Rules to Catch a Devilish Duke Read online

  “Actually, I think I’d like to stay in the bath for a bit,” Sophia countered, all the attention beginning to make her uneasy now that she didn’t feel in imminent danger of freezing to death. “And I can tuck myself into bed. Truly. Thank you so much for your help.”

  Mrs. Brooks opened and closed her mouth again, then nodded. “As you wish then, Miss White. If you require any assistance, pull the bell. Gilly or I will see to you.”

  The other maid, a petite blonde with a dash of freckles across her nose, dipped a curtsy. “I’ll set your gown out by the fire to dry, miss.”

  “Thank you. And please. It’s just Sophia.” Even without these odd circumstances, she and servants had a bond that none of Society’s proper misses would ever dare to claim. Her mother had been a duchess’s maid, after all.

  She closed her eyes, and in a moment the bustling and rustling ceased, closely followed by the click and thud of the bedchamber door closing. Ah, warm, steamy bliss. With the surprise and brief terror as the coach pitched headlong into the river, everything had been so busy she’d barely had time to breathe. Chaos and turkeys and shouting men and the heavy, thick crack of ice, the shock when she’d found herself submerged as the coach slowly rolled onto its side—they were all quite lucky that no one had been dragged under the ice and drowned. She’d nearly drowned.

  And who would even have noticed? Camille, of course, would have missed seeing her for Christmas, but the new Mrs. Blackwood had a husband and a new life now. The other girls at The Tantalus Club—until the next scandalous chit came along looking for sanctuary and employment. Her aunt and uncle didn’t even know where she might be, as far as she knew, and they would care even less. To them she was just a nuisance dropped on their doorstep to eat their food, an unremarkable girl with no prospects and a supremely troublesome parentage.

  For once her father would have noticed, and he would likely have been extremely annoyed that his twenty-three-year-old mistake had managed at the last moment to evade his reach now that he’d suddenly decided to notice her. Or perhaps the Duke of Hennessy would only regret that she hadn’t perished, after all. Her drowning would have saved him the trouble of following through on his threats to either remove her from The Tantalus Club or to remove the Tantalus from London, the awful, arrogant man.

  The door thudded and clicked again. Grateful for the interruption of her unaccustomed morose thoughts, Sophia opened her eyes again. And then she yelped. The Duke of Greaves stood in the doorway, gazing at her with steel-gray eyes.

  * * *

  Adam Baswich, the Duke of Greaves, stood looking down at the naked young lady in the cast-iron bathtub. Steam rose from the water to straighten the damp strands of unusual scarlet hair that tangled deep red and lush at the top of her head. If she hadn’t been wearing the remains of a bonnet earlier he would have recognized her even in the middle of the river Aire; he’d never encountered anyone with hair of quite that color.

  Realizing that Mrs. Brooks wasn’t present, he hesitated for a brief moment, then moved forward anyway, stopping halfway into the guest bedchamber. Saving a chit’s life should grant him some license to speak with her. “Miss White. You’re unhurt, I hope?”

  She nodded, sinking still lower in the tub so that her lips were only a fraction above the rippling line of water. If they hadn’t been chattering, he might have considered them kissable, but that was neither here nor there.

  “Bumped and bruised, I think, now that I can feel my arms and legs again. But yes. This is much better than being drowned.” She offered a smile that only improved the enticement of her mouth. “And as you’re the reason I didn’t drown, I think you should call me Sophia.”

  “Considering that the coachman was saving the mail and the turkeys, aiding you seemed the least I could do,” he returned. “I hate when my guests expire while answering my invitations. It puts people off.”

  “I can see where that might happen.”

  This seemed an odd and rather amusing conversation to have with someone—a chit in particular—who’d nearly drowned, but on the other hand she would have need of her good humor. “I’m afraid that this was all we were able to recover of your luggage.” Putting a sympathetic expression on his face, Adam lifted up the wet, misshapen hat box that dangled by its fraying handle. “I’m sorry. We did search, Sophia.”

