Daisy and the Duke

Daisy and the Duke - Part 3

She flushed, visibly wounded by his sarcasm. "Money isn't the issue."

He stepped away, unaccountably depressed. "Money is always the issue," he said bluntly.

"Is that how you judge people? By the money they have? I would think a man in your position might have a more democratic outlook on life."

"A man in my position?"

She shrugged awkwardly. "Someone who works with his hands."

Damn, everything she said made him think of sex. He, the only remaining male scion of the house of Wolffhampton, had come perilously close to shagging a perfect stranger in broad daylight. Good Lord. Clearly, it was time to end this. "Goodbye, Ms. Daisy Wexler. I hope you find everything you're looking for."

 

***

Though the day was still sunny and clear, a cloud settled over Daisy's emotions. Watching the handsome stranger descend the hill with long, loping strides made her want to weep for some unaccountable reason.

She'd likely never see him again...unless she happened to run across him as she was leaving the duke's estate. Though, given his current mood, he'd probably hide out until she was gone.

In theory, Daisy was not opposed to a holiday romance, particularly with a man who sounded like one of her favorite British actors but was far more blatantly virile and sexually intense. A vacation fling was not, in essence, a mistake.

But Daisy was not on vacation; she was employed. And that employment was going to enable a project of her own, one that could change her life.

Glancing down at her watch, she surmised that enough time had elapsed to warrant approaching the enormous, fortresslike house. She tromped down the incline, across the meadow, up the tree-lined path and onto a stone apron that fanned out from the gigantic oak doors. The ornate iron knockers looked ancient.

Palms damp, she reached out a hand, grasped one of the heavy circlets and rapped it three times. In her imagination, the sound reverberated inside the house. Shifting from one foot to the other, she waited.

The interval was no more than a few seconds, but it might as well have been eons. At last, the door swung open, and an older man, clad in the traditional garb of a butler, greeted her with a slight inclination of his head. "Good day, mum."

Daisy hesitated, abashed at his formality. "My name is Daisy Wexler. I'm here to speak to the duke." She thought about mentioning her go-between, but decided against it.

As she fidgeted, the majordomo assessed her rumpled clothing and lack of transportation. "I will see if His Grace is ready for visitors," he said stiffly. "Perhaps you'll be so kind as to wait in the parlor."

Daisy perched on a cushioned settee that looked as if it might have supported the fannies of knights and ladies down through the ages. Her heart rapped against her ribs and her knees felt like jelly even though she was seated.