Rules to Catch a Devilish Duke (6 page)

“I— Excuse me.” Grabbing up the ruler, he fled the room.

Well, that was rude. But at the same time it wasn’t difficult to imagine that the servants here had very limited conversation with the guests of the house. At The Tantalus Club the employees ate at four large tables in the attic common room. Since they all had varying duties and schedules, the food was set out on a sideboard and everyone served him or herself for every meal. Dealers, hostesses, servers, the Helpful Men who saw to it that none of the male membership took liberties they shouldn’t—rank and salary didn’t matter at the Tantalus. Each of them was a misfit, which made all of them a very odd family.

Clearly none of the diners at Greaves Park would be serving themselves this evening. She would have known that even without a man measuring how far each spoon was from the edge of the table. The room—the entire house that she’d spent nearly four hours exploring, in fact—spoke of formality and rules and … nobility, she supposed it was. And despite the generous fire in the hearth, that left the room feeling very cold, indeed.

Yes, she’d become accustomed to making the best of whatever situation in which she found herself, and yes, what she needed from this holiday was an adventure. But as she looked at the immaculate settings and the blemish-free soup tureen and the curtains hemmed with gold thread, it was difficult to believe that she wouldn’t have been better off remaining in London.

She’d originally accepted the duke’s invitation because she missed her friend. Well, Camille Pryce—no, Blackwood—wasn’t here. But all staying in London would have given her was a last holiday at the Tantalus, because one way or the other she wouldn’t be able to return.
Stupid arrogant dukes and their overblown pride
. With a sigh Sophia nudged a knife with her fingertip, setting it just slightly askew. There. That felt better.

“So you’re the sort of female who enjoys destroying other peoples’ nice things. I’m hardly surprised.”

Jumping, Sophia spun to face the doorway.
Damnation.
“Lady Wallace, I presume.”

She wouldn’t have described the marchioness as simply a female version of her brother, but there were definite similarities. The very dark hair, the gray eyes, the attractive features, and the distinct air of confidence. Without a doubt Lady Wallace was someone who’d never had to go without, or even ask twice for anything.

Her face was rounder and softer than Adam’s, her build much more delicate, her stature much more petite. Like her brother, though, she was lovely. Not quite as compelling, perhaps, but Sophia reflected that that might have been because the Duke of Greaves was very, very male. Lip-wetting, fingers-tinglingly male.

“I debated whether to sit down to dinner with you or not,” Lady Wallace continued, strolling into the room. Her soft blue silk gown sparkled at the waist and shoulders as she moved in the candlelight. “My brother insists that I be civil to you, but that task would be much easier if I simply kept my distance.”

Facing the table again, Sophia straightened the knife. Evidently they weren’t going to be friends. Best, then, to let the marchioness know that she wasn’t anyone to be trifled with or dismissed, either. “But you felt the need to first tell me of your disdain, I assume?”

“My, aren’t you bold for such a little nothing?”

Once Lady Wallace took a seat at the head of the table, Sophia likewise sat—though she decided that the chair nearest the door made the most sense strategically. “I’m sorry to tell you that you are far from the first person to insult me for being born, my lady. In fact, I’ve been insulted by people whose opinion I hold in much higher regard than yours.”

“Your birth was an unfortunate mistake, but I was insulting you for working at that club. And for then having the presumption to accept an invitation made either as a jest, or in a misguided attempt at charity.”

“I rarely jest, and I didn’t invite Miss White here out of any kind of charity.”

The Duke of Greaves walked into the room, Udgell and two footmen on his heels. And however regal his sister might be, Sophia knew without hesitation to whom this house, this room, this life, belonged. “Good evening, Adam,” she said deliberately.

A smile touched his lips, then vanished again. “And to you, Sophia.” He walked around the table, not to take Lady Wallace’s place at the head, but to sit directly opposite Sophia. “If you wish to rule the dinner table, Eustace, then call for the soup. I’m hungry.”

Her own expression much less amused, the marchioness waved her fingers at the butler. “You’ve ordered me to be polite, but evidently you don’t require that your own sister be treated with any respect at all.”