  Sophia White looked at him, then at the box. Then she laughed, her mouth upturning and eyes squinting at the corners in genuine amusement. The sound, her entire reaction, in fact, was completely unexpected, and he frowned, even more intrigued now. Although he didn’t have much experience with half-drowned women, he doubted most of them would laugh at additional misfortune.

  “I enjoy a good joke,” he said. “Is this one?”

  Choking a little, Miss White lifted one hand out of the water and pointed at the hat box. “I detest that hat. I only purchased it on a dare and meant to wear it to shock Cammy and your other guests.” She chuckled again. “Oh, it’s dreadful. I daresay it only survived because Poseidon refused to have it in his river and cast it back upon the shore.”

  If there was one thing Adam insisted on, it was having his curiosity satisfied. For the moment he put aside the information that she meant to shock his guests. That had been one of the reasons he’d invited her to his party in the first place, actually. With all the misery he meant to inflict on himself this holiday, he deserved a bit of amusement.

  Keeping half his attention on Miss White, he set the box down on a chair and with his boot knife cut the string holding it closed when the wet knot wouldn’t budge. Once he’d removed the lid, he reached in and pulled the sopping wet thing out into view. It was blue, with what looked like the remains of two bright blue ostrich feathers arching over the top of it and shading two concentric rings of red and yellow flowers. A faux bird—either a sparrow or a bullfinch—nested in the center of the yellow, inner ring. “Good God.” She was absolutely correct. The hat was hideous.

  Even considering the ugly hat, her reaction wasn’t anything he’d anticipated. After all, he’d just informed her that everything she’d brought with her to Yorkshire was gone. Perhaps she hadn’t understood that. Or perhaps that had been hysterical laughter, though he abruptly doubted that. Previously acquainted with her or not, he was beginning to suspect that Sophia White had rather more facets to her than he’d expected.

  Adam took a breath. “Well, it’s not a disaster yet. I’m certain we’ll be able to find something for you to wear.” Setting aside the hat, he noted that if he took a step or two closer he would be able to see her bare legs beneath the water. He had no objection to seeing them again, actually, but it seemed a bit like taking advantage.

  “Camille is nearly my size,” she commented, sending a glance at the towel across the foot of the bathtub. “I know she would lend me a gown.”

  “Mrs. Blackwood isn’t here.”

  Her pretty green eyes blinked. “That complicates things somewhat, doesn’t it?” She sighed, her mostly submerged shoulders rising and falling beneath the thinning curtain of steam. “Perhaps one of your other guests could be persuaded to lend me a castoff, then, until Cammy arrives. Or I’d be happy to purchase something from one of the maids.”

  So in the space of a very few minutes she’d lost her clothes and the presence of her dearest friend, but Sophia White didn’t seem overly concerned by any of it. Adam almost hesitated to tell her the rest, but he had the distinct feeling that the news was more of a tragedy for him than for her. Aside from that, Miss White didn’t seem to overset easily. But then again, her entire future didn’t hinge on the next few weeks. He wasn’t so lucky, himself.

  “You are my first guest, Sophia,” he said aloud. “And until the storm stops and the bridge can be repaired, you shall be my only guest.”

  This time uncertainty crossed her expression, and he could practically hear her thoughts. Was she trapped at Greaves Park for the winter? Was there anywhere she could go to escape her situation? He could answer all thos
e questions, of course, but he wanted to hear her ask them aloud, first. Sophia White might be a child of unacknowledged parentage, and one who worked in a profession most of his peers considered highly unacceptable, but there were times a few months ago when he’d actually found her amusing. And interesting. Had it been a façade, or was she actually as good-humored and practical as she pretended?

  She spent a moment gazing at him, then wrinkled her nose in a thoughtful scowl. “Well. Unless I’m to remain submerged in the bath until spring thaw, I shall have to hope that Mrs. Brooks liked me well enough to allow me to alter one of her old dresses. Unless you have a supply of onion or potato sacks to hand, of course.”

