Free Ducal Encounters 03 - Portrait of a Duke by Wendy Soliman

her a sensual smile. “That is not my fault.”
    She flexed a haughty brow. “I am to blame for your incivility?”
    “No incivility was intended, but if you will insist upon looking so well then you must expect to be admired.”
    The corners of her lips lifted. “I’m sure your mama taught you it is the height of bad manners to stare at a lady.”
    “Has no one ever told you that mothers don’t know everything?”
    The capricious light left her eyes and she seemed to withdraw into herself. “I am aware of that from personal experience.”
    What the devil had he said to overset her? Vince stored her strange reaction away for later consideration.
    “Come,” he said, offering her his arm. “My family is anxious to make your acquaintance. We are all a little awed to have such a famous family living on our doorstep.”
    She placed her hand on his sleeve and looked at him askance. “I find it hard to imagine your family being awed by us, or anyone else for that matter. I mean, just look around you…this magnificent house, these beautiful grounds. Who could compete with that?”
    “Which just goes to show how little you know us.” He looked down at her with a reassuring smile. “We might have money and rank, but both were inherited so we can take no credit for that. We have simply carried on where our ancestors left off. We have never, any of us, achieved anything remarkable in our own right, and fully intend to bask in the reflected glory of having your grandfather as a neighbour.”
    “Please don’t do that, Lord Vincent,” she said, alarm flaring in her expressive eyes.
    “If you would prefer us not to, then of course we will not say a word.” He fixed her with a probing gaze. “It is not my intention to make your life more difficult for you than it already is.”
    “Thank you. I had hoped to keep my grandfather’s presence here a secret, you see, at least for a little longer. But, I suppose, now that you all know—”
    “We shall not breathe a word.” The hand resting on his arm trembled and Vince impulsively covered it with one of his own. “We shall respect your privacy, Miss Trafford, and that of your grandfather. You are right to say that word of his presence will most likely spread, but if the Sheridans make it known he is to be left in peace, no one from either of the local villages will go near him.”
    She canted her head and subjected him to cool appraisal. “You sound remarkably sure of yourself.”
    “I would refer you back to all that inherited wealth and consequence. The villagers bicker all the time for the privilege of owning us, and would never ignore a ducal decree.”
    “But I do not even know the duke.”
    “No, but you are about to meet him.”
    She looked up at Vince, the elegant lines of her profile compressed with a combination of anxiety and gratitude. “Thank you,” she said simply.
    He sensed she wanted to say something else, but they were now approaching the double doors to the drawing room, which a footman opened for them before they actually reached them.
    “Ready?” he asked.
    She squared her shoulders and threw back her head. The pulse beating at the base of her throat was the only indication of her nervousness. “Indeed.”
    Her poise reminded Vince that she had been living continuously with her grandfather, and must be used to mixing with people from all walks of society. She would not be overawed by this occasion and would know how to behave.
    As they entered the room, all conversation stopped and five elegant heads turned in their direction. Lady St. John eased the momentary awkwardness by jumping to her feet and engulfing Miss Trafford in an affectionate hug.
    “My dear, it has been too long.” Lady St. John held Miss Trafford by the shoulders and submitted her to an exacting scrutiny. “You look very well, but you have lost weight since we last met.”
    “Whereas you are more beautiful than ever.”
    “Nonsense.” Lady St. John waved the suggestion