Rules to Catch a Devilish Duke (28 page)

“And I need a breath of air.” Kissing her friend on the cheek, Sophia stood. “You should go to bed, too.”

“Oh, don’t start fussing over me. Keating’s already been driving me mad.”

“Mm-hm. Good night.”

“Good night, Sophia.”

A few of the other guests were also making their way upstairs, and she feigned adjusting her shoe for a moment until she wouldn’t have to pretend not to notice that no one was speaking to her. Even with her caution, though, a trio of women remained in the hallway as she topped the stairs. Considering how poorly her day had gone, with the notable exception of a rather splendid kiss and the terror of being named a godmother, she wasn’t even surprised.

“That’s a lovely gown,” one of them said, looking over at her.

“Thank you, Lady Fiona,” she answered, inclining her head.

“It’s a bit pretentious of you, though, don’t you think, to wear such a scandalous color simply because it complements your hair?”

“Not that that garish hair is worth celebrating,” one of the others commented.

Sophia kept the faint smile on her face. “I appreciate your concern, but as my hair came from my mother and I borrowed this gown from the late Duchess of Greaves’s wardrobe, I can only assume you meant to insult them.” She curtsied. “Good evening.”

The third woman, Claire, the Marchioness of Hayforth, furrowed her brow. “Wherever you acquired that gown, it wasn’t from Juliana Baswich. She detested red. Everyone knows that, dear. You need to compose better lies.”

Given what Sophia knew of the late duchess, that made sense. Where in the world had Milly found it, then? If she hadn’t been so taken with the color and the way it so perfectly went with her hair, she would have realized that. Milly would have some explaining to do in the morning.

Sophia stifled a sigh as she reached her bedchamber and opened the door. The dress could have come from an actress and she wouldn’t have cared; she would have been grateful, as she remained, to have the use of it. But if she owed someone a favor—and her thanks—she needed to know it.

Her box of knitting sat at the back of the wardrobe, and she brought it out to set by the chair closest to the fireplace. A woolen scarf had seemed a good idea at the time, but that had been before the Duke of Greaves began handing out diamonds as party favors.

With a curse she’d learned from the Marquis of St. Aubyn after a particularly unlucky hand of faro, she pulled out Adam’s scarf and resumed her knitting. Whether he would appreciate it or not, she wanted to make this effort to give him a gift.

After only half an hour and subsequent to pulling out her third row of loops to begin it over again, she set the scarf aside. She hated feeling melancholy, and with nothing to do but stare at yarn, she couldn’t escape it. Her borrowed boots had been cleaned and stood beside the wardrobe, and she slipped out of her simple brown mules to step into them.

Adam’s boyhood jacket was warm and heavy, and she shrugged into it over her lovely and scandalous scarlet gown. Depending on who this dress actually belonged to, perhaps she could arrange to purchase it. She would only be able to wear it in private, when her husband was out calling on his parishioners or some such thing, but she felt so … fiery and alive with it draped about her.

Her hair was still up in its pins, so she settled for tying an old scarf over her ears to protect them from the cold. Then she opened her door—and nearly ran into Adam.

He stood with his hand raised to knock, his expression going from slightly amused to quizzical as he took in her attire. “Where are you going?” he asked in a low voice.

“I needed some fresh air. Just a short walk in the garden.”

With a quick glance at the warm room behind her, he frowned. “You do know it’s nearly one o’clock in the morning.”

“I’ll borrow a lantern.”

Most of the time she couldn’t tell what Adam Baswich might be thinking, but this time she wasn’t surprised when he held out his arm. “I’ll go with you.”

Sophia shook her head. “You don’t have a coat.”

He smiled, his lips curving in a way that made her want to kiss them. “Stop arguing, will you?” he murmured, taking her hand and placing it over his dark brown sleeve.

Giving in, she stepped the rest of the way into the hallway and shut her door behind her. There was certainly no need to alert anyone that she wasn’t in bed. A few candles were still lit here and there, and she thought she heard male voices coming from the billiards room. Abruptly she wondered if one of them was Aubrey Burrough’s voice, and what tale he might be spinning about her.

