Rules to Catch a Devilish Duke

by Suzanne Enoch

“Of course,” Sophia answered, as though she was surprised that any servant would stop to ask permission to enter their employer’s private rooms.

  The housekeeper slipped through the narrow opening, no small feat for a woman of her breadth, and closed the door again. “Your Grace, Udgell and Evans just began a very loud disagreement in the foyer. Everyone’s hurried to the front stairs to see. The hallway and back stairs are presently empty.”

  “I asked for your discretion, Mrs. Brooks.”

  Milly flushed, straightened to her full height. “I didn’t mention your name, Your Grace. All I said was that Sophia needed a distraction and the back steps cleared.”

  Hm. With a slight grin, Adam walked forward, pausing to catch Sophia’s arm as he did so. “Evidently you have my servants’ loyalty,” he murmured, and released her again. “Thank you, Mrs. Brooks.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  The moment Adam left the room, Sophia sat down at her dressing table. “Thank heaven for you, Milly,” she said feelingly. “I do not want any of those other women thinking I stole Adam from them or something. Especially Lady Caroline.”

  The housekeeper plunked herself down onto a chair by the fire. “Oh, mercy. I thought for certain he would sack me.”

  Alarmed, Sophia rose again and hurried over to hug Milly. “I would never allow someone to be let go because of me. Don’t fret. I should have warned you to be cautious when you came into my room.”

  Milly patted her arm. “You’re the brightest soul to be under this roof in a very long time, my dear. Perhaps that’s why the duke favors you. This has never been a happy place, until now.”

  Well, that was a very nice thing to say. And even though pushing him away was the wiser thing to do, she was very content to have him disagree with that. Any time she could spend with Adam was welcome. It wouldn’t last forever, after all.

  That last thought hurt even more keenly than it usually did, but she tried to set it aside as something over which she had no control. Rolling her shoulders, she sat at her dressing table. “Thank you for saying so, Milly. By the by, where did you truly get that scarlet gown I wore last night?”

  “The red one? I told you. I found it in an old wardrobe of Her Grace’s.”

  “You couldn’t have, because the duchess never wore red.”

  Milly dropped the hairbrush and bent to pick it up again. “Perhaps it belonged to Lady Wallace, then.”

  Sophia turned around to face her. “Both you and I know that Eustace Landen would never wear that gown, much less purchase it. And if it did belong to her, she certainly would have said something if she saw me wearing it.” She glanced over at the pretty thing, still folded over the back of a chair. “And it’s not matronly at all, now that I consider it. Aside from its being the very height of current fashion.”

  The housekeeper pushed on her shoulders to get her to sit again. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Milly. Tell me the truth. You didn’t purchase this gown for me, did you?”

  “Yes,” the servant blurted. “I bought it for you. As a Christmas gift.”

  “Milly! You must take it back, then! It must have been so expensive.” Shock ran through her. That sensation, though, was swiftly followed by suspicion as she looked at the half-open wardrobe, filled—for the most part—with dresses that fit her to perfection. None of them were out of fashion, and all of them were sewn by an expert hand with a very keen sense of style.

  “I will not take it back,” the maid stated. “It doesn’t fit me.”

  Sophia pulled away, standing to face the maid again. When Milly reached for a ribbon, she batted it out of the servant’s fingers. Then, taking both of Milly’s hands in hers, Sophia looked the stout woman in the eye. “The truth this time, Milly. Where did all these dresses come from? I won’t be angry with you.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “I promise.”

  The maid seemed to deflate. “They came from His Grace. When you needed that first gown, the green one, he sent word to Mrs. Simmons to have it made by Mrs. Orling, the seamstress in Hanlith. Once we knew it fit you, he kept ordering gowns and had me stash them about the house for us to find. Then when all the guests came I didn’t want them finding any of the dresses and claiming them because they are so lovely, so I had to hide them in my room and invent where they were from. And I forgot the old duchess hated red.”

  It took a moment for Sophia to decipher and comprehend the torrent of words that tumbled from the housekeeper’s mouth. “It was Adam? The entire time?”

