Rules to Catch a Devilish Duke Read online

  “Have you ever met your father?” he asked into the silence of crackling logs and snoring dogs.

  The question startled her. Surely not even a duke could read minds. Sophia rose up to look down at him, her palms on his hard chest and his penis still inside her. “Why?”

  Dark gray eyes glanced down her bare front, then returned to her face. “Curiosity.”

  For a moment she debated whether to dissemble, but she truly didn’t see the point of lying. “Yes,” she answered. “A fortnight ago.”

  “In London? I thought him at Hennessy House.”

  “So did I.” Reluctantly she moved off him and went to collect her footman’s shirt. “Until then, the only connection I’d ever had with him was that he reportedly sent money to my aunt and uncle to pay for my education. I wouldn’t have known him if he walked up and asked me to dance.”

  “What happened, then, to bring you together?” He sat up, naked and likely completely unaware of how … delectable he looked.

  “It’s a very sad and sordid tale, at least from my perspective. Are you certain you want to be troubled with it?” She hoped he would decline. It would sound too pitiful to say how much this holiday, his invitation, had meant to her.

  “You’d be surprised by how many sad and sordid tales I know. Some of them are even about me. Tell me.”

  Drat. “Very well.” She took a deep breath, shrugging into her footman’s shirt. “As you know, Hennessy has never acknowledged me. I daresay that hasn’t prevented everyone in England from knowing that he is my father.”

  “Yes, it is one of the worst kept secrets in the history of the kingdom.”

  “Evidently he could tolerate this, as long as I was a … a nobody. A barely visible speck on his résumé. But then I went to work at the Tantalus.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Adam stood as well, using his cravat to clean himself off before he tossed the ruined thing into the fire. “A man who doesn’t provide for his daughter doesn’t precisely have the right to dictate how she makes her way in the world.”

  Sophia belatedly realized that what she knew of Adam Baswich could fit into a teacup. And what she’d taken for granted about him—his reported ruthlessness in business, his affection for scandal—didn’t include such a keen insight into desperation. “I agree,” she commented, her voice not entirely level. “But according to him, my idiotic and scandalous way of conducting my life in so public a manner is adversely affecting his reputation and that of his son and daughter. The legitimate ones.”

  “Shit-breeched toad,” Greaves muttered, so quietly she almost couldn’t hear him. “Did he have a solution to this difficulty, or did he just wish to shout at you?”

  “He had a solution,” she returned, swallowing. “He’s arranged for me to marry. A vicar. The Reverend Loines, in a very small parish in Cornwall.”

  Coughing, Adam took a moment to shrug into his trousers and button them. “A vicar?”

  “I know. It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? Evidently Mr. Loines, for an undisclosed donation to the parish, has agreed to wed me and to … save my damned soul.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” he stated. “Why in the world would he think you would agree to such a thing? You would be … you would be miserable. I hope you told him to go shit himself.”

  Sophia buttoned her own trousers, then sat heavily in the chair by the disabused piquet table. “I did.”

  “Good for you, Sophia.”

  “And then he told me that if I refused, he would use all of his wealth, power, and influence to see that The Tantalus Club ceased to exist. One way or another, he was apparently very determined to be rid of me and my scandal.”

  Adam looked at her for a long moment. She could practically see the words traveling through his mind, the scenarios he conjured and discarded as he mentally followed the various trails she’d spent a fortnight exploring. Then he slowly walked over and righted the gaming table. “In his eyes, it’s undoubtedly the perfect solution,” he mused, taking the seat opposite her. “He’s provided for your future, and he’s rid himself of the constant reminder your presence at the club elicits for him.”

  “Yes. Perfect. Thank you very much.”

  “Have you parted from the Tantalus, then? Run away? Is that why you’re here?”

  If only that would suffice. “Hennessy made it very clear that my running away wouldn’t save the club. I have to do as he says, or he’ll see Diane and Oliver and all my friends ruined all over again. And some of them—most of them—have nowhere else to go.” A warm tear ran down her cheek, and she impatiently wiped it away. Tears wouldn’t do anything but make her seem weak, and she’d already shed her share of them over this.

  “Why are you here, then?”

  “You invited me, if you’ll recall,” she retorted with more heat than she intended. Sophia rolled her shoulders. At the moment he was an ally; if she annoyed him, she’d have nothing to do but return to the Tantalus and wait for the clock to spin. “I suppose I wanted to spend one grand holiday as I pleased,” she continued in a more civil tone. “I wanted to see Camille and laugh and enjoy myself before the Reverend Loines locks me away to do penance.”

  Abruptly Adam stood and walked over to lean against the deep fireplace mantel. “Evidently we’re both to be saddled with something we don’t want.”

  “You don’t want to marry?”

  “I didn’t want to have to fill a pot with politically advantageous potatoes and select the least offensive spud. But that’s my own damned fault, for waiting so long to see to my responsibilities.”

