were not for dukes, he reminded himself.
She rested stockinged feet on the sofa. Her knees were bent and her skirt raised to her calves while she frowned into a book. His mind tumbled in a hundred directions at once, all of them landing on various places of her body. The woman should not be displaying herself in such a way.
Courtesans did not act so...relaxed and improper. Even the women he’d visited in London—ones without modesty—would have remained much more sedate in daylight hours.
But he remembered his manners. Perhaps he’d erred, not she. She had not heard him enter the room. He took a quiet step back because he did not want to mortify her by letting her know he’d seen her sprawled so indelicately.
But then he saw the books. A good dozen of his most precious books scattered about her. One was even on the carpet. How could she? It was one thing to trespass, another to shoot an arrow at a man, but...the books...
Books were to be treated as fine jewels—no. Jewels could be tossed about here and there without concern—books were to be treasured, removed from the shelves one at a time, carefully perused and immediately returned to their place of honour. They were made of delicate materials. A nursemaid would not toss a baby here or there and books deserved the same care.
She looked up, swung her stockinged feet to the floor as she sat, dropped the book at her side. Her foot now sat on top of a boot, her skirt hem covering it, as she lowered her hand towards the remaining footwear.
Modesty. Finally. ‘You may dress.’ He turned his back on her slightly, so he would not see if her skirt flipped up while she put on those worn boots. He would have thought Warrington would have done better by her. He would put in a word to see that she had decent indoor shoes.
He heard a thump and the sound of pages fluttering.
‘I cannot read this—this—’
From the corner of his eye, he saw the title of one of his father’s favourite volumes disgracefully on the floor. He pressed his lips together and gave himself a moment. ‘Why are you in the library since you disregard reading?’ he finally asked.
‘Your mother has insisted I pick a book, study it,’ she muttered, ‘and be able to speak about it. She is punishing me.’
He heard the sound of her fidgeting about and then silence. He turned.
She glared at him, but she only had one boot on and she held the other in her lap, her right hand resting on it.
‘I do not think I like your mother,’ she continued. ‘The duchess told the servant who stores my bow I am not to have it. The servants are afraid to disobey her.’ She stared at him. ‘The duchess said it is good for me to learn to read English. That I should not be unleashed on society
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