Rules to Catch a Devilish Duke (31 page)

If the day had been clear, he might have been able to see through the shop’s front windows, but luck had evidently not crossed the river Aire to join him at Greaves Park. That much had become clear when Hennessy’s by-blow had turned him away. Then the oaf of a butler had dropped dinner on him. Unconscionable as that was, this morning a half-witted footman had poured old, soured milk into his tea. His stomach still hadn’t settled. Greaves needed to hand half his staff their papers.

The shop door below opened, and he straightened again. The scarlet-haired Tantalus girl emerged first, Greaves on her heels. Whatever the urgency had been, he didn’t seem to be in any sort of hurry any longer. Rather, he walked the chit to her red horse and lifted her into the saddle. As she settled, she grabbed the lapel of Greaves’s coat, leaned down, and kissed him. And he took her face in his hands to kiss her back.

Well.

No wonder the chit had turned him away, Aubrey thought, whether she admitted to having made an arrangement with Greaves or not. Adam Baswich was a clever bastard, and a cagey one. He’d let just enough of the rumors fly to leave doubt, and to keep him from being called a hypocrite if the truth should come out.

And she was a redhead, too. Given the old duke’s penchant for the ginger-headed sect, Aubrey understood why Greaves might not have wanted to advertise the identity of his latest mistress. The apple and the tree definitely shared some common tastes. By God, the man was here to choose a wife. Perhaps he meant to keep Sophia White from his duchess. And if Adam could be embarrassed or bothered by any of that, well, this could be fun.

As the pair of riders and the accompanying groom rode out of the village, Aubrey kicked the chestnut gelding he’d borrowed in the ribs. Considering what he’d seen, it would be best to return to the house before Greaves did. And then he could decide how much mischief he wished to make with what he knew.

FOURTEEN

Adam strolled into the orangerie, his gaze immediately falling on his sister at the center of the dozen or so people who’d taken over the large, warm room for their afternoon tea. It all looked very civilized, if one ignored the undercurrent of malice lurking in the corners. Whatever else happened, he meant to make certain Sophia enjoyed the rest of her holiday. And that began here.

“There you are, Eustace,” he said with a smile. “Might I have a word with you?”

The marchioness looked up at him, hesitating a moment before she rose. “Of course, brother. By the fire, perhaps? I’m a bit chilled.”

The request didn’t surprise him at all. Of course she wanted to remain in the room, where she would have allies and he would be distinctly outnumbered. He nodded. “Certainly.” Phillip Jennering leaned against the mantel like a heavy-browed gargoyle, and Adam looked at him very levelly. “Give us a moment, Jennering.”

The viscount’s brother actually swallowed as he straightened. “Of course, Greaves.”

“Why aren’t Wallace and your offspring here?” he asked. “I thought with such a prize resting on the outcome of this holiday, you’d want my heir presumptive close to hand.”

The question seemed to surprise her, as he’d hoped it would. “They aren’t here because whatever you may think of me, I do not want my children exposed to the spectacle you’ve made of this Christmas, with women chasing after you and that … thing remaining under your roof. An illegitimate, employed female who spends every evening with multitudes of randy men playing cards and drinking and doing God knows what else.”

“And yet you have even more of your pack here than you usually manage. To begin controlling the rumors should I fail to net a bride?”

“In the perhaps vain hope that a greater number of respectable people would balance your carnival and give this house at least the appearance of decency.”

As well as he knew her, the deep venom in her voice unsettled him. It wasn’t for show. She meant every word she said. “What would you have done, if you’d been born of some duke and a servant?” he asked quietly. “And don’t say you’d drown yourself, because we both know you have a very keen sense of self-preservation.”

“I would join a nunnery, or take myself off somewhere I could quietly live out my shameful life doing good works. I would not make even more of a spectacle of myself by seeking employment in the middle of Mayfair at the most scandalous establishment possible.”

Interesting that she’d chosen nearly the same path that Hennessy had selected for his daughter. Eustace had obviously had that response prepared. But he’d been considering a few things, as well—not the least of which was that all Sophia had truly wanted of this holiday was a handful of fond memories. She would have that, even if it killed him. Or everyone else.

