Rules to Catch a Devilish Duke (12 page)

Agnes Smith stood at the stove, a pot of boiling eggs before her. Sophia smoothed the skirt of her lovely riding gown and stepped forward to hug the tiny woman.

“Thank you so much, Agnes!” she exclaimed, bending to kiss the older woman on the cheek. “It’s lovely.”

“Oh, bless me!” the cook’s helper squeaked. “You nearly startled the heart out of my chest, child!”

With a chuckle, Sophia released the servant and stood back. “You must let me pay you something for the dress.”

The servant, her cheeks already flushed from the heat of the kitchen, reddened further. “Oh, no, Miss Sophia. I can’t wear it, and someone should have use of it. I’m happy to give it to you.”

Sophia hugged her again. Never would she have expected the residents of Greaves Park, of all places, to be as kind and open as they were proving to be. “Then I thank you doubly,” she said.

When she turned around, she nearly ran headlong into Milly, the housekeeper stood so close behind her. “You forgot your cloak, Sophia,” the servant said, holding out a black, fur-lined cape. “It was Agnes’s, too.”

“Oh, this is too much.” For heaven’s sake, the two garments together must have cost the cook’s helper better than a month’s salary.

“Nonsense,” Agnes said briskly. “You can see they go together.”

They did, at that. And whether it was too generous or not, Sophia couldn’t help anticipating what Adam would say. No doubt he expected her to appear at breakfast wearing trousers again. He’d certainly seemed to like seeing her in them. And she’d liked when he removed them.

With a last hug she left the kitchen and walked back up the long hallway to the breakfast room at the front of the house. The quickest route was through the portrait gallery, but the thought of seeing the father’s unsettling likeness the morning after she’d so enjoyed the company of the son made her doubly uncomfortable. Instead she detoured through the orangerie, greeting the myriad servants as they went about their morning duties.

When she strolled through the breakfast room door, Adam was already present, sitting at the table with a cup of steaming coffee at his elbow and an open newspaper in his hands. Warmth swept through her at the sight of him, tingling and alive and very welcome on such a chill morning. However much trouble she might be, he hadn’t sent her away. In fact, he was someone whom she could imagine calling a friend.

He wore blue and gray today, as impeccably perfect as always. And so very handsome, with a strand of dark hair slanting across his temple in a way that made her fingers twitch with the desire to brush it back into place.

And then she noticed Udgell the butler looking at her expectantly, and realized she was staring at the duke.
Silly girl.
“Good morning,” she said lightly, moving forward to the sideboard.

Adam looked up. “Good…” He pushed to his feet, his gaze widening almost imperceptibly as he took her in from head to toe and back again. “You look quite … nice. Where did you get it?”

She grinned, a shiver of satisfaction strongly mingled with lust running through her. “From Agnes Smith, your cook’s helper.”

“Ag—Really?”

“Hush. It’s grand, isn’t it?” She hefted the heavy skirt an inch or two and stuck out the tip of one toe. “I am still wearing your groom’s boots, though. I can’t wear your second footman’s best shoes on horseback.”

“Of course not.” He gestured at the table. “Udgell, a cup of tea for Miss White.”

“Right away, Your Grace.”

Once Sophia had selected her breakfast, she sat down opposite him. “Is that the London newspaper?”

“It is. They towed it across the river along with the mail. I’m sorry to tell you, but the weather in London has been exceedingly mild.”

“I prefer Yorkshire weather. It’s unpredictable.”

“Not really. It’s either snowing, or about to be snowing.” With a half grin of his own he produced a folded note from his pocket and handed it over to her.

Their fingers brushed, and she took a deep breath. He was quite distracting. She’d had lovers before, and while she’d enjoyed the interlude, it had stayed in the bedchamber. This intoxication, however, seemed determined to linger. And it was such a pleasant feeling that she was loath to discard it.

Oh, and now she was staring at him again. Deliberately she lowered her gaze to the folded paper he’d handed her. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

She did so, skimming her eyes down the dark, hasty scrawl to the signature at the bottom. “It’s from Keating,” she exclaimed.

“Read it aloud. I haven’t looked at it, other than to see the address.”