  “Why did you wait so long, then?” she pursued. She could tell herself that any insight into his predicament could help hers, but Adam Baswich was a wealthy, attractive man. He could have married a decade ago, if he’d wanted to. Why, then, had he put off matrimony until the last possible moment?

  A brief smile crossed his face. “It’s a sad, sordid tale.”

  Standing, she strolled over toward him, stepping over the snoring dogs to lean her own shoulder against the marble mantel. “I told you mine.”

  He shook his head. “Another time.”

  Despite the mildness of his words, an awkwardness now hung in the air between them. It was the first time she’d felt less than entirely comfortable in his company, and she didn’t like the sensation. With a sigh she put one hand on the marble mantel and lifted up on her toes to kiss him.

  There was a chance, she supposed, that Adam Baswich had merely been curious about her in general. That once he’d had her, he would bundle her off to Hanlith and be done with her. But as his warm mouth met hers, teasing and exciting, that dismal thought crumbled.

  He slid his arms up under her shirt to circle her waist and pull her close against him. “No more idle chitchat?” he commented, and she felt his smile.

  “I like idle chitchat. Just not about our mutual troubles.” She brushed a strand of raven hair from his eyes, then pulled out of his loose grip before he could seize on her use of the word “mutual.” A duke wouldn’t like having his troubles compared to a scandalous chit like her. “Do you still want to accompany me back to Hanlith tomorrow? Because if you lend me a groom, I can g—”

  “Be ready by eleven o’clock,” he interrupted. “We’ll have luncheon at the White Horse Inn.”

  “Then I shall bid you good night,” she said with a smile, “because I need to find something to wear tomorrow.”

  “I rather like what you’re wearing right now,” he returned, tugging at the hem of her shirt.

  “And I like what you’re wearing,” she commented, using the opportunity to run her gaze once more down his very fine form, “but I think you might get cold.”

  “Mm-hm. Join me for breakfast at nine o’clock.”

  She gathered up her borrowed boots and the remainder of her man’s clothes. “Good night, then.”

  “Good night, Sophia.”

  As she opened the drawing room door to glance out at the empty hallway, both large brown dogs rose to fol
low her. She liked having them about; nonjudgmental friends were, in her experience, fairly rare.

  Her large bedchamber was empty, the fire lit and the sheets turned down. With a sigh she pulled off her shirt again and shrugged into her absurdly oversized night rail. She supposed she could have spent the remainder of the evening either in Adam’s rooms or with him in hers, but this was better. Not more pleasant, but better.

  She liked Adam, and physically having had him once, she wanted him even more. But clinging or somehow giving him the impression that she expected or wanted more than he was willing to give—that wasn’t what she wanted.

  She didn’t want to ruin this unexpected friendship, if that was what this was. With a sigh she lay down and pulled the soft covers up to her chin. So far this holiday had exceeded her expectations—as had the Duke of Greaves, himself.

  * * *

  “What do you think of this?”

  Sophia turned around from cleaning her teeth as Milly Brooks entered her bedchamber. In her arms the housekeeper-maid held a heavy velvet riding habit of burgundy and forest green. “It’s lovely!” she exclaimed, standing to run her fingers over the soft, lush material. “You didn’t go to Lady Wallace, did you?”

  “I think her ladyship would rather go naked herself than lend you a button,” Mrs. Brooks declared.

  “I agree. Where did you get such a fine dress then, Milly?” It looked warm and lush and absolutely beautiful. She could hardly wait to pull it on.

  “Agnes Smith had it in her trunk upstairs.”

  Sophia frowned. “Agnes? The cook’s helper?”

  Milly nodded.

  “But she’s … she’s very tiny. I can’t wear a gown of hers.”

  The maid shook it out. “She said it never fit her well, and that you should try it on.”

  It seemed a waste of time, but if the servants of Greaves Park were going to bother to be so kind, she had no intention of turning up her nose at anything they offered. Aside from that, it didn’t look overly short. It was certainly worth an attempt, anyway.

  “Very well.” With a wistful sigh she pulled off her night rail and lifted her arms so Milly could fit it over her.

  She half expected it to get stuck at her shoulders. Instead, it sank down to hug her hips and flare around her legs. Frowning, Sophia faced away from Milly so the servant could fasten the long row of buttons running up her spine.

  “Oh, Sophia, it’s perfect,” the maid cooed, finishing the buttons and moving around in front of her.

  “I don’t understand,” Sophia returned. “This is a very fine habit for a cook’s helper. Does she—did she—even ride?”

  “Well, as Agnes told me, she used to be quite a bit rounder, which might account for the extra length. As to the how she would have it, I don’t know. But she said it’s an old dress that hasn’t fit her in ages, and that you’re welcome to it.”

  Finally Sophia looked at her burgundy and green reflection in the mirror. The riding habit and the fit were exquisite, as if it had been made to her exact measurements. She gave an experimental twirl. “I need to thank Agnes,” she said, giving in to the urge to smile.

