Rules to Catch a Devilish Duke (7 page)

“I shall do my utmost,” he said aloud, “if in turn you will refrain from gossiping that I nearly lost a game of billiards to you.”

“Agreed.”

Just as they were finishing a very fine roast venison and a rather interesting conversation about the perils of wagering and drink, the dining room doors burst open. Two large, dark brown streaks lunged into the room. “Damnation,” Adam said, shooting to his feet. “Brutus! Caesar! Down!”

The two huge mastiffs halted, one on either side of Sophia’s chair and their heads an inch below her shoulders. Adam rounded the table, prepared to offer his guest any necessary assurances that she wasn’t about to be eaten.

“I apologize,” he said tightly, cursing whoever might have released them. And he had a very good idea who that must have been. “Despite app—”

“Which one is which?” she asked, offering a hand to the beast on her left.

“That one’s Caesar. He has that spot of white above one eye there,” Adam returned, beginning to wonder if anything frightened this chit.

“The pair in your father’s portrait are hounds. These seem closer to horses, I have to say.” The hand sniffing finished, she scratched Caesar between the eyes. He began pounding a rear paw against the floor in response.

“Half horse. Mastiffs, actually. An acquaintance of mine purchased them for me as pups two years ago. I don’t believe she had any idea what they were, other than dogs and dark brown.” In fact, nothing seemed to arise in Constance Biery’s mind at all. Her general obliviousness served her well as a mistress, but it hadn’t made her particularly interesting, otherwise. The arrangement had been mercifully short-lived as a consequence. “I believe they were in honor of that damned painting.”

“They’re darlings! Or will I be devoured if I turn my back?”

“You may be killed with affection, but you’re completely safe otherwise.”

Sophia rose from her chair and knelt on the floor. Adam watched as she divided her attention and her scratches between the two pony-sized dogs.

“I should have guessed that your spirit would match your hair,” he murmured under his breath.

“What was that? I had a dog snout in my ear,” she said with a chuckle.

“I’d forgotten,” he said in a more conversational tone, bending down to ruffle Brutus’s fur, “that you spent a morning petting lion cubs at the Tower Menagerie. These two must pale in comparison to that.”

“No, they don’t,” she cooed. “You’re such handsome boys, aren’t you?”

“Perhaps they should join us in the morning, then. For our ride.”

After another few minutes she straightened, and Adam held down a hand to help her to her feet. Her fingers were warm in his. Just her presence seemed to warm and brighten the entire room, in fact.

This estate in York had been a cold place for as long as he could remember. Even the annual influx of guests and festivities only made him forget for a short time how Greaves Park remained chill all year long. He’d thought it reflected the cold, calculating part of his character that had thus far served him and his purse exceedingly well. But the warmth—her warmth—had a very definite appeal.

“Do these big lads travel with you?” Sophia pursued, retrieving her fingers from his. “I don’t remember Keating speaking of them when he stayed with you in London, and they do seem rather memorable.”

“They’re a bit large for Baswich House. And many of my guests find them intimidating.” Even Constance had shrieked and fled the room when she’d set eyes on the dogs once they’d reached their full size.

She glanced sideways at him. “Perhaps you should use them as a test for your potential bride.” Her soft-looking lips curved in another slow smile. “I’m glad to have met your faithful companions. Dogs aren’t precisely welcome at boarding schools. Or in The Tantalus Club, for that matter.”

“I had them closed up in an upstairs sitting room. If it pleases you, though, I’ll give them the run of the house. Until my potential brides arrive, of course.”

Udgell made an irritated sound from the corner, but Sophia’s grin only deepened. “I would very much like that.”

For a moment he felt the distinct sensation that time had slowed, that the room had darkened except for the emerald-garbed woman smiling at him. He wanted to collect on that kiss, whether he’d meant the wager as a tease or not. He wanted to taste that smiling mouth of hers. He wanted to inhale the scent of her, feel her bare skin beneath his hands.

Realizing he was staring, Adam took a breath. Yes, she seemed to be the sole saving grace in what had become a very grim holiday even before the bridge’s collapse, but generally he had a firmer grip on cynicism. “I have a few more letters to write to innkeepers across the river,” he said, inclining his head. “If you require anything further this evening or wish to be rid of these monsters, Udgell will see to it. Good evening, Sophia.”

