The Duke's Bidding

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

It was a relief to hear the echo of John's laughter reverberate through the room. The feeling of impending doom lifted as fast as it shrouded him a moment earlier. Why did I have to mention the Duchess? Elizabeth thought to herself. The painful memories of losing the Duchess were cumbersome, she knew that first hand. Even now, as she wistfully watched him, Elizabeth was glad she had made an effort to lighten the mood and set them back into the present.

"I have never met a man who laughs at his own ineptitude," she observed.

The boisterous laughter turned into a wicked smile, "I am not laughing at myself."
His wolfish grin made clear he was amused at her expense.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

***

Somewhere, in the recesses of his memories John recalled a young indignant Elizabeth issuing a challenge of her own in response to his dismissal of her. The resemblance was uncanny. How did I miss that look? Not much changed in the way she expressed herself.
"I meant no offense." He raised his hands, palms facing her in surrender.

"You are unbelievable, I was trying to..." Elizabeth maneuvered around him to what he perceived as safety, near the desk. She paced, brows furrowed.

"I know—thank you." The desire to reach out and smooth the lines on her brow surprised him. Better watch yourself. If you are not careful you will find yourself wanting those shackles after all. Although John mocked himself, the thought accompanied a twinge of guilt, all the same. He decided it was best to change the subject.

"What do you need?" he asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Earlier, you mentioned your lack of proper attire. Are there specific items you need? I can have someone come—" John reached for her, pulling Elizabeth away from the desk. He circled her once, twice, and then tilting his head made a mental note to have Robert summon a dressmaker from London.

***

Elizabeth wanted to be anywhere, just as long as it was far away from here. This man was impossible. Of all the things he could have talked to her about, he would keep bringing their conversation back to her wardrobe or lack thereof. Elizabeth couldn't help but feel like she was his prey. He circled around akin to a caged tiger, ready to pounce on his next meal. Her imagination ran wild.

"Will you stop that!" she demanded.

"Stop what?" John asked, completely unaware of her discomfort.

"You are making me uncomfortable."

"I am?"

"Stop prowling around me. I'll make you a list." She searched the drawer, coming up with a piece of parchment. "Dresses, undergarments, a jacket, shoes. Any number of articles at this juncture would be more suitable than this." She threw the paper at him.

"All right then. I will take care of it." He pocketed her list.

Did we not already decide that the housekeeper would get what I needed? What did he mean by he will take care of it? Why did all the men in her life think they needed to take care of things for her? Apparently, John was no exception.

"Take care of it how exactly?" she prompted, sounding exasperated.

***

John found it ironic that she was the one now continuing this line of conversation, but he dared not point that out.

"I was referring to your wardrobe problem. I will ask Mrs. Watson to find you something appropriate for your immediate needs, and will take care of the rest myself."