“Now that we know what you
would
do in her place, this is what you
will
do in yours. You will inform those venomous harpies of yours that if they make one more disparaging remark about any of my guests, I will hear about it and I will make it my business to disgrace, embarrass, or ruin them in the most public manner possible. And you know I’ll do it, because I’ve done it before. Do you understand?”

Her face had paled, though whether that was from anger or well-suppressed righteous indignation, he had no idea. “Yes,” she ground out.

“Good. You will also lead your hyenas in friendly, polite conversation and greetings to everyone your paths cross. You will all smile and nod and be the gentlemen and ladies you were supposedly born to be. One sideways glance or turned back or behind-hand whisper, and I will—”

“Disgrace them. I heard you before. You don’t need to repeat it.”

She did seem to understand that she wasn’t the only one who meant every word of their conversation, because she’d tensed all her muscles so tightly that she would likely break if he pushed her over. The warning would suffice, then, but only until she realized that he hadn’t mentioned her, specifically. He couldn’t disgrace her, after all, without doing the same to himself. Or so she likely thought. “One more thing,” he continued.

“What, then? More threats? I told you; I understand.”

Adam took a step closer. “One more thing,” he repeated, his voice even lower. “You. You will show the same kindness and consideration to everyone under this roof. If you don’t, I will cut you off. And I will marry the least respectable chit possible just to be able to do so.”

Eustace gasped, color leaving her face completely. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Perhaps you haven’t realized it yet, sister, but I have had enough of you and your vitriol over every damned thing. Yes, you were born first, and yes, you are female. I have control over neither of those things. What I do have control over—and what I will keep control over—is this title and everything that goes with it.” He drew a hard breath. “I’m finished with you now. You may go.”

She turned as crisply as any soldier, and walked two steps. Then she faced him again. “One question.”

“I suggest you word it very carefully, then.”

His sister lifted her chin and walked those two steps back up to him. “I can guarantee that … woman’s reception here. But I have no say in how the rest of London views her, or in what anyone will say when the Season begins. Do you mean to show her at the theater? At soirees?”

“Enough,” he interrupted.

“No. I will speak. What am I to say when I hear the gossip? When Lady Jersey giggles and says ‘like father, like son,’ and everyone snickers? At you, or at our name? You may have kept people from sneering at her in your sight and on your property, but you’re ruining what little is left of your own name and reputation by dragging that trouser-wearing woman about and making as much of a spectacle of yourself as she does. I certainly hope your interest in bedding her lasts long enough to justify your own destruction.”

He should never have let her speak. Molten fury tore at his insides until he was surprised that his ears weren’t bleeding. “I know you like to have the last word,” he snarled, and she backed away a step. “But this time I will. Shut up.”

With that he turned and left the room. If no one else had been there to see, he would have gone directly to the nearest liquor tantalus, but guests littered his house like yapping, tail-wagging dogs. He couldn’t make a scene, couldn’t yell until his throat bled, couldn’t go stalking out into the snow until his fury cooled. All he could do was walk the house and hope no one stopped him for conversation.

It didn’t matter that Eustace was wrong both about Sophia and about her future, because even if he would have been perfectly content to take her about London to everywhere she wanted to go, she wouldn’t be in London. She wouldn’t be anywhere near him, and she certainly wouldn’t be happy about any of it. And neither would he.

A voice slid in through the cracks of his boiling mind, and he slowed outside the billiards room. His hand shaking so hard he could barely grasp the handle, he opened the door an inch.

Sophia leaned over the billiards table explaining her shooting technique to Francis Henning. Across from them, Keating leaned on a cue stick while his wife sat chatting with Ivy Flanagan. James Flanagan stood on the far side of Henning and offered his own pointers. To his surprise Lady Caroline was also present, seated by the window with a book in her lap and chuckling at the conversation.

A potential bride, a renowned muddlehead, a killer, a banker’s brother and his wife, and two Tantalus girls. He could almost touch the humor and peace in the room. He wanted to join them. At the same time, he was fairly certain that if he stepped inside there with the roiling, putrid center of him clawing to get out, the windows would shatter and he would simply obliterate every ounce of … easy affection in the room. If he shut the door on it, though, he knew he would never find that moment again.