The servants’ stairs at the rear of the east wing were empty, and she put her free hand on one wall to guide herself down. At the far end of the quiet kitchen, Adam took down what looked like a footman’s overcoat from the rack by the door and pulled it on. His shoulders were broader than whoever owned the garment and he couldn’t fasten it, but at least it would provide some protection for him. All she needed was to cause the Duke of Greaves to catch a chill.

“I don’t think we need a lantern,” he noted as they stepped outside. A three-quarters moon glinted through a thin layer of clouds, turning the snow silver.

Somewhere out beyond the trees a fox yelped. It was an old, lonely sound, and Sophia moved in closer to Adam. She couldn’t help herself. He’d become honey, and she the bee. Whatever this had begun as—a novelty, a friendship, a protest against a lonely future—being in his company now seemed … vital. Necessary to her continued happiness and her sanity.

If for no other reason than that, she should likely stop it. If she’d learned anything during the course of her life, it was to seize happiness where she could find it, and be just as ready to see it gone again. When she couldn’t imagine seeing it gone, she was clearly stepping into a great deal of trouble and heartbreak. At the same time, she’d never known a bee to voluntarily swear off honey. Trouble was for later. Adam was for now.

“Well, this is refreshing,” Adam noted, his breath fogging in the air.

That made her grin. “You volunteered to come out here. Stop complaining.”

He lifted an eyebrow, amusement making his gray eyes dance. “And you have such a reputation for being good-natured and sunny. People have no idea, do they?”

This moment was perfect. She gazed up at his face, wanting to memorize everything about it—the cold, the warmth of his sleeve, the silver moonlight tipping his black hair, the crunch of their boots in the snow. “No, they don’t,” she said aloud.

“And are you going to tell me now why you so desperately needed a breath of fresh air?”

“All the usual reasons,” she returned, shifting her grip to his hand and doing half a dance step around him. He pulled her back in, drawing her up against his chest and bending his head to kiss her.

Desire stirred through her, hot and welcome. But unless she was very much mistaken, she was nearly treading on another woman’s toes. If nothing else could manage to turn her toward reality, that should do it. It was one thing to see herself hurt. It was quite another to cause someone else pain. “I have a query,” she said, meeting his gaze as he straightened.

“That can’t be good.” Taking her hand again, he led her along the dark path between bare sticks and snow-covered shrubbery to the empty fountain at the center of the garden. He sat on the bench facing the wild sea creatures fleeing from the frozen, trident-wielding Poseidon at the center of the fountain, and pulled her down beside him. “I have a question or two for you, as well, but ladies first.”

Their two hands, his fingers twining and untwining with hers, fascinated her. “Lady Caroline Emery,” she said.

His expression didn’t change, but his eyes cooled just a little, enough to remind her that people generally didn’t question him. “I know who she is, but that isn’t a question,” he murmured.

“Being direct isn’t a great difficulty for me, Adam, if you’re merely attempting to delay answering me.”

“Perhaps I only wish to hear you ask the question,” the duke returned.

“Very well.” She drew in a slow breath. It
was
a difficult thing to say, mostly because she preferred that the circumstance of his marriage, of her marriage, didn’t exist in the first place. Then she could simply remain at Greaves Park with him forever. “Have you or have you not settled on Lady Caroline to be your duchess?”

A gust of wind shook ice out of the tree in front of them, and it tinkled like glass as it hit the branches and fell to the snow below. “I have lately begun to think that Caroline Emery would be the most suited to that position,” he finally said, his tone clearly reluctant. “Very insightful of you.”

“She’s pretty. I knew it couldn’t be either one of the Hart sisters: They make my head ache. And most of the others are far too flighty and nervous for you.”

“I concur.” He kept his gaze on the house as lights went out one by one. “However, I haven’t asked her yet.”

She pulled her hand free, fighting against the sensation that the ground had begun spinning beneath her feet. “What’s the delay? You need to become better acquainted with her, Adam.”

“Why? Evidently I’ll have a lifetime to do so. And I have a good idea that I know all I need to about her, anyway.” He stood again.

