He arched a brow. “No?”
“Lady Summerville mentioned you spent most afternoons in your fields.”
Something flashed through his eyes. Curiosity? Suspicion? “As a rule, although I do occasionally spend time with my accounts.”
So much for trusting in luck. She would not make that mistake again.
“I hope you do not mind my intrusion, your Grace?”
“Of course not.” He casually leaned a shoulder against the sturdy shelf, his powerful presence filling the room as his gaze slid blatantly over her sprigged muslin gown with tiny satin roses sewn along the scooped bodice. At last he returned his attention to the blush staining her cheeks. “I did invite you to make use of the library. Have you not discovered anything of interest?”
She managed a meaningless smile. She had not spent years among the treacherous Russian society without developing some skill in dissembling.
“I was indulging in my love for browsing. Your collection is quite magnificent.”
“In all fairness I must confess that I inherited a large portion of the collection from my various ancestors, although I do occasionally add a few books.”
She glanced to the wrapped packages sitting on the scrolled satinwood table near the door. She would bet her favorite pearl necklace they held newly arrived books.
“How occasionally?”
“Perhaps occasionally is not quite the proper word,” he conceded, a heart-melting twinkle entering his eyes.
Her stomach quivered. She was too aware of his potent appeal.
“I did not mean to disturb you. I will return…”
Without warning, he reached out to grasp her arm and steered her toward the wing chairs.
“Please have a seat, Miss Karkoff. I have requested that Mrs. Slater bring us tea. I believe you will find her seedcake to be the finest in England.”
She briefly debated the odds of making it to the door before he could catch her, only to swiftly dismiss the ludicrous thought.
She had been well and truly cornered, and there was nothing to do but brave it out.
She sank gracefully into one of the chairs and folded her hands in her lap, hoping the penetrating blue eyes did not notice they were shaking.
“Thank you.”
Taking his own seat, the Duke stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankle and putting at risk the fine gloss on his Hessians.
“Tell me what you have seen of the house.”
She stiffened. Seen of the house? Mon Dieu. Did he suspect she had come to search Meadowland?
“I beg your pardon?”
“I thought perhaps Goodson had given you a tour. He is inordinately proud of the rambling old place and inclined to haul unsuspecting guests from room to room regardless of their boredom.”
“No.” She breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Of course, I did have the opportunity to admire the front foyer and your very fine marble staircase. I can readily understand your butler’s pride.”
“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.”