“You’re a duke, and you have money, and people in general are terrified of you. That has to count for something.”
He snorted. “I certainly hope it does.”
“I suppose we’ll find out.”
Their circle had brought them back to the bulk of the skaters, and Keating stumbled over to intercept them. “Are you finished now, or should I send for tea?”
“You skate like a rhinoceros, you know,” Adam said mildly, handing Camille back. “Don’t trample her. I believe marrying that woman to be the most intelligent thing you’ve ever done.”
“I agree.” Keating gave a smile. “So hands off.”
Because no one had ever won an argument with a jealous man, Adam simply glided backward until he was out of reach. Across from him damned Burroughs was still smothering Sophia. He could at least save her from that. Digging the toe of one skate into the ice, Adam pushed off toward them.
“I heard a rumor that you were a sterling skater, Miss White,” he drawled.
“I may have exaggerated,” she said, chuckling. “I thought we would be using Norwegian skates, with which of course I am well versed.”
“Mm-hm.” Moving directly in front of her, he held out both his gloved hands.
“I’m assisting her, Greaves,” Burroughs said, moving in again. “Don’t trouble yourself.”
Adam shifted his weight a little, ready to drop Burroughs to the ice. “It’s no trouble. You’ve been attempting to render her seaworthy for nearly an hour. I’ve decided to step in before spring thaw.”
Sophia put her hands in his. “Certainly I need all the instruction I can get.”
While Burroughs continued to glare at them, Adam began moving slowly backward, holding Sophia’s hands to draw her forward. Her toes turned in and out, nearly colliding and then nearly going completely out from under her.
“Don’t watch your feet,” he instructed.
“If I don’t watch them, there’s no telling where they’ll go,” she returned with a breathless grin.
“Look at my face. Trust me.”
Immediately she lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. Clearly she did trust him, then. The notion was … heartwarming. “When I say right, push your right toe down and back. Just a little. When I say left, do the same thing with your other foot. I won’t let you fall.”
Sophia nodded. “If I do fall, I’m going to do my damnedest to land on you.”
He smiled; it was impossible not to. “Fair enough. Ready? Right.”
She stuttered and jolted, and he gave her a moment to recover her balance. Once her grip on his hands loosened a little, he pushed off with his right foot. “Left.” Pause. “Good. Right.” Pause. “Better. Left.”
For a few minutes she looked like a kitten trying to climb on glass, but then she began to steady, making deeper cuts into the ice with each push. Her back straightened, and he moved in closer, matching her forward strokes with reverse ones of his own.
“It’s like dancing,” she exclaimed, laughing in obvious delight. “And flying, all at the same time.”
“Very like.”
“Can I look at my feet now?”
“No. A bird never looks at its wings while it’s flying. If it did, it would realize it’s doing something utterly impossible, and fall to the ground.”
Her smile softened. “That’s beautiful.”
Wonderful. Now he was being poetical. “It just seemed like sound advice,” he returned, shrugging.
“I think I might be a bird.” She closed her eyes.
In response, he sped their pace, until they were nearly flying across the ice. Perhaps she was a bird. She flew through her life with more grace than he could imagine. And damned Hennessy was trying to—had succeeded in—clipping her wings. He couldn’t allow it to happen. He couldn’t.
* * *
Along with all her clothes and most of her worldly possessions, two small boxes had been lost in the river Aire. An onyx cravat pin for Keating, and a deep blue pair of ear bobs with matching hair ribbon for Camille. Sophia had the money to replace the items; it sat in a small bank account the Marquis of Haybury had opened in her name. In London, where she couldn’t get to it.
She could have borrowed something from Adam; he’d been trying to purchase things for her for weeks, now. But borrowing money for a gift seemed … wrong. Particularly when she now had three Christmas gifts she wished to give.
“What do you think of this?” Milly asked, pulling half a skein of deep blue yarn from her sewing basket. “Udgell’s wife had it left over from mittens she made last year.”
“Udgell is married?”
