Maeve stood on the other side of her. “So good to see you again, Your Grace.”
“And you, Miss Parrish,” he said to each of them in turn, leaving Meg for last.
She nodded, trying not to wince when the remains of the macaron slowly plodded down her esophagus as if she’d swallowed an elephant.
“Isn’t this serendipitous?” Myrtle asked with a pleased-as-punch grin. “We were just at his estate a handful of days ago, only to leave without an introduction, and now here we are.”
Maeve, apparently taking Meg’s discomfiture for confusion, explained. “You see, we met earlier this morning when we returned from breakfasting. You were still bidding farewell to Miss Hartley, and His Grace just happened to be walking down the same hall of our apartments. He’d mentioned that you and he were recently introduced at the Count and Countess of Andret’s soiree.”
“How kind of him to make the attempt to remember me,” she said tightly, the irritated growl in her voice not entirely the fault of the confection.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “You would be impossible to forget.”
And suddenly he was the duke of charm? Ha! “Well, we’ve had a very long day and—”
“Do you like macarons, Your Grace?” Myrtle nudged Meg’s arm forward. “It just so happens that we have a box right here. Perhaps we might, all of us, sit down and share them.”
Maeve cleared her throat. “Unfortunately, my sister and I are quite fatigued. And it is such a pity, too, because our Meg was just talking about wanting to stroll through the hotel and gaze upon all the fascinating landscapes hanging in the upper gallery. She is an absolute marvel with her sketches. Although, if I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a dozen times—the best way to gain an understanding of any art form is to see something that sparks your interest and then to practice. Isn’t that right, sister?”
“Oh, yes, indeed. Practice is most important.”
As Meg felt a little push in the center of her back, she began to wonder what level of stupidity caused her to utter aloud to these two the notion of having a holiday flirtation. But little did they know that, if she were going to practice on any man, it certainly wouldn’t be the duke. At least, not again. As far as she was concerned, their time together the previous evening had been nothing more than a mammoth mistake.
But before she could make her excuses to join the little meddlers and retire early, he inclined his head.
“I would be more than happy to be her escort.”
“Splendid!” the aunts said in unison, then bustled off in a flurry as if needing to outrun the arguments ready on Meg’s lips.
Disappearing between the porters who were still unloading parcels from the carriage, they left her alone on the pavement with the duke. And a box of macarons.
She slid him a steely glare. “You cannot be a guest of this hotel.”
“I assure you that I can, and I am. In fact, my cousin and I arrived shortly before you and your party.”
How did he know when she’d arrived? Hmm. Could that have been the reason the concierge had been waiting for the three Misses Parrish? Had Merleton inquired about her and her party?
No. Impossible. Those would have been the actions of a man in pursuit, one who actually wanted to see her. Well, unless . . . he’d been attempting to gain enough information to avoid her instead. Now, that seemed far more likely.
But just to be certain, she asked, “So you just happened to be staying in the same hotel, the same way you happened to be at the party last night and at the docks in Calais? At the risk of using a word that likely doesn’t exist in your lexicon, this all seems a bit too coincidental.”
“Rather like the fact that you just happened to be lurking in the corridors of my estate?”
“Lurking, indeed,” she muttered and knew that she had her answer. He’d been trying to avoid her. “Then, I’ll just be on my way.”
He stepped in front of her. “Wait. I should like to escort you to the gallery.”
Highly doubtful, she thought, ready to walk off in a huff.
But then, one look into his eyes, and that damnable tugging sensation hit her! It compelled her to linger a moment longer. And worse, she had a terrible urge to smooth an errant dark lock from his forehead.
Such an action would put her person perilously close to his own and, at the mere thought, tingles traversed through her body, up from her fingertips and down to her toes.
Why didn’t anyone else make her feel this way?
Because no other man has ever pursued you, a voice whispered in the back of her mind.
She instantly shushed it, discounting the thought as mere fancy. And yet, it was rather odd that they should have met so often.
Still holding his gaze, she said, “Tell me one thing. Are you only paying attendance on me because I remind you of that other woman—the one you mentioned last night—Lady Avalon?”
“No. There are other reasons,” he answered. She waited for him to elaborate, but instead he asked, “What do you say to a temporary truce and a tour? If I make you cross again, you can throw macarons at me.”
Her mouth twitched. Drat the man! Why did he have to be so unexpectedly amusing? And why did he have to entice her with the unanswered mystery of the other reasons?
She sighed and resigned herself to spending a few more minutes in his company. It shouldn’t take too long before he said something awful that would drive her away again.
When she handed the box of macarons to one of the porters, the duke proffered his arm. “Shall we, Miss Parrish?”
Apparently, during his chance meeting with the aunts, they had not revealed her actual surname. She was surprised that they hadn’t gone so far as to invite him to Crossmoor Abbey. To stay. Forever.
But perhaps they truly were only interested in ensuring that Meg enjoyed her holiday and were respecting her wishes to merely practice a bit of flirting. This was their last day in Paris, after all. And they likely understood that nothing would come of her acquaintance with the duke in such a short time. So she took his arm and didn’t bother to correct him.
“Perhaps I can pretend for a few moments that you don’t vex me exceedingly, and you could simply call me Meg.”
He nodded. “And I am perfectly capable of being vexed by you exceedingly while allowing you to address me as Lucien.”
She grinned despite her determination to hold on to her pique.
Inside, they climbed the grand staircase. When they gained the upper landing and passed by a colorful bouquet atop a white-glazed demilune table, he surprised her once more by plucking a stem of blue delphinium free and presenting it to her. He was very unlike the duke she’d met before.
Lifting the cluster to her nose, she inhaled the sweet fragrance. “Still attempting to be affable?”
“How am I doing so far?”
“Hmm,” she murmured, tapping the velvety buds against her lips. “I’m not certain. Are you going to tell me that these blossoms remind you of my eyes?”
His brows drew together, creating a fan of vertical furrows between them. This was the same look he’d worn last night before he’d spoken and ruined everything.
So when they stepped into the empty gallery and lingered just beyond the doorway, Meg steeled herself against whatever he might say. Magnanimously, she decided to wait for his response before she left him without another word.