“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 gow
n.” 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?
“Certainly, Miss Sophia. I’ll go fetch ’em.” The groom tied off the horses and trotted back into the stable without a backward glance at his employer.
Hm. “I thought we might ride into Hanlith,” Adam decided. “There’s a seamstress there, and you could order some additional clothes if you wished.”
Sophia nodded. “I could afford two muslins,” she agreed. “But as I lost one of my shoes in the river, I think that should be my priority. I can wear my gown home again, but I can’t very well ride in the mail coach barefoot.” She flashed her infectious grin. “It would be very cold.”
That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. She’d come to his home because of his invitation and lost her things as a direct consequence of that. He had the power to replace her wardrobe with an even prettier one, and she wouldn’t allow it. Her, saying no to him. And he already knew he would give in to her wishes—at least as far as she was aware. The seamstress in Hanlith was going to be very busy, regardless. As to how to get the gowns to Sophia in a manner she would find acceptable—well, he would manage that, as well.
FOUR
In front of them the riding trail undulated like a narrow white ribbon, disturbed at the edges by the shrubs and trees and rocks that stood taller than the recent snowfall.
Sophia turned her head to look behind them. There the pathway was absolute carnage. She knew that only two horses and two pony-sized dogs had torn up the snow, but it might as well have been an entire brigade. “We wouldn’t be difficult to track, would we?” she said aloud.
Beside her on a massive black thoroughbred named Zeus, Adam followed her gaze. “I daresay even blind old Homer would be able to find us,” he agreed. When he looked back at her, he lifted an eyebrow. “You aren’t a fugitive, are you?”
Not yet. After all, in what her father had actually called a “generous gesture,” he’d given her until the middle of January to say her good-byes. Or rather, he’d given her until just before the nobility was set to return to London for the little Season. She knew that was what mattered to him, that she be gone before his cronies could resume carrying tales about her and The Tantalus Club.
And so she had seven weeks. Seven weeks before she was whisked off to Cornwall and the marital clutches of the Reverend Loines. She was the one who’d decided that venturing to Yorkshire was the best way to spend her remaining time.
The Duke of Hennessy had said that the vicar of Gulval had agreed to marry her to save her soul from the choices she’d made in life. As if she’d done poorly for herself. The difficulty was that she had a very good idea of how the vicar would save her. No dancing, no chatting with other females—much less men—no music, no reading any book but the Bible. She didn’t wish to be saved. She only wished to be left alone.
Adam was looking at her, so she summoned a smile. “I’m only a fugitive from Milly Brooks smothering me to death with helpfulness.” Abruptly she frowned, worried that she’d just caused trouble for the head-housekeeper-turned-ladies’-maid. “Though she does it well; I’m simply not accustomed to being coddled.”
“You’re on holiday. Enjoy yourself.”
“Oh, I am. Definitely.” Her sigh fogged the air in front of her, and she experimented with blowing out a circle as she’d seen men do with cigar smoke. Hm. Her effort looked more like a dented cloud that dissipated before she could examine it too closely.
“What are you doing?” the duke asked, his gaze on her rounded mouth, and his expression … intrigued.
“I’m attempting to make a fog circle.”
“Ah. Of course you are.”
Bending forward, Sophia patted her mount on the side of the neck. A few random bits of snow kicked up by the pretty chestnut mare’s hooves fell back to the ground. “Whose horse is this?” she asked.
“Copper? She’s yours.”
Clearly he’d misunderstood. “I mean, who generally rides her? She’s very calm and gentle. You ride that beast, so who does the mare belong to?”
“Many of my guests enjoy riding, and not all bring their own mounts. I keep twenty or more horses here.” He reached over, adjusting her right hand on the reins. “Copper likes you, and you like her. Therefore, she’s now yours.”
Sophia scowled. “You can’t simply give me a horse.”
“I just did.”
Risking holding the reins with one hand, she jabbed a finger into his very solid shoulder. “That would be just as bad as purchasing me clothes. Even worse, because a horse is more expensive.”
For a moment he gazed across the glinting white landscape. “You said you have three pounds, eight pence, with you, yes?” he commented.
