flout the English rules of conduct?’
He appeared to ponder her question for a moment. Then he shook his head. ‘Actually, I never do. However, I see no harm in it this time. But if you insist we will do this in the proper manner. I shall need to borrow your maid.’
‘You’d like to borrow my maid?’
‘I would.’
He walked to Meg, who was watching the interaction between her mistress and this perplexing Englishman. They bent their heads together, and a short while later both walked towards Katrina.
‘Miss Vandenberg,’ Meg said, trying unsuccessfully to hide her smile, ‘may I present His Grace the Duke of Lyonsdale? Your Grace, this is my mistress—Miss Katrina Vandenberg.’ She curtsied and watched them both closely.
The scoundrel! Katrina’s eyes widened. ‘You’re a duke?’
A slow smile made his lips turn up invitingly. ‘I am.’
‘You are the Duke of Lyonsdale?’
‘Yes, I believe we have established that.’
Meg, as if sensing her mistress’s temper, smartly moved back to her place by the bookcase.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Katrina demanded.
‘My name? I was going to, but you seemed to need a proper introduction so I had your maid do it.’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ Katrina said as she shook her head. ‘You led me to believe you were simply a lord.’
‘How did I do that?’
‘You did not correct me when I addressed you. You must have found my ignorance vastly entertaining,’ she replied waspishly.
It had been bad enough when she’d thought he might be a titled gentleman, such as a baron, but he was a duke! In England, his station in life was so far above hers he probably would never have spoken to her again if it had not been for this accidental encounter.
She would not show him that it hurt.
‘Miss Vandenberg—’
‘I’ll not be played for a fool. I’m sure you have enjoyed telling your friends how ignorant Americans can be. Well, let me tell you—’
‘Miss Vandenberg,’ he interrupted more forcefully. ‘I didn’t correct you because we had not been introduced. I had no opportunity to tell you my name or indicate my station.’
‘You could have corrected the way I had addressed you.’
‘And sound like a pompous fool? I think not.’
He certainly would have sounded like a pompous fool, but Katrina was not convinced he didn’t have another motive for not telling her the truth. He must have had a great laugh at her expense.
‘In any event, what you did was rude.’
Both his brows rose and he jerked his head back. ‘I assure you, causing you any distress was most unintentional.’
Then his lips twitched, and she wanted to throw a book at him. The man was insufferable.
‘You are laughing at me,’ she said through her teeth. ‘I believe I have spent too much time here today. I bid you good day—Your Grace.’
As she stormed out of the bookshop she wished she could restrict her engagements to those he would never consider attending.
* * *
Julian’s encounter with Miss Vandenberg left him perplexed. No one had ever schooled him in proper behaviour before. No one would ever have dared. And yet this American had thought it necessary to inform him that he was rude.
He should have been insulted by the way she’d spoken to him, but she had been so certain in her conviction, so passionate about the way she deserved to be treated, he had not been able to fault her.
He was a man of strong convictions as well. When he had entered the shop it hadn’t occurred to him that he would leave finding Miss Vandenberg even more desirable than he already had.
By the next day he was still reliving their discussion and anticipating when he would speak to her again.
Deciding to visit the woman who was indirectly responsible for their encounter, Julian sought out his grandmother when he returned home from his committee meeting. Upon entering her private sitting room, he found her resting in a bergère chair, with a book in her hand.
‘Come in Julian,’ she said, waving him closer. ‘You truly have spoiled me.’
He walked across the gold and white Aubusson rug and sat down next to her. ‘I see you are enjoying your book.’
‘You were slippery, presenting me with that volume yesterday. The arrival of this copy was quite unexpected.’
‘This copy?’ he replied, perplexed.
‘Yes—the one you had Mr Vandenberg inscribe.’
Julian gestured to the copy of A Traveler’s Tale that she held in her hands. ‘May I...?’
His grandmother placed a black ribbon between the pages and handed the book to him. ‘It is a lovely inscription.’
He eyed his grandmother through his lashes and turned to the title page. He was speechless. Obviously Miss Vandenberg must have arranged this—but why?
When she had stormed out on him yesterday Julian had not known if he should go after her. No one had ever walked out on him before. What had possessed her to have her father inscribe a book for his grandmother?
‘I did not do this,’ he admitted, handing back the book.
‘Of course you did. I have told no one else I misplaced my copy.’
‘I believe Mr Vandenberg’s daughter arranged this.’
‘His daughter? How would she know?’
‘I mentioned it to her yesterday, when we spoke at Hatchards.’
‘How very delightful of her. You have never said that you are acquainted with the family.’
‘I am only acquainted with the daughter.’
His grandmother arched her brow. That was not a good sign. ‘Just the daughter? How unusual for you. How did you make her acquaintance?’
‘A mutual friend,’ replied Julian, picking a speck of lint off the sleeve of his navy tailcoat.
‘I see. And is the lady in question married?’
‘She is not.’
‘And how long have the two of you been acquainted?’
‘Not long.’
Her
