Rules to Catch a Devilish Duke

by Suzanne Enoch

  “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.”

&n

bsp; 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.

  “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?”

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