“What are you doing, Honoria? I don’t have time for your ridiculous games.” And he didn’t even fight her. He just sat back, allowing her to pull the rope tighter. Once she had secured him, she put her knee against the back of the chair and pulled with all her might. God, she was sweating. Hopefully she wasn’t hurting him. But a woman had to do what a woman had to do. She cinched it as tightly as she could and then tied a knot that no man could undo.
“There.” She huffed, wiping the sweat from her forehead, hoping that the perspiration under her arms wasn’t showing as she walked in front of him. “Now you must listen to me.”
A blank look stared back at her until he casually stood, shrugging the ropes off his person.
Drat.
“It’s time for you to leave, Honoria. I’ve put up with your games long enough.”
“But I just need to paint your portrait—”
“No.” And she didn’t fully understand what was happening next except that he was stalking her, and he continued until she retreated outside of the room. And then he slammed the door in her face. Right in her face. A slam. Of all things. Not very ducal. Not very Dermont-y. And certainly not kind at all.
She stood staring at it in astonishment.
The door was closed.
Well, she huffed to herself, sometimes when one door was closed…one just burst right back through it.
She pushed her way back in. “Dermont, I really must insist—”
But large, hot-as-lava hands were on her upper arms, and for some reason those hands may have been over her mouth because she couldn’t utter a word in protest.
Back out in the hallway, she was preparing herself to charge right back in. The second she remembered how to speak. But then she heard it.
Drat. The quiet snick of the lock waylaid her determination. For now.
Chapter 3
Dermont
“What’s got you pacing your own study like a lion in a cage?” Frederick thumbed the books on the duke’s shelves.
“She’s lucky you didn’t show up a few minutes ago,” Dermont muttered to himself. “I’mlucky you didn’t show up a few minutes ago.”
“You’re going to pull all your hair out, man. Take a seat.” Sinking into a plush armchair, Frederick gestured for Dermont to do the same. “On second thought, keep yanking it out. It couldn’t hurt to take you down a few pegs.”
The acerbic tone matched Dermont’s sharp descent into a seat across from his friend. “What are you even doing here, Frederick?”
“What I always do. Here to chat business.” But he waved his hand in the air, as if to clear the smoke. “But the idea of discussing business bores me. Tell me what just happened?”
“I would if I could…That chit is always smiles and rainbows and silly little games. It’s enough to drive me to drink.” He searched the room for just that. “I only know that she wants to paint my portrait.” He felt like an idiot admitting that aloud, that a friend had crashed into his study trying to collect on a favor, and that favor was a request to paint his portrait.
“How very mysterious,” Frederick drawled with an almost whimsical tone.
Beyond restless, Dermont hopped back to his feet and resumed his pacing. This was not normal. He knew Honoria. Had seen her plenty. But to have her explode into his study demanding that he fulfill a debt to her was preposterous. Unthinkable. He was not one to be commanded about. He was one to command. If anything, she owed him. For what? It didn’t matter, he was the duke in this situation. How dare she come in here, leading with her bosom no less, and try to distract him into a favor. It shouldn’t bother him. It really shouldn’t. He blamed the papers on his desk. Letters, gossip sheets and more. All reporting Phoebe’s eccentricities and how she couldn’t be taken out in public. Thetonhad cast her aside as a pariah.
“You seem perturbed—”
“I’m not.”
“Vexed, perhaps—”
“I’m fine.”
“A smidge miffed? Ruffled? Snippy?” Frederick slapped his palm against his thigh. “Yes. Snippy. That’s the one. Howstrange. I haven’t seen you this way since…you were mocked at school for being lefthanded.”
“Will you shut up?”