroll of paper from her reticule—“contains a detailed proposal for renovation work by a member of a guild who assures me that repair is possible.”
“Put that petition back in your purse. I won’t be perusing it today or any other day.” He waited for Sandrine to give him a passionate lecture on historical preservation or lose her temper and throw brandy in his face, but she only regarded him with calm determination in her azure eyes.
“Is he always so disagreeable in London?” she asked Warburton with a silvery little laugh.
“Actually he’s usually quite charming. I’m the grumpy, disagreeable one.”
“Really? I find you charming, your grace.”
“Why, thank you.” Warburton preened, shooting an amused look at Dane.
“Perhaps it’s just me who brings out this unflattering side of his personality? I wonder why,” she mused, one finger lifted to her lips and head tilted fetchingly. “Could it be that I’ve gotten under his skin?”
Warburton chuckled. “One could draw that conclusion, dear lady.”
“Enough,” Dane said, heartily annoyed by their banter. He was supposed to be pushing Sandrine away so that she left London and stayed safely in Squalton.
“As much as I’d love to stay and continue our conversation, Miss Oliver, my friends are expecting me,” said Warburton.
“Don’t leave me,” Dane whispered urgently.
“Round two for the dazzling Miss Oliver, I predict,” Warburton said with another chuckle.Turncoat.Dane hadn’t seen Warburton smile this much since... ever.
“I’ll see you at the prizefight tomorrow, Dane. Good day, Miss Oliver.”
“Good day, your grace. I do hope I’ll see you again before I leave London.”
Warburton bowed and left, leaving Dane alone with this new Sandrine who threw teasingglances and melted the cold, grumpy hearts of dukes.
“I’ll call for a footman—”