Except for her.

Her eyes narrowed on him. What did he want with her? She’d come along to help him distribute baskets of little whatnots—candles, a small bag of flour, a few eggs, figs, and apples, all tucked into the little box beneath the cart’s seat—and to check in on each family to make certain they all had what they needed before winter arrived. A noble outing, she had to concede, yet she’d only agreed to accompany him because he’d come in person to the mill to ask for her help and give her an opportunity to make him beholden to her.

And because Papa had insisted. Although why her father would agree, she had no idea, but she thought she’d sensed an odd camaraderie between the two men during the past three mornings when the duke arrived with his carriage to start their day.

Grudgingly, she had to admit that she’d enjoyed the time they’d spent together, including their picnic luncheons taken on blankets beneath trees when they’d stopped for an afternoon break. He’d proven to be more witty and sharp than she’d given him credit for, with the intelligence necessary to efficiently run his estate yet with an empathy for the people who lived there. And he certainly possessed a drier, yet far funnier, sense of humor than she’d assumed.

What surprised her most, though, were his keen observations about the land and nature, his detailed descriptions of what he’d learned so far about his new estate that stretched in every direction as far as the eye could see. The man possessed a poet’s eye. While that stood in contradiction to the ruthless businessman she knew him to be, the juxtaposition didn’t make her uneasy. Instead, she was loath to admit, he fascinated her, right down to his well-worn boots that showed he was no stranger to hard work.

No longer bothering to try to hide her uncertainty about him, she turned to face him on the small seat and demanded, “Who are you?”

“You know who I am.” He flicked the ribbons and quickened the pace of the trotting horse. “The Duke of Monmouth.”

“Yes, yes.” She waved a gloved hand, dismissing that too-easy answer. “But who are you? You’re certainly not behaving like any duke I’ve ever heard tell of, going out of your way to take baskets to your tenants yourself when your land agent could easily do it.”

Should have done it, in fact, leaving the duke at the manor where his kind preferred to be, rather than having to interact with people who might not know where the next rent payment would come from or blame him for their tenuous situations. Who had every reason to dislike the new lord and tell him so. Right to his face.

Instead, what she’d heard at every farmhouse and cottage they’d stopped at was how kind he was as a landowner. Bringing them baskets and checking on them personally was simply proof of that in their eyes. More, they gushed with excitement about the potential opportunities they credited him with for creating jobs for them and their extended families at the factories to the northeast. Thanks to his canal, the one that her father’s mill was currently stopping.

Comments like those gnawed at her. She would have suspected he’d somehow bribed or forced the farmers and their families to say such things in front of her, except that she knew several of the tenants personally and knew he’d never be able to coerce them like that. No, their sentiments toward the man were genuine, drat him.

“I’m a new duke who only received this title and land due to a fluke of birth,” he explained with chagrin. “A new duke who doesn’t know what to do with all he’s been given because he’s used to working hard to earn everything he’s ever gotten before in life. That’s who I am.”

The tiny muscles in her belly tightened in empathy. “Your Grace, I had—”

“John, please.” With that correction, he cast her a long, hopeful glance. But he didn’t seem to garner the reaction from her that he’d wanted, and his shoulders sagged. “When we’re out here alone, like this, I would prefer that you call me by my Christian name.”

“All right,” she agreed, a bit reluctantly. He might be a new duke who was unsure of his position, but he was still a duke.

“As for this week’s outings, I’m doing them because I want to get to know my tenants, and I can’t do that through a land agent, no matter how good the man is at his job. I also want to let them know that I’m approachable and always ready to listen to their concerns.”

Hmmm…“Are you?”

His lips quirked into a half-grin. Then he surprised the daylights out of her by pulling off his right glove and daring to reach up to stroke his knuckles over her cheek.

He drawled, “I think I’m very approachable.”

For a moment, she could do nothing but stare at him, stunned at his audacity, as her heart somersaulted in her chest. He’d overstepped his bounds, by a goodly ways, yet inexplicably she couldn’t find it within her to scold him for it. “I meant about listening to their concerns.”