That had been supremely thoughtful of him. With a grateful glance up, she smoothed out the note and cleared her throat. “‘Adam,’” she read, then lowered it again. “I’m accustomed to … rough language, but I do try to avoid using it. The members at the club don’t appreciate it from dainty females, and I imagine the vicar would make his displeasure … unpleasant for me.” She shook herself, attempting to banish the thought and very aware that her host was still looking at her. “Keating can be somewhat liberal with the profanity, so I shall substitute the word ‘albatross’ where necessary, and you may read that part privately later.”

He laughed. “Well, now I don’t know whether I hope to hear you say ‘albatross’ or not. Read the damned—albatross, I mean—letter, will you?”

“Very well. ‘Adam,’” she resumed, looking a few words ahead as she read, “‘I should have known you would have an albatross old bridge here in the middle of albatross Yorkshire. I received your note this morning. Cammy and I are staying at the King George Inn in albatross Etherton. Given that Sophia is there with you already, we have resolved to remain here for at least a fortnight, on the chance that you will actually repair the albatross bridge.’” She looked up. “Keating does have a way with words, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, he does. Anything else?”

“Let’s see. Yes. ‘You should see the gaggle of females milling about here, waiting to see you. Are you starting an albatross finishing school there? Give our love to Sophia, and for God’s sake, don’t scowl at her. We hope to see you soon.’ And then some more cursing about you repairing the bridge.”

She handed the letter back, and he read through it, his lips twitching as he no doubt reached the “albatross” bits. The obvious affection and humor in the letter, toward both Adam and her, touched her deeply. For the past five days she’d been having such a good time that she’d almost managed to forget both her troubles and her friends at the Tantalus, and the two people that she’d traveled all the way to Yorkshire to see. Abrupt guilt made her scowl.

“Would you wait on the far side of a river for a fortnight to see Camille and Keating?” Adam asked into the silence as he tucked the missive back into his pocket.

“Of course I would.”

“Then stop frowning because they chose to do the same. You didn’t make the bridge fall. And the King George is a very nice inn. I’m paying for their stay, along with that of all my other displaced guests.”

She sighed. “Very well. It’s just touching to know they’re thinking of me.”

“How could they not?” he returned in an amused drawl. “You’re rather memorable.”

“I will assume that is a compliment.” She cocked her head at him. “Keating doesn’t know you’re hunting for a wife?”

“He’s aware of my father’s stipulations, though he’s probably paid it less mind than I have. He’ll undoubtedly figure it out. He’s clever that way.”

“Perhaps you should write and tell him. While he and Cammy are waiting, they could be reviewing your potential brides.”

“It’s more likely that Keating would frighten them away with his albatross reputation.”

Sophia laughed. With renewed enthusiasm she dug into her substantial breakfast. The activities of last night seemed to have left her with quite an appetite. She spared a moment to look up at Adam again, to find steel-gray eyes gazing at her. Her appetite wasn’t just for food.

*   *   *

Adam had several things to attend to this morning, not the least of which was an appointment at noon to meet again with the Jones brothers, who’d sent word this morning that they had put a plan together to repair the bridge. And still he sat, pretending to read as he watched his one houseguest devouring a large slice of hot mutton pie and two soft-boiled eggs.

Mrs. Orling, the seamstress in Hanlith, was something of a miracle worker, it would seem. And Sophia had believed whatever it was Mrs. Brooks had decided to tell her about the riding habit—though he wouldn’t have selected the pixie-statured Agnes Smith as the gown’s previous owner. Small moments of unexpected magic seemed to abound at Greaves Park this holiday, so hopefully Sophia had simply accepted the dress as yet another improbable bit of luck.

“Have you ever gone ice fishing?” he asked, as much to distract himself from the increasing pressure in his groin as anything else. There were damned servants in the room. If there hadn’t been, he would likely have been across the table and on her by now.

“That’s how you caught me, isn’t it?” she commented, offering him a sly smile.

“Generally a person doesn’t fling himself bodily into the water to fish, but I suppose the basic principle is the same. Would you care to try the proper method?”

Sophia took a sip of tea. “I think that would be fun.”

“Good. I’ll make arrangements for this afternoon.”

