Julian took his time,deliberately chewing and swallowing the bite of tart he’d been enjoying before the interruption. The pause afforded him a few useful seconds to decide how he meant to handle Miss Belle.
First the workshop.
Now his study.
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
Was there no corner of his own house safe from her persistence?
She stood in the doorway, cheeks flushed—not from embarrassment, but exertion—eyes bright with that same unsettling mix of determination and calculation he had begun to recognize. It reminded him, absurdly, of his cat. The way the creature fixed upon a goal and refused to be deterred once she had decided something was hers.
Julian set his fork aside with deliberate care, dabbed his mouth with a napkin, and leaned back in his chair.
He should not have noticed what she wore.
And yet he did.
The same gown as her first night—plain, serviceable, unmistakably country-made. It clung where it ought not, skimming her hips, refusing to disguise the generous curve of her bosom. Sensible fabric. Treacherous effect.
“Do you mean to tell me,” Julian said coolly, “that you have accomplished nothing in the past day and a half?”
Miss Belle flushed. “Well. Not nothing, but I?—”
“Then I see no cause for this disruption.” His tone remained even. “You have access to the staff. You arrived with your own ideas about me. What more could you possibly require?”
His gaze dropped—only briefly—and then lingered an instant too long before he dragged it back to her face.
It was?—
She was?—
Distracting.
Which was precisely the problem.
Her jaw set. “Your Grace. If I rely solely on rumor and secondhand accounts, then how is that any better than the gossip already circulating?”
He lifted a brow. Honestly—was it meant to be?
Apparently so, because she now looked properly affronted.
“That,” she said through clenched teeth, “is not what I do. I will not spread unsubstantiated nonsense. There is already quite enough of that in the world.”
“So you truly mean to confirm everything yourself.”
“Yes,” she said at once. “Because the truth matters. It has to. Ifpeople are given falsehoods instead of facts, they respond against their own judgment. And that… That is wrong.”
That gave him pause.
Reluctantly, Julian inclined his head. “I suppose that is… commendable of you.” She opened her mouth, no doubt to defend herself further, but he cut in before she could.
“Which brings us back to my question. What, precisely, do you require?”
She hesitated—only briefly. “The opportunity to observe you doing the work that ought to speak for itself. And time. I need your time.”
His eye narrowed. “I’ve already conceded to three days. And I answered all your questions yesterday, did I not?”
“You were graciousness itself.” There was a hint of teasing in her eyes. By God.