“I heard you being a viper before I reached the door. Mind your manners, and I imagine that Miss White will do the same.”

She felt rather than saw his glance at her, but she nodded. “Of course.” When she did look over at him, his gray eyes were lowered, sweeping down to her bosom and back again. Her insides heated. She owed this man a kiss, at the time of his choosing. Losing a game of billiards had abruptly become more interesting than she’d ever expected.

“Susan Simmons, I presume?” he asked after a moment.

Belatedly she remembered the borrowed dress. “Yes. This gown must have cost her a fortune. She’s very generous to lend it to me. Thank you for mentioning her.”

“I thought you and she might be the same size.”

She almost asked if he noticed everyone’s dimensions with such accuracy, but considering how lovely the dress was and how short on allies she happened to be, she decided that now might not be the best moment to jest with him. “I’ll attempt not to spill anything on it.”

A deeper grin flashed across his mouth, attractive and infectious. “I’m certain Mrs. Simmons would appreciate that,” he returned.

“That is a borrowed gown?” Lady Wallace put in. “How gauche.”

Ha.
The marchioness should have seen her in the yellow morning dress. “My things were lost in the river,” she said aloud. “I am making do.”

“A shame you weren’t lost, as well.”

“Eustace. You may dine in your rooms. Now.”

Her gray eyes narrowed, Lady Wallace stood and flung her napkin onto the table. “Conduct yourself as you will then, Adam. I’m certain no one could be surprised to see you following in Father’s footsteps. A redhead, even.”

“That’s enough.”

“I’m very nearly ready to stop wishing you well, Adam, and to be thankful that bridge fell and this won’t go on for much longer.”

Sophia watched her out of the room. As she turned back to commiserate with the duke, however, the deeply angry expression on his face stopped her. His sister’s parting words had seemed a minor insult, but she’d also seen the painting of the former duke in the portrait gallery. And she’d felt the heaviness in the air when she looked at it.

As she was casting about for something to say that wouldn’t cause him to suggest that she also take dinner elsewhere, the two footmen reappeared. The lovely scent of onions and warm bread accompanied them, and she took a deep breath. In addition to having a generous daughter with a fine taste in dresses, Mrs. Beasel also clearly knew how to cook.

“That smells delicious,” she said, hoping the duke couldn’t hear her stomach rumbling in anticipation. Sophia dipped her spoon into the beef and onion soup before her, brushed the bottom against the rim of the bowl, and slipped it into her mouth. “And it tastes delicious.”

“Udgell will see that your compliments are passed on to Mrs. Beasel.” Adam tore off a piece of bread and spread rich yellow butter across it.

“Please do so, Udgell.”

“Very good, Miss Sophia.”

“I gave an order,” the duke said shortly. “There’s no need to supplement it with your own.”

Oh, splendid.
“So now you’re going to be sullen and cross?” she said aloud.

Gray eyes held hers. “I am neither of those things. Stop trying to pick a fight with me simply because my sister bested you.”

Sophia blinked. “Your sister did not best me,” she retorted.

The shadow of a smile touched his mouth before he lifted another spoonful of soup. “I stand corrected.”

“Oh, stop it. You were hoping we would fight.”

Adam gestured for Udgell to bring in the main course. The scarlet-headed chit seated three feet in front of him continued to be a surprise. Very few people of his acquaintance contradicted him, and much less intentionally began arguments with him. And yet there she sat with a pretty grin on her pretty face, baiting him.

“I’ll admit to a certain curiosity to witness your first meeting,” he admitted, finishing off the soup and sitting back as one of his footmen removed the bowl, “but that is all.”

“So you weren’t secretly wishing for fisticuffs?”

“Not at all.”

“Mm-hm. And I suppose you think I didn’t
let
you win at billiards.”

“If you were allowing me to win, you would have said so.”

She shrugged. “I just did.”

Just when this holiday had gone from necessary rout to disaster, he knew to the second. But when disaster had become … interesting, he had more difficulty pinpointing. All the same, the annoyance and stark disappointment with which he’d been viewing this holiday since well before the collapse of the bridge had, in the last few hours, fled.