Sophia rose as well. Perfect moments were short-lived. “You’re going to be changing her life. And yours. You owe it to both of you to at least become friends.”

“I have enough friends.” He reached over and brushed a strand of hair from her face.

“But t—”

“If you begin advising me on the merits of knowing a future spouse, I will do the same thing to you.” He stepped closer. “I mean, have you ever spoken a word with your vicar? Do you even know his Christian name?”

Sophia retreated the same two steps that he advanced. “No, I don’t. I do know that Hennessy chose him, with the idea of keeping me away from London and anyone with a wagging tongue. And I know that Hennessy told me how very seriously the Reverend Loines views sin and sinners. I don’t need to know any more than that.”

Adam closed on her again. “Then stop telling me to proceed any differently.”

Well, he had a point. But it wasn’t the same. He had the opportunity to choose the most tolerable of spouses, while she’d had the least tolerable of all chosen for her. “Then don’t become acquainted with her. Either way, there is now an obligation between the two of you. And I am not stepping into that kind of mess.”

He reached out for her hand again, but she moved out of the way. His expression darkening, he stopped. “I am not married yet. And neither are you. And this is still our last, best holiday to do as we please. Now come here.”

This time she let him catch her hand and tug her closer. “I can’t help noticing that the end of the holiday keeps approaching. Running forward, in fact. And I don’t want to hurt her.”

“She’s already acquainted with several of my former … companions. I daresay she already knows I’m spending my evenings with someone else.”

Shaking her head, she tucked herself against him, inside his borrowed coat. “I do not understand aristocrats,” she muttered. “I can’t even wear a red gown without being accused of impropriety and lying, I can’t even be left to live a simple life above a gentlemen’s club, and a woman whose parents happen to be married can win a diamond, marry a duke, smile at his mistresses, and have tea with bishops.”

“There are no bishops here. Trust me on that.”

She sent him a glare. “You know what I mean.”

“You could have won the diamond, so I don’t actually think you can put that on her head.”

Glowering, she circled the silent fountain. “No, I couldn’t have won the diamond.” She rubbed her chilled hands together. “I’m finished complaining now. Shall we go inside?”

Adam held out his hand and she took it, twining her fingers again with his. “How are you a liar for wearing a red dress?” he asked, starting back up the path beside her.

Oh, she probably shouldn’t have mentioned that, dash it all. The last thing she wanted was to bring his parents into what was finally becoming a pleasant evening. “It was nothing. Just some of the ladies making certain I know my place.”

Her hand still caught in his, Adam stopped. “Not good enough. Who said what to you? Precisely.”

“Adam.”

He shook his head. “I’ll keep you out here until we both freeze, or you can answer my question. I leave the choice to you.”

That wasn’t much of a choice. There were drawbacks to having as a dear, dear friend a man who demanded to know all the facts of everything. “For heaven’s sake. Milly found this gown for me, and said it came from your mother’s old wardrobe. When I mentioned where I’d acquired it, Lady Hayforth merely pointed out that Juliana Baswich would never wear red. So Milly must have been mistaken over whose old wardrobe she was pilfering. That’s all.”

“I’ll accept that. And no, I don’t believe my mother would ever wear red. Wherever that dress came from, however, you wear it well. Exceptionally well.”

Sophia grinned. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“You also look exceptionally nice wearing nothing at all. Or so I recall. I’ll have to see you naked again to be certain.”

That made her laugh, and she put her free hand across her mouth to try to muffle the sound. Whatever happened tomorrow or the next day, wherever or with whomever they were forced to be, at this moment she was exactly where she wanted to be, and with whom she
wanted
to be.

She shifted closer to him, and he tucked her in against his shoulder, kissing her hair as he did so. Because out there alone in the frozen garden beneath the moonlight she felt that magic again, that sensation of not quite being part of the world, and she could admit to one more thing.

Just to herself she could admit that she loved Adam Baswich, the Duke of Greaves. And she knew that was a disaster, for every possible reason imaginable.

THIRTEEN

At the door to Sophia’s bedchamber, she abruptly lurched forward ahead of him into her room. Whipping around to face him, she caught hold of the door. “Wait here,” she whispered, and closed the door on him.