“Yes. Why?”
“You’re purchasing Copper from me. The price is three pence, and I’m providing boarding in London because you’re such a damned fine bargainer.”
The fact that she truly didn’t need a horse in London evidently didn’t matter. And she hadn’t yet gathered the nerve to tell him that she wouldn’t even be returning to London. She’d said her good-byes to her friends at the Tantalus. And she doubted the Duke of Greaves would care to listen to her tale when he had pressing concerns of his own, anyway. “Clearly I am a formidable negotiator, since all I said was ‘no.’”
Adam chuckled. “Exactly.”
“But why are you being so generous?”
“I do very few good deeds,” he responded promptly, “so I may not be very proficient at it. I like you, and I can certainly afford it. Does there have to be an additional reason?”
Her mind seized on the middle part of his statement. He liked her. Other than her fellow employees at The Tantalus Club, she hadn’t given a fig in a very long time what other people thought of her. But she couldn’t deny that it was very nice to hear him say such a thing, unprompted. “I don’t suppose there does,” she conceded.
“Then you owe me three pence.”
Sophia shook herself free of her future miseries and grinned. This was today, and today was turning out to be quite grand. “I’m good for it.”
“We’ll see about that.” With a smile of his own, he gestured at a rise to their right, just off the main trail. “Let’s stop over there.”
She allowed herself a happy sigh at the thought of stopping and climbing down from the horse for a few minutes. Her bottom would certainly appreciate it. “How close are we to Hanlith?”
“It’s just over the hill.” Swinging down from the saddle, Adam stepped into the knee-deep snow. With it crunching beneath his steps, he made his way around to her side and lifted his arms.
“I am wearing trousers,” she said. “I think I can manage.”
“You’re still seated sidesaddle,” he returned. “Lean forward, and I’ll catch you.”
She certainly hoped so; otherwise she’d end up buried headfirst in the snow. With the dogs bounding around them, Sophia released the reins and held her hands down, leaning toward him until she could catch his shoulders. His hands swept around her waist, and then he rather effortlessly lifted her down to the snow.
Her boots sank into the soft powder. The sensation was quite odd, as if the ground itself was shifting and giving beneath her feet. But that was secondary to the thrill running up her spine as Adam kept his loose grip around her waist. She lifted her head to look up at him.
Light gray eyes met hers, his amused expression fading as his gaze lowered to her mouth. “I’m
going to kiss you now,” he murmured.
Sophia nodded, abrupt tingling excitement running down her scalp to her fingertips. “Oh, good. I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind about the wager.”
“Stop talking.” He took a half step closer, then leaned down and touched his mouth to hers.
For a moment everything was absolute silence. Silence and the warmth of his lips driving off the cold, sinking into her. She had no idea whether she was supposed to be bashful or brazen, but she very much wanted to kiss him back. Swiftly she slid her gloved hands up over his shoulders, pulling herself closer against his wool-coated chest.
Finally he lifted his head to look down at her. “I think I might wish to seduce you,” he said in a low voice. One of his gloved fingers brushed along her lower lip.
“As long as you don’t think you can purchase my affections, I think I might be amenable to that,” she returned, not quite steadily.
Men at The Tantalus Club had offered her things, gifts or money, and for the most part she’d refused—not out of prudery or some last hope of salvation, but because she liked the way her life had finally shaped. And frankly, because none of her would-be lovers had seemed all that interested in anything other than her appearance and her notoriety. As for their own appeal … well, she’d successfully resisted all but two of them. Those two had both been very brief mistakes.
His gray eyes assessed her. “Have I mentioned before that you’re a very unique female?”
“Yes, I believe you have.” She grinned again. “Feel free to continue complimenting me, however.”
Adam returned her smile; the chit’s good humor was damned infectious. He enjoyed things—people, conversation, a well-written book—but Sophia White had an indescribable way of finding … delight in nearly everything. For someone of her background, that was remarkable. And exceedingly arousing.
Belatedly he lowered the hand that still gripped her waist. “This way,” he said, offering his arm to escort her to the top of the shallow rise.
Rules to Catch a Devilish Duke Page 6
