Nora Langley was not one of those things as far as Birchwood was concerned and he had made that abundantly clear.

Prentiss cleared his throat, looking confused. Perhaps justifiably. “I merely enjoy Miss Langley’s company. She has quite a number of interesting theories, and she is a winsome lass. Who would not appreciate her company?”

“Indeed. On both accounts,” Constantine agreed, still staring at the duke, finding him even more contemptible a person than Prentiss. It was troubling.

He’d always respected and admired the man, but now he was coming to the bitter fresh realization that Birchwood wasn’t a benevolent man. His honor and generosity extended only so long as they did not infringe on the way he thought the world ought to exist.

Prentiss motioned to the door. “I’ll . . . er . . . see you both in the drawing room shortly.”

The duke nodded. “We will join you soon. Take Miss Langley for a stroll in the garden, why don’t you? It’s a fine evening. Spring is in the air.”

The door shut behind Prentiss and they were left alone.

The duke and the heir.

They finished their drinks in silence. Words between them were unnecessary.

A line had been drawn. Tension throbbed on the air. They understood each other perfectly. Well, he understood the duke. Somehow he doubted that Birchwood understood him.

Men like Birchwood didn’t understand those who weren’t like him, and Constantine was beginning to realize that.

He was beginning to realize a great many things. One of which was that he could never be like the Duke of Birchwood. He didn’t want to be. Those aspirations were quite finished.

Such a thing was an impossibility.

Nora tried to pay attention to what Mr. Prentiss was saying.

It was a lovely evening for a stroll and he was not her usual dinner companion. He was interesting and spoke on a variety of topics.

Like Nora, he was interested in botany. Aside of Papa, she had never met another gentleman who knew that without Carl Linnaeus the world would have no formal naming system for any living thing.

He’d returned to the drawing room ahead of Constantine and Birchwood. She wondered what was keeping the two gentlemen, and then she quickly told herself that she did not care. Constantine’s actions were of no concern to her.

Constantine had sat at the other end of the dining table from her and every time she glanced his way he had seemed deep in conversation with Lady Elise. The sight had served as a proper reminder. They had no need for further interaction, and she had no business concerning herself with his actions.

“Miss Langley?”

“Hm?” She refocused on the gentleman beside her.

“Did you hear my question?” he pressed, his eyes gleaming at her in the evening gloom.