  “Yes. Oh, you promised you wouldn’t be angry with me. It was all his idea. I’m only a housekeeper. And the way he fussed over getting the exact color he wanted for that red dress, I thought it would never get finished.”

  Goodness. She should be angry, she supposed, but not with Milly. After all, he’d asked to purchase a gown for her, and she’d refused. And she’d told him precisely why she didn’t want him buying things for her. He’d gone behind her back and done it anyway. For heaven’s sake, he’d even asked her where in the world she’d found some of the creations. And yet …

  And yet.

  If she made a fuss about it now, either to yell at him for deceiving her or to thank him for some of the loveliest things she’d ever owned, everyone would know—and that was precisely what she’d wanted to avoid all along. Clever, deceitful man. Generous, underhanded man. Wonderful, maddening man.

  “Sophia?”

  She sighed. “Mrs. Orling is very talented, despite her unnatural attachment to green yarn.”

  Milly chuckled. “That she is. It’s a shame she’s never been able to see you in any of them. It’s always been her dream to dress a lady.”

  “I’m hardly a lady.”

  “Look at those dresses. She sees you as one.”

  That stopped her. Generally she wouldn’t have viewed anyone erroneously elevating her above her station as complimenting her. But Milly clearly meant it as a compliment. And so did Mrs. Orling, evidently. For a long moment she looked at her reflection in the dressing mirror: oversized night rail sliding down one shoulder, and her hair in an artful tangle. “You know what, Milly?” she said aloud.

  “What?”

  “I think I should put on that lovely riding habit and ride into Hanlith to thank Mrs. Orling for working so swiftly and so well.”

  The housekeeper blanched. “But then His Grace will know that I told you!”

  “He’ll know that I figured it out—but only if he realizes where I’m going. I’m certainly not going to tell him.”

  Milly sighed, then went to pull the habit out of the wardrobe. “Well, I can’t very well stop you, can I?”

  “No. I run faster than you do.”

  The housekeeper laughed. “An original. That’s what you are.”

  Yes, she was an original, Sophia decided. In whatever she chose to wear, and in whomever she chose to love. And no matter what became of that.

  When she arrived downstairs for breakfast, the room smelled deliciously of chicken soup and fresh bread. Only Francis Henning was present, just finishing a bowl, and she took the seat beside him. Whatever people thought of Mr. Henning—and she knew that both his intellect and his wagering skills were frequently belittled—he’d never been anything but polite and kind to her.

  “Ah, good morning, Miss Sophia,” he said around a mouthful of bread.

  “Mr. Henning. I thought I was the only one who overslept this morning.”

  “Damned Burroughs kept me up till nearly three o’clock playing billiards. I lost twenty blasted quid to him for the aggravation.”

  She smiled. “Well, I’m sorry for that, but I’m happy to have the company for breakfast.”

  He beamed. “So am I. Lucifer take him, anyway.”

  “Indeed,” she returned, trying not to put too much feeling into the word.

  Abruptly Francis scowled. “You ain’t going riding this morning, are you? It’s snowing, you know. And it’s devilish cold.”


  The weather had come in quickly, then, after the pretty moon of last night. “I just need to make a quick trip into the village.”

  “Everyone was going ice fishing, or the men, anyway, but now they’ve all gone into the music room to sing carols. My grandmama says I’ve a splendid baritone, but I wouldn’t be any kind of a gentleman if I let you ride into the village alone.”

  Sophia stifled a grin. “Mr. Henning, you must go and sing. Think of what your grandmama will say when you tell her you sang carols at Greaves Park.”

  “She’d be near to bursting just knowing I was invited here. That she would. But you still can’t go alone.”

  “I’ll take a groom with me. Don’t trouble yourself.”

  “Very well. You talked me into it.”

  Once she finished eating, she was tempted to go listen to the caroling if for no other reason than to determine whether Francis Henning’s baritone was as fine as his grandmother claimed. If it was indeed snowing, however, the sooner she went and returned, the better.