Milly snorted. “I know. I always thought his leg would snap off if he sank down on one knee. Mary’s in York now, visiting her sister. But Udgell said the yarn’s yours if you want it.”
Sophia took the yarn, turning it over in her hands. “It’s a lovely color. I can use it for trim.” Leaning sideways, she picked up the half-finished scarf she’d been knitting for Adam. Grays and blacks and now the deep blue all seemed colors that fit him, but it had been a very long time since she’d knitted anything.
“Oh, Sophia, that blue will finish it off just perfectly, I think.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Milly. Have you had any luck finding a green yarn for Keating’s scarf?”
“I know Mrs. Orling in the village has some, but she’s wily. I’ll get the green from her, though, don’t you fret. I have a yellow hair ribbon she’s been admiring.”
This was beginning to sound dismaying. “You can’t trade your own things for me.” Sophia rose, going to the mostly empty wardrobe. “What about a peach ribbon? You said this was from a box in the attic. No one will miss it.”
Milly furrowed her brow. “But it goes so well with your blue walking dress. I couldn’t—”
“Of course you can. I insist.” All the servants at Greaves Park—and Milly in particular—had been so generous to her already that it was almost overwhelming. If they’d found something for her to use that belonged to no one, of course she would give it up. “I like bartering. It’s fun.”
The housekeeper dropped the ribbon into her basket. “I don’t think Mrs. Orling will be able to resist it. I’ll have that yarn for you by dinner.”
“Excellent. Just don’t remind me that it’s only three days before Christmas.” And if she tried very hard, she could almost pretend that nothing lay beyond that day but snow and … and watching Adam finally declare for Lady Caroline. That would be nearly as painful as the moment she took her own vows. Perhaps she could leave before that happened.
Milly stood, hefting her sewing basket over her arm. “Oh, that’s a world of time, Sophia,” she said. “A few late nights and you’ll be finished.”
Sophia watched Milly out the bedchamber door, took a sip of her cooling tea, and picked up the knitting needles, also borrowed. A world of time. That was what she truly wanted as a Christmas gift. But not even the Duke of Greaves would be able to manage such a thing. Best to concentrate on what she could manage—and that was finishing a trio of scarves for a trio of friends.
As usual now when she thought of Adam, a smile touched her mouth. He’d spent every night with her lately. Oh, she would miss his solid, warm presence, both in her bed and in her life. All she could do at the moment, though, was knit.
After nearly an hour Sophia stood to stretch her back. The moment she leaned against the window frame to catch a glimpse of the sledders below, though, someone knocked at her door.
“Drat,” she muttered, and grabbed a spare blanket off the bed to throw over her pile of yarn and knitting. “Come in,” she called, sitting in her just-vacated chair and pulling a book onto her lap.
Aubrey Burroughs leaned through the doorway, then stepped into her room. “I hope I’m not intruding,” he said with a warm smile.
“Of course not. I’m just doing some reading.”
As he approached, he bent down to read the title of the book she held. “Robinson Crusoe. Tha
t seems fitting, to escape to tropical adventures while we’re all trapped in the deep snow.”
“I don’t feel trapped,” she returned. “It’s beautiful here.”
Light brown eyes traveled from the book to her face. “It is, indeed.” Without being asked, he dropped into the chair nearest to hers.
Sophia had lost count several years ago of the number of men who had given her that look. It generally occurred shortly before the suggestion that as a pretty chit with no prospects, she would be better off under the protection of someone with blunt and a taste for fine things. Lately, though, those particular conversations had taken place across a gaming table at the Tantalus, where she’d had the rules and several Helpful Men to underscore her polite refusal. This afternoon she had a husband waiting for a marriage, and every reason to meet him at the church.
“Is there an arrangement between you and Greaves?” Burroughs asked after a moment. “He is one of those men it simply isn’t wise to cross.”
Thunder boomed low over the valley. The poor weather had been coming more frequently, which Adam had said was typical. As he described it, anyone there by the tenth of January would be staying through February. She meant to leave by the fourth, at the latest. “No,” she said, “I don’t have an arrangement with anyone.”