“In the future, then, I shall see to it that I
earn
any victories,” he said aloud.

Her cheeks dimpled in a rather fetching manner. “I do hope so. I’m generally rather competitive, you see.” She sat forward, her green eyes dancing. “But I was curious about the wager.”

And so was he. “Were you, then? And its collection?”

Her gaze lowered to his mouth. “Yes. That was quite generous of me, I thought.”

Sweet Lucifer, she was charming. He would have said so aloud, but Sophia White seemed utterly unaware of precisely how irrepressible and appealing she truly was. If he pointed it out, he could very well ruin it. And that would be a shame. “We’ll see if you say that after I collect what’s due me,” he said instead, then set down his utensils. “No doubt you’re wondering what my sister’s parting words meant,” he went on, torn between being mindful of how many times Sophia must have been left out of conversations and wanting to continue the long-held custom of keeping his own counsel.

“You mean the part about the bridge and something not continuing? It did seem rather … cryptic.”

“Yes. Likely everyone else will know within minutes of their arrival here, if they haven’t already realized, so you might as well hear it. I invited a great many eligible females to Christmas, as my father’s will stipulates that I be married by my thirtieth year. And that I father an heir by my thirty-first.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “You’re looking for a bride? A parade doesn’t seem very subtle. And I’ve seen you be
very
subtle.”

That reminded him—as if he needed a reminder—that she noticed far more than he’d realized. Considering some of the machinations in which he’d been involved over the past Season and her own part in them, she
had
seen him being subtle. And not so subtle. And she’d kept her mouth closed about it. “The time for subtlety seems to have passed,” he returned, attempting to sound witty rather than annoyed by the entire damned situation.

Sophia cocked her head at him, a lock of her scarlet hair drifting across one green eye. “I’m assuming you selected ladies of the most impeccable bloodline, an appropriate age, and … a modicum of attractiveness, because, well, why wouldn’t you? Any number of single women would cut off their own legs to marry you.”

“That
would
prevent any stampedes, at least,” he noted, reflecting that this was closer to a conversation he’d expected to be having with his good friend Keating Blackwood—if Keating hadn’t been on the far side of the river Aire at the moment—and not with a pretty young chit with whom he had a wish to sin. “But yes, I take your meaning, and yes, I did do some research into each of the chits.”

“Then why am I here, again? Surely you don’t consider
me
eligible to join the marriageable parade.”

She spoke briskly enough, but from the swift glance at him then away, his sole guest had some pride resting on his answer.
Damn.
He hadn’t meant to insult her, but neither did he intend to go to the effort of spinning a lie that neither of them would believe. Adam picked up his fork and knife again, mostly to give himself another moment to think. “You are here because firstly you’re a friend to one of the few married women I’ve invited, and secondly, because I find that I enjoy having a conversation with a chit without her assuming that every other damned thing I say is a promise of betrothal.”

“You didn’t know that when you first asked me here. You only thought I was shocking and relatively harmless.”

Adam laughed. He couldn’t help himself. “Very well. You’ve stunned me by having a wit and the gall to use it as you please.” Lifting his glass of wine, he tilted it in her direction. “A pleasant surprise, to be certain.”

She smiled back at him, her warm countenance half a league away from Eustace’s calculating use of the same expression. “Thank you, then,” she returned. “But when the remainder of your guests
do
arrive, I ask that you keep in mind the fact that I do have some pride, and a heart that yearns for love as much as any better-born lady’s. Please attempt not to stab too deeply when you begin your comparisons.”

For a bare, mad moment he opened his mouth to comment that she was likely to be the most interesting of any female he’d asked to Greaves Park, and that she had nothing to worry about when he began making his lists of flaws and attributes. At the last second it occurred to him that not only would that be an inappropriate thing about which to commiserate with her, but that it would also be rather cruel. After all, Sophia White
was
interesting and pretty and charming, and most of that seemed to be despite the efforts of the world at large to grind her spirit into dust. But she was also the daughter of a lady’s maid—a fact that neither of them was likely to forget.