The Duke I’m Going to Marry (Farthingale Series Book 2) by Meara Platt Page A

little sounds Dillie made. Proof that he unsettled her. Not that he would ever act upon that proof. Still, it mattered to him that Dillie was not quite as resistant to him as she would like to believe.
    Phoebe asked him several more questions, to which he purposely gave empty responses. Finding little gossip fodder from him, she turned her attention to Dillie. “Drink up, girl. Why aren’t you touching your tea?”
    “Daisy and I finished a pot before you arrived, Lady Withnall,” she answered, smoothly managing her lie. “A lovely oriental blend with a hint of orange peel. Delicious.”
    “I see.” She remained staring at Dillie. Hell. This was going to be bad. Dillie wasn’t used to this sort of scrutiny. Having been raised in a large family, she’d probably had to fight for every scrap of attention. He wasn’t certain how long she could maintain her unaffected manner. The eep was on the tip of her tongue. It would take nothing for her to blurt it out. “Heard you also remained in town after the season.”
    “Yes, with Uncle George. I stayed behind with him to close up the house. He’s also been training me to assist him in his medical matters.” She clasped her hands together, no doubt to keep them from shaking. She smiled and stopped talking. Good. She was a smart girl and knew to keep her responses short and sweet. She wouldn’t offer conversation that could be turned against her.
    Ian shot her a sympathetic glance, as though to say, “You can do this.”
    She swallowed hard. She wasn’t a practiced liar.
    Phoebe took a bite of her treacle scone and slowly chewed, her gaze still intently fixed on Dillie. “Have you done it yet?”
    “It?” Her frantic gaze shot to him, saved by the fortunate fact that Eloise was now seated beside him and Phoebe might believe she’d turned to Eloise for guidance. He knew what was racing through Dillie’s mind. She was thinking of their kiss. She was thinking of his naked body. “Forgive me, I didn’t understand the question. What is it that I’m supposed to have done?”
    “Tended to any of your uncle’s patients, of course. What did you think I was talking about?”
    Ian could see that Dillie’s mind had frozen at the very moment she needed to think fast. Had Phoebe already spoken to George? What had he answered? “I’m sure whatever Miss Farthingale did was under her uncle’s supervision. Of course, I can’t imagine he’d ever leave her alone with any of his patients, or admit it to you if he had. She’s merely in training. Not trained yet.”
    Dillie shot him a smile of gratitude. Obviously relieved, she raised her cup to her lips and drank.
    However, Phoebe wasn’t finished with her yet. “I see. Can’t be trusted on your own.”
    Dillie swallowed hard, the hot liquid obviously searing her throat as it went down too fast. “Not in the least.”
    Hell . That came out very wrong.
    “I mean, not medically.” She began to fidget. “Otherwise, I can be trusted. Of course I can be trusted. Why would I not?”
    “You tell me. You’re the one who seems concerned about it.” Though she and Phoebe were seated across from each other, separated by a tea table, Dillie must have felt as if the harridan were breathing down her neck.
    She was in trouble here, but knew better than to glance at him again. She turned to Daisy instead, silently begging for help. The Farthingale sisters were close, always supported each other. Ian wondered how it felt. He’d experienced support on the battlefield, could always rely on Gabriel and Graelem to guard his back. There were other men he trusted as well. But that was during wartime, saving England and the Continent from Napoleon’s army.
    He’d never felt the soft, nurturing support of a woman.
    Hell, he’d never felt any family support.
    Daisy sprang into action. “Ah, I see you’ve finished your tea, Lady Withnall. How did you like it? Isn’t the oriental blend delightful? It’s a new one I discovered in a