Page 31 of My Dearest Duke

“Yes.” She fiddled with the satin ribbon of her reticule. “Owen quite disliked cats and dogs. He was cruel to them, you see. For her sake, I gave my cat Moonbeam to our prior housekeeper when we moved to London. I’d actually contemplated acquiring a dog and a cat the day we met at Fortuna.”

Because the enchanting minx was lonely?

How could Kingston deny her something so trivial?

Vanessa could always take her pet with her when she left.

He gave a sharp nod and recrossed his ankles, heartily sick of sitting. “Perhaps after things have settled. I don’t think now is the right time,” he said, brusquer than he’d intended.

“Of course.” Folding her hands neatly in her lap, she turned her profile to the window, but not before he saw a stricken expression whisk across her features. She brought her emotions under control so swiftly that he almost doubted what he’d seen.

Blast his sharp tongue.

Kingston opened his mouth to apologize, then closed it.

Perhaps it was better this way. If she became too comfortable with him, their parting would be that much more difficult.

Then why not deny her a blasted pet from the start?

Drive a wedge between them from the beginning? Because, as he’d told himself a thousand times since seeing her home from Fortuna, he was a bloody fool.

Instead of apologizing, he raised his hand and rapped a knuckle on the small door near his head.

At once, the panel slid open.

“Sir?” the coachman inquired.

“Please stop at Woolpack Inn.”

“Yes, sir.” The panel clicked shut.

Her head cocked, and tapping the toe of her left foot, Vanessa examined him. “Might I inquire why we are stopping at the inn? I assumed we’d drive straight through to Quail Hollow House.”

Kingston fingered the edge of his hat, sitting on the seat beside him. He scratched his nose, searching for the right words.

“That bad, is it?” she bantered.

“I beg your pardon?”

Vanessa looked pointedly at his hand. “You scratch your nose when you’re discomfited or unnerved.”

“I most assuredly do not.”

Did he?

He lowered his hand to his lap.

Two perfectly winged brows soared high on her alabaster forehead.

He decided a tactile retreat was in order. “I think it best if I secure rooms for you at the inn. Quail Hollow only has five bedrooms, and the state of the house isn’t acceptable for someone of your—position.”

He deliberately left out mention of the deplorable condition of the long-neglected servants’ quarters.

His home’s leaky roof, sagging shutters, worn-out furniture, draperies and rugs, scuffed floors, and overgrown lawns and gardens intruded upon his musings. Madeline and the others kept the house clean and tidy and tended the vegetable garden, but the irrefutable pall of poverty still hovered about the place.

“In other words, Kingston, you believe I’m too spoiled and accustomed to my comforts to stay in a home that you deem perfectly acceptable for my new brothers and sisters to live in?”

“I think no such thing. Besides, you are the one who wanted separate residences.”