The Duke watched her face in the firelight, the delicate outline of her tiny nose, the soft droop of the sensitive lips, the pain in the big eyes.
“So you lost your lover!” he said, and his voice was surprisingly harsh.
Iona was startled from her reverie. She looked up at him, her expression transparently innocent until the meaning of his question percolated into her consciousness and a blush transfused her cheeks.
“No! No – not – not a lover,” she stammered. “I have never – been loved – like that.”
“I apologise for the suggestion,” the Duke said gravely, “but I find it hard to believe that anyone as lovely as you – ”
“Please, stop – ” Iona interrupted him, her voice a little breathless. “I beg Your Grace not to say such things to me. I realise they are but the meaningless phrases of
