"You seem distracted, Fiona," the duchess observed.

"Not at all, your grace. Why do you say so?" Fiona stuttered.

"Because you've read the same paragraph three times."

Oh.

She was distracted, alright. Completely lost.

And it was that damned Duke's fault.

He'd looked at her like that. And held her like that. And nobody had ever looked or held her like that before today.

But that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was that she'd looked back at him like that too. And she'd certainly not been in a hurry to get out of his arms.

Yes.

That was where the problem lay.

Fiona Butterworth was infatuated.

Wasn't that what this was? She hadn't stopped thinking about him ever since she'd quit his study.

No man had ever caught her fancy, not even the dear Mr. Johnson. He was the new vicar, handsome and young. He'd also expressed his interest in her—more than once. And he was perfect, her equal—the way the Duke's Lady was his equal. But Fiona had never been able to see him as anything other than a good friend.

So why did she have to go and get infatuated with a Duke? A betrothed, surly Duke, no less.

"Is something amiss?" the Duchess interrupted her thoughts.

"No, your grace. I'm just touched by how much the hero loves his lady," she tried to smile. "And that was a particularly interesting paragraph."

"Hmph. Go on then."

Fiona read on, making sure her mind didn't wander this time.

"How did you like it so far, your grace?"

"It's pathetic. I refuse to believe that my son selected this book. The writing is horrible and the plot is simply atrocious. How many times can that Rebecca girl possibly swoon?!"

There was no way she was telling the duchess that she'd chosen the book herself now.

Still, she strongly disagreed with the duchess. Maybe it was a little too clichéd, but it was certainly entertaining.

Besides, she'd seen the old crone hang on to every word that Fiona had read. She could pretend to be intellectual all she liked, but it seemed she liked some drama and romance just like Fiona. She stifled a grin.

"Do you wish for me to read you another book perhaps, your grace?"

"No!"

Fiona raised her brows.

"It's just that I don't like to leave any book unfinished," she replied, her cheeks reddening a bit.

Oh sure.

"Go on, now. It is growing late."

"Alright, your grace. I shall see you tomorrow morn," Fiona got up and curtseyed. She left the book on the table next to her bed, just in case.

On her way out, she had to cross the Duke's study and she found herself slowing down. She looked that way even though the door was shut.

Good God, she was in trouble.

Who was she going to tell this to? Who could possibly guide her through this disaster?

And then it struck her—there was only one person she could count on.

Fiona raced back home.

"Nana!" she hollered.

"What is it, girl?" Nana's voice was laced with panic as she exited her room.

"I need your help."

"Is something amiss?"

"Yes. No."

"Yes or no?" Nana asked impatiently.

"I don't know," Fiona groaned, chucking her basket onto their small dining table.

Nana rolled her eyes before looking heavenward.

"Sit down first."

Fiona complied, making herself comfortable on their threadbare sofa. Nana settled down on her arm chair.

"Now tell me what happened."

"I think I'm infatuated."

"With?"

"The Duke."

Nana muttered something under her breath. Fiona didn't know what she said but Nana didn't look particularly optimistic.

"What do I do, Nana? I'm doomed!" she wailed.

"Stop being so dramatic, Fiona. You're only infatuated, not in love. So we can repair the damage." And then she added an "if you want to," as an afterthought.

"Of course I want to. Why wouldn't I want to?!"

"Well, if something could come out of this, I see no harm in you following your heart and—"

"Nothing can ever come out of this, I assure you."

"Why ever not?"

"Are you out of your mind, Nana? He's a Duke. And he's betrothed."

"Not married. And handsome," Nana smirked.

"Nana! Are you going to help me or not?"

"Oh alright," she huffed. "How did it all start though?"

Fiona briefed her about what had taken place in the library and about how she'd witnessed his kindness.

"I think I'm infatuated, myself," Nana grinned.

Fiona resisted the urge to strangle her great-grandmother.

"I don't really know what we can do about this, Fiona. You cannot possible ignore him, he lives there, after all. And you can't pursue him—although I don't necessarily agree. So what is it that we can do?"

"I asked you because I didn't know," Fiona ground out.

"I'm hungry."

"Nana?"

"What?! I need time to think. We shall sup and then I'll think," she huffed and got up.

Fiona wanted to scream. But she dutifully got up and readied a simple dinner.

She ate in silence. A million thoughts formed in her head and each one was about the damned Duke.

She didn't even like him.

Nana promptly dozed off after supper and Fiona wasn't even surprised. She went to bed, unaware of what the next morning would bring her.