Sebastian stood by the library window—not sat, stood. That alone startled me, though his legs were perfectly sound; people spoke of his deafness as if it had paralyzed the rest of him. He had one hand on the back of a chair and the other on his cane. Morning light touched the silver at his temples, though he was too young for so much of it.
Mrs. Kettle left us and shut the door. I curtsied. "Your Grace."
He faced me directly. "Miss Bell."
His voice always unsettled me: it came from a silence so deep that every word seemed chosen with tweezers.
I faced him carefully. "Yes, Your Grace."
He watched my lips. "What is a pearl-wrapped vulture?"
I stopped breathing. There are moments in a woman's life when she may deny, faint, flee, or become honest by force of disaster. I considered all four: fainting seemed dramatic; fleeing required faster legs; denial required a better face. I glanced at the brooch. "A bird with jewelry."
The Duke's mouth curved. Sebastian wrote my name: Miss Bell.
I answered, "Yes, Your Grace."
Sebastian wrote: Do not waste my time with ornithology.
I clasped my hands. "Then I apologize for insulting Lady Portia where you could read my lips."
Sebastian wrote again: You were not facing me.
I stared at the slate. "Then how did you know?"
He tapped the polished silver tray on the tea table; the tray had reflected the hall behind him.
I looked at it, then at him. "That is deeply unfair."
I lifted my chin. "So is eavesdropping."
I held up the cloth. "I was polishing."
Sebastian pointed to the brass. You polished one six-inch length of brass for eleven minutes.
I looked at the brass. "It was stubborn."
Sebastian wrote: It was terrified.
A laugh escaped me before I could bow it back into service. Sebastian watched it as if laughter were a bird that had flown into the room. His expression softened, then sharpened.
"You called me a handsome tyrant."
Heat raced on my neck. "The sheets were falling. It was a private emergency."
Sebastian lifted one brow. A handsome private emergency?
I felt my cheeks heat. "No, Your Grace. The tyrant part was the emergency."
He smiled again, more clearly this time. I forgot the correct use of knees.