The servant continued on his way.

Nora pulled her arm from his grasp. Her fingers went where he had held her, rubbing the exposed skin as though she wished to rid herself of his lingering touch.

That stung. Did his mere touch repulse her now?

Her gaze followed the retreating servant. “You need not hover about me so much,” she said tightly. “Servants gossip. People talk.”

He snorted. “I do not typically concern myself with what the servants think.” Right now, he felt particular irritation for Birchwood’s household staff.

“You should care,” she snapped. “The servants hold a direct line to their masters. What the staff witnesses, what they know, what they think, does not stay private. Ultimately, it holds great weight.”

He stared at her intently, assessing. She appeared truly concerned, her gaze fixed seriously on him.

“You don’t strike me as someone who cares what others think,” he murmured.

“I don’t.” She paused to inhale. “But you should.”

“Me? Why should I care?”

She gave a brief laugh and took a careful step away from him as though needing the distance. “You are going to be the next Duke of Birchwood. Appearances matter for you. That is your fate.”

He wanted to deny that, but he could not. She was correct.

He would become a duke, and with that he would have all the responsibilities thereof, including the very stated expectation that he would take his cousin’s betrothed to wife.

In that moment, he felt trapped, cornered. Was that the effect of dukedom? To make him feel like a caged animal?

Nora backed up several more steps. “We should keep our distance from each other for the remainder of my stay here.”

He opened his mouth, wanting to deny that, to argue with that, but it made perfect sense. Of course. He should give her a wide berth. Given what had happened last night he should not even look at her, much less speak to her—and he should certainly never touch her, never be seen alone with her. That all seemed the most sensible course of action. It was not an unreasonable request.

He nodded to her as she retreated. “Very well.”

She held his gaze for one lingering moment and then turned away.

He watched her go until she was out of sight.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” the duchess proclaimed the following morning, clapping her hands together as she admired Nora in her gown.

“You really did not have to do this.” Nora grasped the luxurious fabric of her skirts.

“After how kind and attentive you’ve been to me? A new dress is the least I can do for you, darling.”

Bea, crouched at Nora’s feet, pinned the hem where it needed to be shortened. She nodded. “You look like a princess.”