  At her request Evans had already saddled Copper and another mount for himself. “Thank you for joining me,” she said with a smile. “I know you have other duties with all these people here.”

  “With all respect, Miss Sophia, I’d rather ride to Hanlith with you than pitch hay for the horses,” he returned, grinning.

  “Well, I can’t argue with that.” As they trotted off across the well-trampled ground of the stable yard, she sent him a sideways glance. “Speaking of arguing, I heard you had a bit of a row with Udgell this morning. Thank you.”

  Chuckling, he tipped his hat at her. “At first I didn’t know what the devil was afoot when Udgell called me in and then started yelling at me for putting mud on the floor. Then he gives me a wink that nearly frightened me to death, but I figured something had happened. He told me later that you needed to make a quick escape from somewhere without being seen.”

  That wasn’t quite what had happened, but that hardly mattered. “That was quick thinking from both of you.”

  “It was unexpected, for certain. Udgell almost never yells. It’s his whisper that’s generally terrifying.”

  At Hanlith it only took a few moments to find the small shop with the hanging sign depicting a sewing needle and thread above the door. Evans helped Sophia down from her mare, then took the leads to keep the animals walking while she pulled open the shop door.

  A little bell attached to the door handle jingled. “One moment,” a female voice came through the door at the rear of the tiny shop.

  “No hurry,” she returned, running her finger through the hair ribbons hanging over a display stand.

  A moment later a tiny woman emerged from the back, a pile of blue-dyed lace in her hands. With her dark hair pulled so tightly into a bun at the back of her head that Sophia was surprised she could blink, the seamstress looked more like a shoe-making gnome than a dressmaker.

  “May I help you?”

  Sophia offered her a smile. “Are you Mrs. Orling?”

  “I am. What do you…” Her voice trailed off as she took in Sophia from her head to the skirt of her very fine, dark green and burgundy riding habit. “Oh. Oh! I— Excuse me!” Whirling around, she vanished back through the rear door and closed it.

  At nearly the same moment the front door of the shop banged open and Adam skidded in, snow falling from his greatcoat onto the floor. “Sophia,” he panted, brushing more snow from his shoulders as he gazed around the shop.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

  “What are you doing here?” he countered.

  So he meant to bluff until he discovered how much she knew. She debated torturing him, but the dresses were an impressive gift, whether she’d asked for them or not. “I came to thank my dressmaker.” Sophia took a step closer and lowered her voice. “And what did you say to her? Mrs. Orling took one look at me in this dress and locked herself in the back room.”

  She would have started in that direction, but he caught her arm. “Does this mean you’re not angry with me?” His gray eyes caught hers, his expression unreadable.

  “Did you charge out here just to ask if I’m angry? What about your guests?”

  “When I left they were in the midst of ‘O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,’” he returned shortly. “And you had no clothes. I made certain no one knew where the gowns came from, and I paid the seamstress to keep her mouth shut about it. You said that was your objection.”

  For a moment he looked like a boy who’d been caught putting a frog in his nanny’s cap. It was so incongruent that one of the most powerful men in England was worried about making her—her—angry. Slowly she leaned up and touched her lips to his. “They’re very pretty dresses,” she murmured.

  He smiled back at her. “I think I’m thankful you’re a good-tempered chit,” he said quietly, kissing her back.

  “Yes, because my wrath is terrible.” Sophia laughed. “Now go in there with me and apologize for whatever you said to frighten Mrs. Orling.”

  * * *

  Morning rides in Yorkshire were more interesting than he’d expected, Aubrey Burroughs reflected.

  Crossing his arms over the saddle’s low cantle, he gazed down the hill into the quaint village of Hanlith. From there he had a nice view of the front of a shop boasting a needle and thread over the door, though the place’s function didn’t concern him as much as had the two people who’d entered it.

  Sophia White patronizing the shop of a seamstress had barely rated a glance. That, however, was before Greaves had come galloping down the lane, snow flying from beneath Zeus’s hooves. And then he’d vaulted off the animal and literally run through the door.

