“This is an impressive cottage.” He didn’t turn to look at the massive structure, at the cold stones, hundreds of years old, that had seen generations of dukes before him. He lowered his voice to a whisper, barely recognizing himself when he said, “I wish it were a cottage.” Her eyes lit with teasing pleasure. “What then? You, a humble shepherd? Me, a rosy-cheeked milkmaid?” Settling her hand into the crook of his arm, he led her up the stone steps and through the enormous entryway, empty of servants. He’d given them the day, and in that, taken it for himself. He did not have to play the duke.
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