Page 19 of When a Duke Desires a Lass

A dizzying wave of relief ensconced him.

Thank God.

Slamming the ledger shut, he lurched to his feet, prepared to dash to the entrance, but caught himself before taking a step. In his haste, he bumped the edge of his desk, jangling the top of the gilded bronze inkwell.

No. No.

Control yourself, Tobias admonished sternly.

He mustn’t appear overly enthusiastic to see Emily.

The parapets she’d carefully built around herself were beginning to deteriorate and weaken. Soon, they might begin to crumble if Tobias trod carefully. One wrong move on his part, and she’d retreat and reinforce her ramparts, and he mightn’t ever breach those walls.

In any event, dukes did not answer their own doors.

Unless they were besotted beef-brains.

Compelling himself to return to the chair he’d just vacated, Tobias drew the stack of unopened correspondence closer. The leather he sat upon crackled with his movements. He loathed this part of his ducal responsibilities, but he’d at least look engaged in the mundane task when Pepperford issued Emily into the study.

The knocker rapped again, and he cocked his head, listening for Pepperford’s even gait.

Not to worry.

The butler would answer the door in his own good time.

As planned, he’d escort the charming Mrs. Grenville to Tobias’s study.

Tobias would order tea (which had already been discussed at great length with Mrs. Cakebread, the cook) and invite Emily to sit on the neo-classical deep green velvet mahogany couch rather than take a chair before his desk.

He could sit beside her on the couch—much more intimate, if somewhat unwise.

Shaking his head, he snorted in disgust.

Look at him.

Pathetic.

Tobias Algernon Florian Forsyth, seventh Duke of Heatherston, acting like a wet-behind-the-ears-milksop at his age. Arranging for tea and plotting seating, all to woo Emily. Without her, naturally, being aware of his machinations.

Surreptitiousness and stealth were key.

“Get a hold of yourself, man.” he muttered fiercely, cracking the green wax seal of the first correspondence, another invitation, with his thumb.

He stared blindly at the rectangle.

Always a man who knew his own mind, who made decisions quickly and definitively, Tobias now vacillated like the pendulum in the drawing room’s longcase clock.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Woo Emily.

Focus on Avery’s Come Out.

Subtly court Emily.

Avery’s successful Season must be my priority.

Marry Emily.