Aubrey smiled. “I didn’t think so. It would be like Prinny taking up with a fishmonger’s wife. You couldn’t take her to dinner without everyone noticing the smell.”
“I beg your pardon,” Sophia commented, closing the book, “but is that the method you mean to use to win my affections?”
“What about this method?” he asked, pulling a pretty pearl necklace from his jacket pocket. “And this would only be the beginning.”
For a moment she stayed silent, gazing at him. What was it about men, that made them so certain they were irresistible, despite all evidence to the contrary? “You neglected to consider the fishmonger’s wife’s viewpoint in your analogy. Where would she wear her pearls and pretty baubles?”
A muscle beneath his right eye jumped. “You can’t be serious. She could sell them to purchase food and clothing.”
“But she already has the fishmonger.” Or a vicar, in her case. “And fish, presumably. And she would still have that smell about her.”
With a click he set the pearls on the table between them. “I didn’t intend to insult you, Sophia. You’re a beautiful chit, and you could do better than sitting at a gaming table and using your bosom to entice men to wager more deeply.”
“My bosom is perfectly content with its employment,” she returned, beginning to wonder if he would say anything to her that wasn’t insulting.
“This is ridiculous,” he stated, his voice clipped. “Name your price.”
“My price, Mr. Burroughs, is that I need to like you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I would like to finish this chapter before dinner.”
He sat forward, his lips tightening. “You need to like me?” he retorted. “You should be grateful that I found you attractive. Otherwise you would have no use at all.”
And she’d heard that before, too. “Evidently you believe I have some worth, or you wouldn’t have come in here to bargain with me over it. I’m simply not selling myself to you.”
Aubrey Burroughs stood, picking up the pearls and shoving them back into his pocket. “In five or ten years, when you aren’t pretty enough or young enough to work at the Tantalus any longer, you’ll be begging on the streets for what I just offered you. I imagine you’ll have men paying your price three times a night. Four, if you’re lucky.”
With that, he strode out of her room.
Almost on his heels, Milly hurried in. “Don’t you listen to that awful man, Sophia,” she growled, hugging Sophia to her bosom and nearly smothering her in the process. “You pricked his pride, and he only wanted to hurt you in return.”
As gently as she could given the fact that she couldn’t breathe, Sophia set the housekeeper back a step. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before,” she stated, attempting to keep her voice level. “And he knows nothing of my circumstances.”
Even before Hennessy had stepped in to alter her life, she’d been quite aware that she couldn’t work at The Tantalus Club indefinitely; the average age of the girls there was twenty-one, and she was already past her twenty-third birthday.
But she had that bank account where she put every bit of money she’d saved each month, and she’d had a plan. Once she’d decided it was time to go and once she’d had enough money, she would have purchased a small shop in some village far enough away from London that no one would recognize her. It would have been her timing, her terms, and her choice. And she certainly never would have chosen a man like the Reverend Loines with whom to share her life. Nor would she have cut herself off from the friends she’d made, or from buying silly hats and far too much lace.
“Sophia.”
She shook herself. “I’m fine, Milly. Truly.”
“No you aren’t. You listened to him. He’s just a worthless man with a gnat’s cock, trying to buy your silence so you won’t laugh at him in bed.”
That caught her attention. A laugh burst from her chest. “Mrs. Brooks! I’m shocked.”
Milly narrowed one eye. “You promise me you’ll pay no heed to what he said. It was just … bluster. Promise me, Sophia.”
What Milly didn’t understand was that she’d already imagined her future, more times than she cared to recall, and that Aubrey Burroughs’s version was less painful to her than her reality. All he’d done was remind her of it at a time when she’d been trying to forget, to sink into the happiness of this moment and let it wash over her. “I promise, Milly. Of course.”