  Considering how rarely anyone accomplished the perturbing feat of surprising him, Adam couldn’t quite believe that she’d done so unintentionally—though under the circumstances, unless she’d taken a powder keg to the bridge, she’d had no idea what awaited her on the road to Greaves Park. “You mean to tell me that as long as someone has enough charity to lend you a gown, you have no other concerns over your situation?” he asked, unable to keep the well-honed skepticism from creeping into his voice.

  “I am somewhat concerned that you’ve barged into my bath without so much as knocking,” she returned promptly. “But I’m also aware of precisely what sort of female everyone thinks me.” She tilted her head, a straying strand of her autumn-colored hair dipping into the water as she assessed him. “Is that why you came in here? I’m still dreadfully cold, you know.”

  Hm. Perhaps it had crossed his mind, but he wasn’t about to admit to it. “You are the friend of my friend’s wife, Sophia. I wasn’t aware that you would be naked.”

  “Fair enough. And considering that you pulled me out of a river, even if I were prone to be otherwise offended, I certainly wouldn’t be now.”

  Was that an invitation? He hoped so, but he had a few questions he wanted answered, first. Of course if he’d been a true gentleman, now that he did know she was naked, he likely should have left the room. Instead he hooked his ankle around a chair, dragged it closer, and sat. “You’re well educated.”

  She nodded, looking up at him from beneath long lashes. “I am quite well educated.”

  “And yet I recall one evening at The Tantalus Club when you complained to Lord Effington that if that Cleopatra chit ever showed her face in London, she would regret attempting to steal the Nile from us.”

  Her mouth lifted at the corners. “And Lord Effington laughed so hard at me that he didn’t even notice he’d lost seven hundred pounds at faro to the club.” She lowered her gaze briefly before her green eyes met his squarely again. “Should I dissemble, then? It gives me an aching head after a while, but I can pretend stupidity if it benefits me.”

  In the company of Keating Blackwood and Camille, Adam had once escorted Sophia to the Tower of London and had even untangled a lion cub’s claws from her hem. He couldn’t recall that she’d said anything ridiculous, or if he’d been lured into saying anything haughty or condescending in return. The fact that he was attempting to recall several brief conversations with her, however, spoke volumes. She’d just elevated herself from mildly interesting to intriguing. “I prefer that my guests be themselves,” he said aloud. “So I suppose I shall converse with whichever face you choose to show me.”

  “I just showed you my actual face, so that will have to do, I’m afraid.”

  All of the ladies of The Tantalus Club were beauties; the owner, Lady Haybury, only hired the most tempting of chits. The fact that they were untouchable except by their own choice made them even more attractive to most of the lordlings of Mayfair. Some of the young ladies came from good homes and bad circumstances, and all of them were well spoken and charming.

  He’d noted months ago that Sophia White was an attractive young lady, just as he’d noted that she had a very unattractive parentage. In the same way, he noted now that she didn’t blush and hide when a man disrupted her bath, and that she’d looked him over from head to toe at the same time she’d stated that she wasn’t offended by his presence, but was simply too chilled to leave the bathtub.

  A living, breathing conundrum, when he’d expected—at least for the time being—a tiresome, fluttery, complaining headache. As for tomorrow, well, that remained to be seen.

  “So I am your only guest.”

  “You are. For the moment, anyway.” He drew a breath, wondering if she realized just how … vital that made her to him at the moment. “But you are not the only female in residence. My sister arrived a week ago. As I am unmarried, Lady Wallace hosts my Christmas gatherings. I don’t invite guests in order to deliberately ruin their reputations.” Not this year, at least. He had particular need for a female of sterling reputation.

  Color had begun to touch her cheeks again, though the amusement in her eyes faded a little. “I suppose the proper thing for me to do would be to volunteer to leave Greaves Park for Hanlith, since your large house party is now a small family gathering.”

  “That’s not necessary.” In fact, under no circumstances did he wish her to leave him alone with his sister. A week had more than sufficed to provide him with all the family interaction he could tolerate. Before he could tell her that, however, that compelling smile of hers made him pause.

  “Good,” she returned, “because I think the holiday will be much more enjoyable here.”