“Oh.” With exaggerated disappointment, he dropped his hand away. “That, too.” His eyes shined mischievously as he stole a sideways glance at her. “But I prefer being approachable.”

Based on the way her pulse raced, he was very good at it, even if he’d meant it only as a tease. She should have been relieved to know that he was simply bamming her, yet inexplicable disappointment panged hollowly in her chest. “Then why won’t you listen to my concerns about the mill?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t argue that she was wrong because he was doing exactly that. He’d refused to discuss the mill and the lock during the past three days, despite having hours together to work through their issues and perhaps find a solution. Every time she attempted to bring it up, he changed the subject. So she hadn’t tried to bring it up at all today. Until now, when he’d given her the opening.

“Why ruin a perfectly good mill, John?” The use of his name came easier than she expected, given both that he was a duke and that he shared the name of her secret correspondent. But half the men in England were named John, and Monmouth certainly wasn’t her John. She would know him instantly, even without his mask.

“Why ruin a perfectly nice day by talking about it?” He dismissed her concerns with a flick of the ribbons and a turn of the horse toward the village.

She sat back on the seat with a heavy sigh, once more thwarted in her attempt to discuss the mill.

It had been a perfectly nice day, although she’d never admit that aloud. She’d even looked forward to it, especially the luncheon when the two of them sparred over literature and philosophy, discussed art and all the wonderful places to explore in the world. He’d been self-educated, as was she, and she found him to be as intelligent as anyone who was graduated from university. Moreover, he didn’t hold her in disdain the way she thought he would. He’d surprised her when he’d asked for her input regarding the estate and the village, then downright stunned her when he listened carefully to her opinions and actually gave them worth.

Already she missed their luncheons, knowing after today that there would not be others.

Just as she missed the letters that had stopped coming.

“I know a man named John,” she ventured quietly, spurred on by the ache that flared in her belly at the memory of the masquerade.

He tensed, his shoulders stiffening, but kept his gaze fixed on the horse’s ears. “Lots of men are named John.”

“I suppose.”

When she fell into contemplative silence, he nudged her with his shoulder. “And this John you mentioned, he lives in the village?”

“I don’t know.”

“But he’s one of my tenants, surely.”

“I don’t know that, either.”

“Well, what’s his surname?”

She shook her head.

“But you said you know him.”

“I do,” she shot back defensively. “I know that he’s good and kind, hard working, and intelligent. That he loves his family and has the heart of a poet. He’s sympathetic, considerate, caring—” Dashing, alluring, enthralling…with a gaze that could see into her soul and a touch that had her yearning to surrender.

Until the night of the masquerade, when her mask came off and the magic vanished. When the reality of her father’s mill came crashing back.

“Well, he sounds like a remarkable man,” he mused.

“He is.”

“And nothing like me.”

Far too similar, in fact. But she’d never tell him that. “Not in the least. You’re both two very different men.”

His mouth twisted at that, as if he knew she’d just lied to him. But he let the subject drop and said instead, “We’ve got two more baskets to deliver today, to two cottages on the way back to the village.” He paused as the large wheel dipped into a depression on the dirt road. “Would you be willing to come out with me again tomorrow?”

Oh yes! She shrugged a shoulder as nonchalantly as possible. “I suppose, if you need help with the baskets.”

“I won’t need help with the baskets.” He nudged her again, but this time by touching his thigh to hers. “I just want to spend time with you.”

That quiet confession sparked a faint thrill inside her. She knew not to become infatuated with him. For heaven’s sake, he was a duke, and she was a miller’s daughter. They had no honest future together, and she wasn’t the kind of woman who let men bed her. Not even dukes. Not even ones as handsome and interesting as Monmouth.

But she simply couldn’t resist. The only other man who had made her feel as beautiful and intelligent as Monmouth had during the past few days was no longer part of her life, and she simply wasn’t strong enough to deny herself this small happiness. No matter how fleeting.

Yet the future of her father’s mill continued to hang over them, and she knew that he’d refuse to discuss it tomorrow, just as he’d done today. Unless…