“Edmond claims that it shall soon be a shabby ruin if I do not devote myself to renovations.”
“It is hardly a ruin,” she protested, faintly smiling at the lift of his brows. “Although it might be a tiny bit frayed,” she conceded. “Still, it is perfectly understandable you would be reluctant to have the house altered in any way.”
“And why do you believe me to be reluctant?”
“As I recall, you lost your parents at a very young age. It is only to be expected you would cherish their memory, especially within your home.”
He sucked in a sharp breath, as if startled by her words. Strange. From all her discreet inquiries regarding the Duke of Huntley it seemed perfectly obvious to her that he still mourned his parents. Did he believe he kept his pain hidden?
Whatever he might say, however, was halted as the door was opened and a young maid entered carrying a large tray.
“Ah, tea,” he murmured, waving the maid to place the tray on the table set beside Leonida’s chair.
Completing her task, the pretty maid with a mass of brown curls and big brown eyes dipped a curtsy.
“Is there anything else you need, your Grace?”
The Duke’s gaze never wavered from Leonida. “That will be all, Maggie. Thank you.”
The maid left and closed the door behind her.
“If you will pour, Miss Karkoff?” he requested as the maid scurried from the room.
“Certainly.” She reached to arrange the fine Wedgewood china. “Sugar?”
“Just milk.”
Happy to have something to distract herself from his unwavering gaze, Leonida poured the tea and filled two plates with the tiny sandwiches and seedcake.
Unfortunately, he merely set aside the refreshments, continuing to study her as if she were a weed that had dared to stray into his well-tended field.
Sipping her tea, Leonida attempted to appear impervious to his rude stare, allowing her own gaze to travel over the nearby fireplace to the large portrait hung over the mantle.
“Is that a portrait of your parents?”
“Yes, it was done shortly after their marriage.”
She studied the couple, not surprised that the previous Duke was a tall gentleman with dark hair and an air of power visible in the strokes of his handsome face, while the Duchess was a small, slender beauty with the brilliant blue eyes she had blessed on her two sons.
“The Duchess is just as lovely as my mother said she was,” she murmured. “They were dearest friends, you know.”
“So I have heard.”
She sipped her tea, quashing her fierce desire to flee and instead stiffened her backbone. For goodness’ sakes. This was the perfect opportunity to discover the information she needed. Why was she hesitating?
“I am not certain that my mother ever forgave the Duke for stealing away her beloved Mira,” she said, forcing herself to meet that shrewd blue gaze. “Indeed, she confessed her only comfort was writing endless correspondence to the Duchess.”
“She was not alone. As I recall my mother devoted several hours each morning to answering the letters she received.”
“Well, this is a beautiful room for such a task.”
His eyes narrowed. “Actually my mother preferred the private parlor that connected to her bedchamber. It is situated to catch the morning sunlight and she had a perfect view of the lake, which she always loved.”
She silently tucked the information away. She at least now knew she needed to discover a means of searching the Duchess’s private parlor and that it was on the east side of the house.
Enough for now.
“I cannot imagine a room that does not have a lovely view,” she said lightly. “Your parkland is quite magnificent.”
“Somewhat less formal than your Russian gardens, although my mother did insist her rose garden be designed with the memory of the Summer Palace in mind. There are a great number of statues and marble fountains. ”
She glanced toward the windows with their view of the deer park. “While you prefer a less tamed landscape?”
He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Nature is a fine enough artist for me.”
“And yet you spend hours taming your fields.”
She turned back in time to catch the hint of genuine amusement that softened his features.
“So I do, but not, I must point out, for artistic purposes.”
“No, your work is far more important.”
His gaze lowered to linger on her lips. “Take care, Miss Karkoff, or you will quite turn my head.”
Her heart missed a beat and she hastily set aside her cup and shoved a piece of seedcake into her mouth. Anything to distract herself from the heat that suddenly swirled through her body.
“Somehow I doubt that anything or anyone easily turns your head, your Grace,” she at last muttered. “You are very…”
“What?”
“Shrewd.”
“Thus far I am substantive and shrewd.” He smiled, but Leonida detected a faint hint of pique in his voice. “More traits that one desires in a man of business than a gentleman. Perhaps I will not have my head turned after all.”
She lifted her brows in surprise. “You would prefer I think of you as shallow and stupid?”
He caught and held her gaze. “I would prefer handsome and charming.”
For a startling moment, Leonida found herself lost in his stunning eyes, momentarily forgetting her mother’s pleas, the damnable letters and even the suspicion that this man was toying with her much like a cat with a cornered mouse.
Her only thought was that this gentleman stirred sensations in her body that were as shocking as they were delicious. And if they had encountered one another in a Russian drawing room, she would have done everything in her power to try and captivate him.
Abruptly realizing that his expression had become speculative as she gawked at him in silence, Leonida set aside her plate.
“You were correct, your Grace.”
“I was?”
“These are the tastiest seedcakes I have ever eaten.”
“Ah.” His lips twitched. “Tell me, Miss Karkoff, how do matters stand in Russia?”
She blinked at the unexpected question. “I am not certain what you