  “I would have to agree with that.” Belatedly Adam shook himself. Whatever seductions he might have had in mind, they could wait until the chit with the stunning red hair and unexpected wit had a chance to dry off and warm up. After that … well, Christmas was for opening gifts, after all. He stood. “I will see to it that you have a suitable wardrobe.”

  “I will see to my own wardrobe. If you begin dressing me, I’ll feel … obligated to you. Even more than I already do.”

  People rarely turned down his offers of generosity. He didn’t make them very often. And while it annoyed him, he had to respect her wishes. And her. “As you will, then. I’ll send Mrs. Brooks back in to tend to you. Work your wiles on her if you wish a gown. I’ll have Mrs. Beasel the cook save a potato sack, just in case.”

  Sophia snorted, then belatedly attempted to cover the sound with a cough. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  In the doorway, he stopped again. “You are quite welcome, Sophia.”

  TWO

  “I must have been mad to think that just once you wouldn’t attempt to mar our holiday by bringing one of your bloody mistresses here.”

  Adam looked up from his correspondence. “Good morning, Eustace. I could tell from your tone that you were saying something accusatory, but I didn’t quite catch it.”

  Eustace Landen, the Marchioness of Wallace, remained in the doorway of his office. Her dark hair was, as always, immaculately fashioned atop her head, and a deep gray morning gown set her light gray eyes off to perfection. Adam had always found it ironic that his older sister looked more like a warmhearted confidante than an ice-cold shrew, but he’d certainly known her long enough to see past her pretty skin.

  “I had thought that this year, at least, you would manage something respectable—or at least your interpretation of the word. I’m not surprised, but I am disappointed. You know how important this holiday is, Adam, and yet you invite a Tantalus girl? I thought you’d make some effort, even knowing the … regard you have for your only family. There is at least one person you will need to impress this Christmas.”

  “Beg pardon, but are you crediting me with destroying the Aire bridge? Or conjuring the storm? Or perhaps causing the mail coach to run three hours behind schedule? I assure you, while I have my methods, I’m not a god.”

  “You invited an unacceptable female.”

  “Yes, I did. I also invited Keating Blackwood, who once killed a man. And Keating’s new wife, Camille, who abandoned the same man at the altar twice. And Lord Lassiter, who’s been through four wives. And Haymes, who won his butler in a wager. And—”

  “Don’t remind me
,” she retorted. “I’ve seen your guest list. But you’ve also invited a dozen highborn ladies here, for you to … evaluate, I presume. Or is it merely for a laugh with your disreputable friends? Is it still all a jest to you? Because I can promise that I’ve had several solicitors review the contents of Father’s will. It can’t be contested, or amended. Even by you. And you are very nearly out of time.”

  “Enough.” Setting aside the letter he’d been writing to Keating, Adam gave his full attention to his sister. Most people didn’t care to receive his full attention, and even Eustace wandered over to fiddle with the potted ivy on an end table. “I’ve had solicitors engaged, as well, and I know why you were so eager to volunteer your services this year. You’re a vulture, Eustace.”

  “I’m concerned over this family’s reputation. And I will be prepared to step in when you fail.”

  “The Christmas party will go on,” he stated, “and my parade of would-be brides will arrive, even if I have to swim across the river and carry them back. I’m sending instructions for everyone to be put up at Etherton, at my expense, until I have the bridge repaired, also at my expense. So I’m afraid that you and your grasping son will not be assuming any more of my dukedom than I choose to give you. Which is not a penny more than you already receive.”

  His sister shook her head, the curls at either temple swaying. “I didn’t make any of these stipulations,” she retorted, “and I’m not the one who’s put off marriage long enough to endanger my own inheritance. For your own sake, send your whore to Hanlith at least, so no one has to look at her.”

  “She is a guest.” And the one bit of fun he’d been looking forward to having. “You are an unpleasant necessity.”

  “I know that … thing is Hennessy’s bastard, Adam. Gotten on a maid, of all things.”

  “I’m aware of her parentage. She is a friend.”

  “‘A friend,’” Eustace repeated, her lips thinning. “Like that actress Sarah Nichols was a friend, and Rebecca Reynolds was a fr—”