  The Duke of Greaves, running. The man with so many spies and threads of information spinning through Mayfair and all of England that he might have been a spider, hurrying somewhere. Somewhere a supremely scandalous young lady happened to be.

  If the day had been clear, he might have been able to see through the shop’s front windows, but luck had evidently not crossed the river Aire to join him at Greaves Park. That much had become clear when Hennessy’s by-blow had turned him away. Then the oaf of a butler had dropped dinner on him. Unconscionable as that was, this morning a half-witted footman had poured old, soured milk into his tea. His stomach still hadn’t settled. Greaves needed to hand half his staff their papers.

  The shop door below opened, and he straightened again. The scarlet-haired Tantalus girl emerged first, Greaves on her heels. Whatever the urgency had been, he didn’t seem to be in any sort of hurry any longer. Rather, he walked the chit to her red horse and lifted her into the saddle. As she settled, she grabbed the lapel of Greaves’s coat, leaned down, and kissed him. And he took her face in his hands to kiss her back.

  Well.

  No wonder the chit had turned him away, Aubrey thought, whether she admitted to having made an arrangement with Greaves or not. Adam Baswich was a clever bastard, and a cagey one. He’d let just enough of the rumors fly to leave doubt, and to keep him from being called a hypocrite if the truth should come out.

  And she was a redhead, too. Given the old duke’s penchant for the ginger-headed sect, Aubrey understood why Greaves might not have wanted to advertise the identity of his latest mistress. The apple and the tree definitely shared some common tastes. By God, the man was here to choose a wife. Perhaps he meant to keep Sophia White from his duchess. And if Adam could be embarrassed or bothered by any of that, well, this could be fun.

  As the pair of riders and the accompanying groom rode out of the village, Aubrey kicked the chestnut gelding he’d borrowed in the ribs. Considering what he’d seen, it would be best to return to the house before Greaves did. And then he could decide how much mischief he wished to make with what he knew.

  FOURTEEN

  Adam strolled into the orangerie, his gaze immediately falling on his sister at the center of the dozen or so people who’d taken over the large, warm room for their aftern
oon tea. It all looked very civilized, if one ignored the undercurrent of malice lurking in the corners. Whatever else happened, he meant to make certain Sophia enjoyed the rest of her holiday. And that began here.

  “There you are, Eustace,” he said with a smile. “Might I have a word with you?”

  The marchioness looked up at him, hesitating a moment before she rose. “Of course, brother. By the fire, perhaps? I’m a bit chilled.”

  The request didn’t surprise him at all. Of course she wanted to remain in the room, where she would have allies and he would be distinctly outnumbered. He nodded. “Certainly.” Phillip Jennering leaned against the mantel like a heavy-browed gargoyle, and Adam looked at him very levelly. “Give us a moment, Jennering.”

  The viscount’s brother actually swallowed as he straightened. “Of course, Greaves.”

  “Why aren’t Wallace and your offspring here?” he asked. “I thought with such a prize resting on the outcome of this holiday, you’d want my heir presumptive close to hand.”

  The question seemed to surprise her, as he’d hoped it would. “They aren’t here because whatever you may think of me, I do not want my children exposed to the spectacle you’ve made of this Christmas, with women chasing after you and that … thing remaining under your roof. An illegitimate, employed female who spends every evening with multitudes of randy men playing cards and drinking and doing God knows what else.”

  “And yet you have even more of your pack here than you usually manage. To begin controlling the rumors should I fail to net a bride?”

  “In the perhaps vain hope that a greater number of respectable people would balance your carnival and give this house at least the appearance of decency.”

  As well as he knew her, the deep venom in her voice unsettled him. It wasn’t for show. She meant every word she said. “What would you have done, if you’d been born of some duke and a servant?” he asked quietly. “And don’t say you’d drown yourself, because we both know you have a very keen sense of self-preservation.”

  “I would join a nunnery, or take myself off somewhere I could quietly live out my shameful life doing good works. I would not make even more of a spectacle of myself by seeking employment in the middle of Mayfair at the most scandalous establishment possible.”