Page 58 of The Dueling Duchess

“Yes.”

Judging by her expression, it hadn’t been a happy experience.

Why was he so stunned that she’d lived there? It wasn’t as if he actually knew much about her past—which was all thanks to the stupid vow they’d made never to share the details of their lives in case they became emotionally entangled during their brief affair.

“What sort of property is it?” she asked before he could formulate a smooth way to pry.

“It’s a farm. It belonged to an uncle on my mother’s side who died several years ago. He’d lived there for decades, even before the colonists broke away. It’s been leased out since his death, but in six months it will be available. Until then, I need a job.”

Why not tell her the real reason you want to work here?

Oh, and she’ll be so thrilled and receptive to me declaring my undying love for her now that I’ve been cast aside by another woman, thrown out of my home, and left virtually penniless?

Guy grimaced. When stated so brutally, it seemed like a very poor idea.

No, what he needed to do was earn her respect, trust, and love, not stroll in here and tell her he loved her as if he were doing her a favor.

He was going to do it correctly this time. For the first time in his life.

Tell her about your idea—about how you can triple ticket sales . . .

No need to be hasty, he chided his imaginative inner voice. He’d save that suggestion until it looked as if he was losing the battle.

“Surely you can find a job that pays more than I do,” she demanded.

Guy’s head whipped up and he met her gaze, thrilled and encouraged by the question because he’d expected her to simply throw him out.

He suddenly felt lighter than he’d felt in ages—since that last morning in France when he’d made a muddle of his life.

Perhaps this wasn’t so hopeless, after all?

* * *

This was hopeless.

Cecile couldn’t believe she’d just asked him that question. The minimal pay was the least of the reasons he couldn’t be working for her.

She opened her mouth to do what she should have already done—tell him no emphatically—but then he said, “I also need somewhere to live.”

“What do you mean? Don’t you live with Elliot? Has he thrown you out?”

“No, of course he hasn’t. Sin and Elliot have offered me their places, but I don’t want to be a burden on them.”

“You’d rather be a burden on me.”

He smiled, but it was strained. “You know I’ll pull my own weight—and then some.”

Cecile inhaled deeply and held her breath.

What he said was correct: He worked hard and didn’t shirk or balk at doing nasty, dirty, or menial jobs—she’d had ample proof of that last year. He was strong, smart, and intuitive in a pinch—skills that made for a good all-around worker.

But he was also . . . Guy. Her ex-lover. A man who—if he’d not exactly broken her heart—at least left a few bruises and lacerations.

In fact, it hurt just looking at him. What would it be like if—

“I know you’re still angry and hurt over—”

“Je ne suis pas blessée!” she snapped, and then scowled and repeated herself in English. “I am not hurt!”