At that second Sophia looked up and saw him. Her grin deepened, lighting her green eyes. “Your Grace. Thank heavens. Do come and explain ball spin to Francis. We’re going to turn him into a crack billiards player.”

Adam pulled in a breath, and then a second one. And then, keeping his gaze on Sophia, he pushed the door wide open and stepped inside. The room didn’t explode, the table didn’t burst into flame, and the walls didn’t crack.

Her expression altering a little, Sophia handed the cue to Henning and walked up to him. For a long moment she searched his gaze, then put her hand on his arm. “I heard you saying you had a sour stomach earlier,” she announced, half pulling him toward a window. “For heaven’s sake. Take a breath of fresh air. Why is it that men have to act so manly all the time?”

“Because we are manly,” Keating put in, stepping past her to shove open the window. “And if you’re going to cast up your accounts, do it out there. In a manly way, of course.”

Cold air rushed against his face, and Adam took another breath. Behind him he heard someone jiggle the bellpull, and then Camille’s voice requested a pot of peppermint tea, followed by Udgell’s lower-toned response. The discussion of the part mathematics played in billiards resumed. And his insides slowly began to cool.

Sophia had taken a seat directly beside him to join in the chat about hats with Camille and Caroline and Mrs. Flanagan, but after a moment he felt her hand brush the edge of his jacket. “Are you well?” she breathed almost soundlessly.

He nodded, taking a last cool breath and shutting the window before everyone else in the room froze. What did he mean to do with Sophia? He had no idea, other than knowing that he needed her to be in his life. Somehow, somewhere in the past weeks, Sophia White had become his one, very unlikely, saving grace. He couldn’t lose her. And certainly not to a man who would only disdain the very things about her that he loved.

*   *   *

“Oliver, there’s a letter for you,” Diane Warren, Lady Haybury, said, as her husband walked past the sitting room.

He backtracked, leaning into the doorway. “Since when do you announce my mail?” he asked, walking up beside her. Gently he pulled back a lock of her hair and kissed her on the cheek. “Unless it was a ruse to get me alone with you.”

She chuckled. “I rarely resort to ruses. Not any longer, anyway.” She handed the letter to him. “Kiss me before you open it, because you’ll be in a foul mood afterward.”

Without looking at the missive in his fingers, he settled his hands on her shoulders, leaned down, and took her mouth in a slow, deep kiss. “You taste like strawberries,” he murmured, kissing her again.

“And you taste like sin,” she returned in the same tone, smiling against his mouth. “My favorite flavor.”

With a short laugh he backed away from her and flipped the missive so he could read the address. Immediately his smile vanished. “It’s from Greaves,” he said flatly, and glanced up at her. “But you knew that.”

“I recognized the address.”

Swiftly he unfolded the paper and glanced through the single page. Then he sank down into a chair.

“Is something wrong with Sophia?” she asked, taking the seat beside his. “I knew we should have stopped her from going.”

“We might have stopped that, but she seems fairly assured that we won’t be able to stop Hennessy.” He spoke absently, his gaze following the lines of the letter as he read it again.

“Oliver?”

Finally he glanced up at her. “Listen to this: ‘You owe me nothing, but I find myself in need of assistance. Go to Cornwall, and meet with the vicar of Gulval. If you find Mr. Loines to be acceptable, or at least malleable, leave him be. If you find him to be otherwise, inform me at once. I ask this not for myself, but for someone of our mutual acquaintance. As you know, time is of the essence. I know your stake in this, and I do not ask you lightly. Greaves.’”

Diane studied her husband’s expression for a moment. “I would suggest you tell him to bugger off, but I believe this Mr. Loines is the man Sophia wouldn’t tell us about.” She frowned. “I can’t believe Hennessy actually thought a vicar would be appropriate for her.” Standing, she took the letter from Oliver’s hand and read it again herself. “What are the odds that Hennessy would choose someone of acceptable character for Sophia?”