“Do you think we should include Lady Wallace?” she queried, her expression becoming serious. “She has been indoors for several days now.”

He didn’t know when they had become a “we,” but it didn’t bother him as much as he’d expected. The running of five estates and three houses in London had been
his
responsibility for better than a decade, and he relished it. No one was allowed to interfere with that, to counter his orders, or to attempt to press their own opinions regarding his duties. In order to keep all that, he needed to marry. This, however, wasn’t the same as giving up power or control. This was a very kindhearted young lady feeling empathy for a woman who despised her.

“Eustace would dislike both the activity and its ultimate goal,” he stated.

“She doesn’t like fish?”

“Eating them, yes. Seeing them alive and flopping about on the end of a rod, no.”

With a final bite of pie, Sophia set down her fork and dabbed delicately at her mouth with a napkin. “I look forward to catching more fish than you do.”

Adam had no idea how she did that, being proper with one breath and then wagering with him the next. It was uniquely charming. “I accept your challenge.” He glanced at the butler and pair of footmen lurking in the corner. “We’ll decide the stakes later.”

Soft rose touched her cheeks. “I’m certain they will be interesting.”

Finally he set aside his own napkin and stood. “Let’s be off, shall we? I have a meeting in a bit with my bridge engineers.”

“Do you have time for a ride, then?” she asked, furrowing her fine brow.

“It just so happens that I have precisely enough time for a ride.”

Her expression eased again. “That’s very lucky, isn’t it?”

“It is, indeed.”

By now Adam had had time to send detailed instructions and bribes to his conspirators in Hanlith and to speak with all involved servants at Greaves Park, so he was fairly confident that Sophia could chat with whomever she wished without learning of his clothing deceptions. As they left the breakfast room to ride into Hanlith, he certainly hoped so, anyway.

“I think Caesar and Brutus were terribly hurt at being left behind,” Sophia said from beside him, her breath briefly visible in the air.

“
I
think the villagers would riot at having a pair of wet, massive beasts trundling through their homes and businesses,” he returned. “I have no wish to be stabbed with pitchforks.”

She snorted. “Coward.”

“Instigator.”

As she laughed at that, he crowded Zeus into Copper, took Sophia’s shoulder, and leaned over to kiss her. Before she could react, he straightened and moved away again. The warmth of her mouth seemed to spread through him, heating his insides enough to keep all of winter at bay.

It seemed a very impulsive and boyish thing to do, and at nine and twenty years of age he was neither of those things. The last thing he cared to do was to give her the impression that he was besotted with a three and twenty-year-old card dealer. Because he wasn’t. He merely enjoyed kissing her. And having sex with her, which he planned to do again that evening.

“May I ask you something?” she said after a moment, her green eyes assessing.

“Certainly.”

“How old were you when you inherited the dukedom?”

He frowned. While he hadn’t wanted to be asked about kissing or defining a relationship after five days, he
had
expected to be asked something about the two of them. “Why?”

“Because my second question is about whether you and Lady Wallace have always been so … adversarial.”

Now it made more sense. “You’re an only child.”

Sophia squinted one eye. “I am my mother’s only child.”

“Ah. That’s right. Hennessy has a son and daughter from his actual marriage.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Adam’s scowl deepened. “I didn’t mean to insult either your mother or the circumstance in which Hennessy has placed you.”

When he looked over at her, she wasn’t frowning, thank God. “I wasn’t insulted,” she returned. Sophia sighed, then glanced sideways at him. “And you didn’t answer either of my questions.”

“Seventeen, and yes.”

“That’s all you’re going to say? I at least provided an entire sentence.”

“I inherited the dukedom at age seventeen. My sister and I have been at loggerheads for as long as I can remember. And that’s two complete sentences. Talk about something else. You didn’t wish to discuss your family, and I’d prefer to not discuss mine.”

They rounded the hill, and Hanlith came into view. She’d called it picturesque, and looking at the village through eyes that hadn’t grown up knowing it far too well, he could admit that it was quite pretty.

“You know, before this holiday I thought of you as a stern, omnipotent duke who seemed to know everything about any given situation and who for some unknown reason had deigned to be kind. Or rather, had deigned to be kind to Keating and Camille, and in so doing was also kind to me.”