“Good evening, Adam.”

On his way to his private quarters, Adam detoured to the large sitting room that connected to his sister’s bedchamber. With a cursory knock he pushed open the door. “You let my dogs out.”

Eustace looked up at him over the rim of her cup of tea. “Beg pardon?”

If he hadn’t known her as well as he did, he would almost have believed that she had no idea what he was talking about. “Rather petty and infantile of you, don’t you think?”

“I am not the one insisting on keeping an ill-mannered light-skirt about simply to annoy a member of my own family.”

“I’m beginning to lose patience with this argument, Eustace. Especially when I only stopped in to thank you.”

“Thank me? For what?” She sat forward, setting her cup of tea aside. “That thing wasn’t frightened away by those brutes of yours, was she?”

“Far from it. She likes Brutus and Caesar. I’m letting them roam the house now, by the way, so don’t be startled if they wander in here at all hours. And I’m considering using them as a test of any potential bride’s mettle. I can’t have a chit about who’s afraid of my dogs. Good night.”

Leaving the room again, he shut the door behind him. Nearly, anyway. If a large mastiff should find a way in, well, it was no more than Eustace deserved. He’d even warned her about it. A moment later, porcelain smashed against the far side of the heavy oak. With a grin, Adam continued on to his own bedchamber. This could very well turn out to be an exemplary Christmas, after all. Even if it did mean he would have to rush his selection of a bride when the parade did finally arrive.

*   *   *

Sophia awoke to the sound of heavy curtains being pulled open. “Lucille, it’s too early,” she groaned, turning over and pulling the covers up under her chin. “And close the blasted window. It’s freezing.”

“That would be the fine Yorkshire winter saying good morning,” the lilting voice of Mrs. Brooks announced.

Shaking free of the cobwebs of her dreams, Sophia opened her eyes and sat up. “Mrs. Brooks. I apologize. I was dreaming I was in my room at The Tantalus Club. I share quarters with Lucille Hampton, and she is always far too cheery in the morning.” In her dream all her friends had been safe and happy, and the club hadn’t been threatened with ruination simply for taking her in when she had nowhere else to go. And the Duke of Greaves had been sitting at her faro table, and for some reason no one else had noticed the way he kept flirting with her and touching her hand. Sophia rubbed her fingers.

The housekeeper chuckled, but continued pulling back curtains. “My late husband Charles was just the same; he always awoke with a song on his lips. Ah, there were times I wanted to hit that man with a shovel, fine as he was.” She leaned down to push a footstool out of the way—then shrieked as the furniture stretched and came to its feet. “God have mercy!”

Sternly stifling a grin, Sophia scooted to the edge of the bed and stood. “Have no fear, Mrs. Brooks. It’s only Caesar.”

Putting a hand to her ample chest, Mrs. Brooks sagged against the back of a chair. “Good heavens. You’d think I’d be accustomed to those beasts by now, but they always spend the night in His Grace’s rooms.”

Did they?
That was interesting. “After they escaped last night, Adam said he would let them wander. I don’t know where Bru—”

Her door burst open. “What’s wrong?” the Duke of Greaves demanded, striding into the room.

His jacket was missing, his cravat only half tied and baring his throat to her view. The effect was startlingly sensual and masculine all at the same time. A low flutter began in her stomach. Previously she’d noted that Adam Baswich was tall and lean and attractive—after all, it was so obvious that only a blind woman wouldn’t notice him.

But back in London she’d thought of him first as a duke, a powerful, wealthy aristocrat who for some reason had deigned to help Keating win Camille. He’d been one of a number of unexpected acquaintances she’d made over the years. And then he’d invited her to Christmas the day after her father had delivered his ultimatum. And now she owed him a kiss. And—

“Sophia,” he barked. “Is something amiss?”

Heavens.
“No. No. We’re quite well. Caesar startled Mrs. Brooks, is all.”

“I thought him a footstool, Your Grace,” the housekeeper said, curtsying. “I apologize for disturbing you.”

He sent a cool gray glance at the servant, then returned his gaze to Sophia. Because she was looking back at him, she couldn’t help noting his eyes lowering to sweep down and then up the length of her in a rather leisurely manner. Belatedly she remembered that she wore nothing but a hopelessly oversized night rail that drooped from one shoulder. She pulled her sleeve back into place, that odd heat shivering through her again. A kiss from that man would be very nice, indeed. When, though, would he collect on the wager?

