Dangerous in Diamonds - Madeline Hunter [31]
It bore a resemblance to a large sitting room, despite the wardrobes lining one wall, and the washbasin and dressing table near the windows. With all of its chairs and sofas, its tables and appointments, its dripping gilt moldings, it looked to be one of those dressing rooms owned by the very best people and used as inner sanctums where they might entertain their closest friends.
She held her temper in check with difficulty. If Castleford thought that she was going to attend a meeting here, he was going to learn the meanings of strict and scolding in new ways today.
“This way, ma’ am,” the servant encouraged. He stood near another set of doors, waiting for her.
Relieved, she walked over. Of course the study was part of the apartment. This was merely one way in. She had reacted too strongly, but then Castleford warranted a great deal of suspicion.
The doors swung open, and she saw at once that she was correct on that point. If anything, she had underestimated him.
This was not a study either. It was the duke’s bedchamber.
She peered in. The chamber had been redecorated more recently than the others in the house. It did not sport the same kinds of visual excess. The classical style dominated, from the clean dentil moldings and sedate plaster swags to the Roman styled chairs. The colors, mostly creams and blues in a palette inspired by Mr. Wedgewood, surprised her. She would have thought Castleford would live among dark colors and reds. Lots of reds.
The duke sat at a writing table covered in papers. He frowned over a letter he composed. Light from a nearby window sliced across the table’s surface, reflecting off the metals of the inkwell and candleholders. It suffused his distracted profile and found the few deep gold streaks buried in his mussed hair.
She tore her attention away from that face and how handsome and intelligent he looked. She then noticed the rest of him: the deep blue of the loose, long silk coat he wore; the visibility of his neck above its collar; the absence of boots on his legs and the appearance of his bare feet.
He had not dressed yet. He still wore a morning robe. Unless she was mistaken—she prayed that she was—there was nothing under that blue silk except his body.
She inhaled sharply, shocked by his audacity.
He heard, and looked over. He set down his pen and stood. “Ah, Mrs. Joyes. You are punctual, I see.”
“If you assumed I would not be, and require time to become presentable, I will gladly wait until you are ready for the day.”
He looked down at himself, then shrugged. “There is no reason for you to wait. It isn’t as if I am naked in bed.”
She shook her head, exasperated. “You are unspeakable.”
“Can I trust that means you will not speak? I much prefer that I talk. I think that I will find myself more interesting than I will find you this morning, if that expression of distress on your face—forgive me; expression of extreme surprise—is the warning signal of a tiresome scold waiting to pour out.” He gestured to one of the Roman chairs. “Won’t you sit?”
She did not want to sit. She did not want the intimacy of being with this man in his bedchamber, with him dressed like that. He had done this deliberately to punish her for trying to turn him away yesterday.
She thought about The Rarest Blooms and reminded herself why she tolerated him in the first place. She sat. He did not. He just gazed down at her, those sparks of mischief showing amusement at her discomfort.
Servants entered with trays and cloth. A table in the center of the chamber turned into a small dining spot, full of silver, china, and glass.
Once the servants had withdrawn, Daphne looked pointedly at the duke’s blue morning coat.
“If I could rise and dress, so could you,” she said.
“I’ll be damned. You have managed to scold anyway. I look forward to the day when the only complaint you have with me is that the pleasure ended too soon.”
He stunned her speechless. He acted innocent, as if he had not just announced his goal in this contest.
“You had to leave a house and ride in