Rules to Catch a Devilish Duke

by Suzanne Enoch

  “Best of luck,” he said, and lit the brandy.

  Blue flames poured out over the top of the bowl, eerie and beautiful in the darkness. The faces immediately around the bowl took on a blue cast, like Christmas ghosts in the stories she’d read as a child.

  And then, one by one, their owners giggling and challenging each other, hands darted into the bowl, emerged covered with blue flame, and popped the burning raisins into their mouths. “Oh, my goodness,” she breathed.

  “It ain’t as hot as it looks,” Mr. Henning supplied from behind her. “The trick is to get the fire out before the brandy burns off.”

  Ahead of them Sylvia Hart yelped, covering her mouth with one hand. “That stung,” she exclaimed, lowering her hand again and laughing.

  Well, if Sylvia Hart could withstand it, then so could she. With someone chanting “Button, button, who’ll get the button?,” her line swiftly advanced. With the lights out, it was difficult to distinguish countesses from Tantalus girls until they were directly in front of the bowl, and that felt … nice. She could join in the laughter and playful taunts without being cut or ignored or glared at for presuming to mingle with her betters.

  Then it was her turn. She’d been watching the others, so she took a breath and slipped her hand into the bowl. Heat crackled along her fingers, noticeable, but not painful. She grabbed a raisin, lifted out her flaming, brandy-covered hand, and popped it into her mouth.

  Hard and smooth landed on her tongue. The button. She half choked, stunned, and spat it out surreptitiously under the pretense of coughing. Damnation. This would never do. Taking a towel, she wiped off her hand while keeping the button hidden between two fingers.

  Thinking fast, Sophia dipped her hand back into the bowl for her second attempt. She opened her fingers, dropping the button. In the same motion she scooped up a raisin and closed her mouth around the blue flame. Then, forcing a laugh, she moved around to the rear of the queue.

  A hand closed over her mouth, another around her shoulders, and pulled her backward.

  “Shh,” Adam breathed before she could muster enough breath for a squawk, and she relaxed a little as he towed her out the drawing room door.

  “You frightened me half to death,” she whispered, smacking him on the arm when he released her.

  “What were you doing in there?” he murmured back. She couldn’t see his face, but his voice had a flatness to it that didn’t sound at all amused.

  “Playing snapdragon. I’ve never done so before.”

  “You found the button.”

  Blast it all. “I did not.”

  “I was watching, my dear. You may be adept at sleight-of-hand, but so am I. Explain yourself.”

  How in the world was she supposed to explain this to someone like him? For a moment she occupied herself with wiping the remains of the brandy off her fingers. “I weighed the value of the diamond against what everyone else here would say and think and expect, the suspicions about my honesty and my relationship to you, and the question of how I would explain such a thing to my vicar of a spouse. The diamond weighed less, so I put it back.”

  Her eyes began slowly to adjust, so that she could just make out the deep scowl on his face and the way he loomed over her. He would not, however, make her feel like a naughty schoolgirl caught knotting a rival’s hair ribbons. Sophia lifted her chin.

  “I thought you didn’t care about my other guests’ opinions,” he said almost soundlessly.

  “I don’t. I do care what trouble they can make for me, now and later. If gossip turns me into a thief, that could hurt the reputation of The Tantalus Club. I did not agree to Hennessy’s terms for leaving in order to injure the club by my own actions.”

  Someone in the drawing room began cheering, the sound swiftly followed by groans and a few irritated-sounding whistles. He turned his head to listen, then looked back at her again. “This is not acceptable.”

  “It’s the way it is. Now go give the prize to the winner.”

  Adam cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, openmouthed. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he breathed, and vanished back into the drawing room.

  Sophia sagged against the wall in the darkness. Until she heard him deliver the diamond to whoever had found the button, she wasn’t going back in there. If he began some nonsense about who the boon truly belonged to, she was running.

  Yes, it would have been a lovely bauble, and she could have sold it and put the money in her account. An additional wardrobe or a carriage, or something else she would never be able to make use of in Cornwall, paid for. It simply wasn’t worth it.

  “Ah, Lady Caroline. Your boon,” Adam’s voice came, and she relaxed, pushing upright again. Thank goodness. And the diamond was going to the woman Adam would select for marriage, as it should. She could almost ignore the uncomfortable, heated jealousy at the mere thought of it, if she tried very hard.

  As the servants lit the candles again, she slipped back into the room. Someone proposed a game of charades, which she sat and watched. She’d attempted charades once at school, only to have her supposed teammates refuse to guess what her motions signified. It would only be worse here. And with Mr. Burroughs in the room, she didn’t care to make herself the center of attention, even for a game. Not tonight, anyway.

  Lady Caroline pranced about the room, the diamond hanging from her throat. When Camille took a seat and made a face behind her hand, Sophia laughed. “She’s pleased with herself. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “It was purely chance. Someone had to win. I thought ladies knew how to be gracious in loss or in victory.”

  “Oh, let her dance about. You have the better news, Cammy.”

  Camille grinned. “I’m so sorry Keating blurted it out like that. I wanted to tell you on Christmas Eve, when I asked you to be the child’s godmother.”

  Her breath stopped. “Me?” she whispered, a chill running down to her toes. “I can’t. I can’t even imagine what the vicar would make of taking in the child of Camille and Keating Blackwood.” She shuddered. What if she should have a child of her own? Would the Reverend Loines punish it for being hers? For her sins?

  “You would manage, if necessary. Given my parents’ reaction to me and to Keating, I don’t want them responsible for a son or daughter of mine if something should happen to us. I trust you, Sophia.” She sighed. “Consider it, will you, my dear? Please?”

  The idea of it sent her heart into her throat. At the same time, she knew what it was like to be raised in a household that felt inconvenienced and ashamed merely because of her presence. Slowly, Sophia nodded. For his own sake, the vicar had best keep his hands and his words to himself where a child was concerned. Any child. “I will do it. Just promise me that nothing will happen to you and Keating.”

  Cammy hugged her arm. “That is my intention. Thank you. I feel better now.”

  “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 fai

nt 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.”

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