“Very well, then.” His gaze returned to her face. “I recommend you borrow something warm, Sophia. The snow’s stopped, so you’ll go riding with me after you eat something.”

It sounded more like an order than an invitation, but she nodded. “I’d love to see the countryside. As long as you keep in mind that I’ve ridden only rarely before.”

He inclined his head. “If you fall from the saddle, the snow will be soft. And the dogs can drag you home.”

Sophia snorted before she could stop herself. “Perhaps I should begin by riding Caesar.”

A laugh, deep and merry, rumbled from his chest. “I would pay good money to see that.”

Grinning back at him, for a moment she wondered what he would do if she simply walked up and kissed his smiling mouth. She did owe him just that, after all. Her heart skittered. What did she have to lose? She’d been ruined since birth, and whatever remnants of respectability might have existed had vanished the moment she found employment at The Tantalus Club. And after this holiday she would be so far from the eyes of Society she might as well be dead. She’d almost rather
be
dead, actually, then walk into what lay in wait for her.

His gaze met hers. Abruptly he cleared his throat and took a step back toward the door. “Since no one has been murdered, I’ll leave you to dress. I’ll see you at the stable.”

“Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

“You’re welcome. Unnecessary or not, I appreciate receiving credit for the effort.”

Once he’d closed her door behind him, Sophia walked over to survey the three gowns the servants had been kind enough to lend her. None of them would do for horseback, particularly not in the snow. She pursed her lips, then turned to Mrs. Brooks. “I don’t suppose anyone owns a riding habit,” she mused.

“Only Lady Wallace. I could inquire of her maid, Grace.”

“Oh, please don’t. She’ll only insult both of us.”

Mrs. Brooks looked relieved. “Perhaps I could borrow a heavy coat from one of the grooms, then. It wouldn’t be very fine, but it would be warm.”

That would suit. And however necessary borrowing garments was at the moment, she’d also noticed that the duke seemed to … appreciate her unconventional wardrobe. It was rather odd to realize that he shared her enjoyment of the absurd. “You know, Milly, your suggestion of the warm coat gives me something of an idea.”

*   *   *

Adam kicked a heel against the outside wall of the stable as he waited for Zeus to be saddled. The weather and the waiting for his other guests was setting him off kilter, he decided. Otherwise he couldn’t explain why he—a man of nine and twenty who had a great deal of experience with women—would be thinking still of a single bared shoulder. Its creamy paleness against a caress of fiery red hair, the twitch of his fingers as he’d wanted to peel the night rail from her skin.

And why the devil shouldn’t he? Sophia wasn’t anyone’s wife, and she wasn’t some chit whose reputation … mattered. They were both adults, thrown together by circumstance, and she was damned attractive. And much wittier than he’d realized. That in itself raised her several steps above the majority of his mistresses. And she’d agreed to the wager of a kiss, and lost. It was hardly his fault if he knew the table better than she did.

“Good morning officially,” her lilting voice came from the stable yard, and he looked up. And choked.

“What—what are you wearing?” he managed.

She smoothed her palms down her thighs. “It’s a footman’s uniform.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

He could see it, indeed. She’d donned a man’s shirt and waistcoat with a scarf rather than a cravat at the throat, knee-length black pantaloons and white stockings, and a pair of plain, black shoes. Sophia had even tied her long, curling scarlet hair back with a black ribbon. The effect was amusing and … arousing all at the same time. The carnal edge to his thoughts deepened. A chit in trousers. Good God.

“I thought this would be warmer than a muslin gown.” She sent a smiling glance at Evans as the groom appeared with Zeus and a small chestnut mare in tow. “Evans. Might I borrow a coat and a spare pair of boots?” she asked brightly. “I don’t think footman’s shoes are appropriate for riding.”

Sophia knew how to be proper, but mostly didn’t seem to bother with it. And those glimpses of humor and bawdiness peeked through her demeanor like rays of sunshine. That raised the question of how he’d missed it in their previous encounters. Yes, she’d been amusing and pretty, but the warmth and wittiness of her had completely eluded him. Or was it that she shone brighter in light of his own isolation?