“Good. Then I have something for you.” Milly produced a ball of deep, forest-colored green yarn from a bulging pocket of her pelisse. “Mrs. Orling says to thank you for the ribbon. It’s just the thing she wanted to give her granddaughter for Christmas.”
“Oh, it’s perfect. Thank you so much. And not just for getting the yarn.”
The housekeeper actually wiped a tear from one cheek. “You might have been my daughter, you know, if Adam Baswich’s father had fancied northern women of solid stock.”
So Milly had served the household during the former duke’s tenure. That explained a few things about the servant’s interest and compassion for her own circumstances, Sophia realized. “You knew the duke?”
“Well. Not knew him, thank heavens.” Milly put both hands over her heart. “That man had a way of looking at you that just…” She trailed off, then visibly shook herself. “Even those who never believed in God, believed in the devil after meeting the ninth Duke of Greaves.”
“And what of the tenth Duke of Greaves?”
Milly’s expression cleared. “Oh, he has a temper, and a way of knowing things that sometimes gives me the shivers, but from when he was a lad till now, I have never felt afraid to be in a room with him.” The servant smiled, patting Sophia on the shoulder. “Now I don’t gossip about my employers, or there are some tales I could tell you.”
For someone who didn’t carry tales, Milly was certainly generous with her information. Sophia smiled back at her. “I am grateful for your discretion.”
And she needed to find a way to broach the subject of Christmas gifts for his very loyal servants with Adam. She had more than a hunch that the man who noticed everything had no idea how much he was appreciated here. As for her, she knew her fate. It was just a matter of putting off thinking about it for as long as possible. And Adam was very good at distracting her from that.
* * *
Adam looked at the list he’d compiled. Thirteen names of thirteen young ladies. All of them were between eighteen and twenty-five years of age, all of impeccable lineage, and all considered to be somewhere in the range of pretty to stunningly lovely. And all of them eager to be the next Duchess of Greaves.
One by one he gazed at the names, considered the various ladies in question, and then drew a thick black
line of ink across the letters. Sylvia Hart’s voice cut through him like a nail across glass. Lady Julia Greyson of the much praised blue eyes had the wits of a pigeon. Rebecca Hart was petty and grasping.
Finally only two names remained. Helena Prentiss had a calm demeanor and was known to be a superb hostess. And Lady Caroline Emery was lovely and had a firm grasp on both what would be expected of a duchess and what sort of husband he was likely to be. He preferred that no one have any illusions when this was nothing more than a business agreement. Slowly he drew a line through Miss Prentiss’s name, as well.
At the sound of a quiet knock, he lifted his head. “Who is it?”
“Mrs. Brooks, Your Grace.”
“Come in. And shut the door behind you.”
The housekeeper complied, standing nearly at attention in front of his desk. Beginning to fear that she wasn’t breathing, he gestured for her to sit in one of the pair of chairs facing him across the polished mahogany.
“You gave away the ribbon?” he asked, when she continued to sit in silence.
“I did, Your Grace. Miss Sophia is a generous-hearted young lady.”
He’d noticed days ago that Sophia had won over his servants, but the extent to which she’d earned their loyalty continued to surprise him. “And you still aren’t going to tell me why she was set on giving it away?”
“Not unless you order me to do so, Your Grace. I’ll say it’s about Christmas, but no more.”
“Very well. Thank you.” He lowered his head and went back to do a last assessment of his matrimonial choice. After all the time he’d spent delaying the inevitable, he’d expected the decision to be more difficult. As it was, he mostly wanted to put the paper into a drawer and go find Sophia for a game of cards.
Mrs. Brooks didn’t move.
Stifling a sigh, Adam put down his quill. “Is there something else?”
“Yes, Your Grace. I—if it pleases you, I don’t want to be like that fellow they killed when he ran from Marathon.”
“The messenger?” he supplied. “No one killed him. He dropped dead after running for twenty or so miles.” An edge of uneasiness brushed him. “As the messenger, you are perfectly safe, Mrs. Brooks. What did you wish to tell me?”
Rules to Catch a Devilish Duke Page 20