  Of course she’d worn fine gowns before; they were required at The Tantalus Club, the darker and more daring, the better. But she purchased them herself. No one gave her clothes. Particularly not fine, warm ones perfect both for riding and for a Yorkshire winter.

  Once she’d stomped into her borrowed men’s riding boots and with Milly’s help finished pinning up her hair, she headed downstairs and to the rear of the mansion. The kitchen seemed quiet, which wasn’t all that surprising considering the duke had only two guests in residence.

  Agnes Smith stood at the stove, a pot of boiling eggs before her. Sophia smoothed the skirt of her lovely riding gown and stepped forward to hug the tiny woman.

  “Thank you so much, Agnes!” she exclaimed, bending to kiss the older woman on the cheek. “It’s lovely.”

  “Oh, bless me!” the cook’s helper squeaked. “You nearly startled the heart out of my chest, child!”

  With a chuckle, Sophia released the servant and stood back. “You must let me pay you something for the dress.”

  The servant, her cheeks already flushed from the heat of the kitchen, reddened further. “Oh, no, Miss Sophia. I can’t wear it, and someone should have use of it. I’m happy to give it to you.”

  Sophia hugged her again. Never would she have expected the residents of Greaves Park, of all places, to be as kind and open as they were proving to be. “Then I thank you doubly,” she said.

  When she turned around, she nearly ran headlong into Milly, the housekeeper stood so close behind her. “You forgot your cloak, Sophia,” the servant said, holding out a black, fur-lined cape. “It was Agnes’s, too.”

  “Oh, this is too much.” For heaven’s sake, the two garments together must have cost the cook’s helper better than a month’s salary.

  “Nonsense,” Agnes said briskly. “You can see they go together.”

  They did, at that. And whether it was too generous or not, Sophia couldn’t help anticipating what Adam would say. No doubt he expected her to appear at breakfast wearing trousers again. He’d certainly seemed to like seeing her in them. And she’d liked when he removed them.

  With a last hug she left the kitchen and walked back up the long hallway to the breakfast room at the front of the house. The quickest route was through the portrait gallery, but the thought of seeing the father’s unsettling likeness the morning after she’d so enjoyed the company of the son made her doubly uncomfortable. Instead she detoured through the orangerie, greeting the myriad servants as they went about their morning duties.

  When she strolled through the breakfast room door, Adam was already present, sitting at the table with a cup of steaming coffee at his elbow and an open newspaper in his hands. Warmth swept through her at the sight of him, tingling and alive and very welcome on such a chill morning. However much trouble she might be, he hadn’t sent her away. In fact, he was someone whom she could imagine calling a friend.

  He wore blue and gray today, as impeccably perfect as always. And so very handsome, with a strand of dark hair slanting across his temple in a way that made her fingers twitch with the desire to brush it back into place.

  And then she noticed Udgell the butler looking at her expectantly, and realized she was staring at the duke. Silly girl. “Good morning,” she said lightly, moving forward to the sideboard.

  Adam looked up. “Good…” He pushed to his feet, his gaze widening almost imperceptibly as he took her in from head to toe and back again. “You look quite … nice. Where did you get it?”

  She grinned, a shiver of satisfaction strongly mingled with lust running through her. “From Agnes Smith, your cook’s helper.”

  “Ag—Really?”

  “Hush. It’s grand, isn’t it?” She hefted the heavy skirt an inch or two and stuck out the tip of one toe. “I am still wearing your groom’s boots, though. I can’t wear your second footman’s best shoes on horseback.”

  “Of course not.” He gestured at the table. “Udgell, a cup of tea for Miss White.”

  “Right away, Your Grace.”

  Once Sophia had selected her breakfast, she sat down opposite him. “Is that the London newspaper?”

  “It is. They towed it across the river along with the mail. I’m sorry to tell you, but the weather in London has been exceedingly mild.”

  “I prefer Yorkshire weather. It’s unpredictable.”

  “Not really. It’s either snowing, or about to be snowing.” With a half grin of his own he produced a folded note from his pocket and handed it over to her.

  Their fingers brushed, and she took a deep breath. He was quite distracting. She’d had lovers before, and while she’d enjoyed the interlude, it had stayed in the bedchamber. This intoxication, however, seemed determined to linger. And it was such a pleasant feeling that she was loath to discard it.

  Oh, and now she was staring at him again.
Deliberately she lowered her gaze to the folded paper he’d handed her. “What’s this?”

  “Open it.”

  She did so, skimming her eyes down the dark, hasty scrawl to the signature at the bottom. “It’s from Keating,” she exclaimed.

  “Read it aloud. I haven’t looked at it, other than to see the address.”

  That had been supremely thoughtful of him. With a grateful glance up, she smoothed out the note and cleared her throat. “‘Adam,’” she read, then lowered it again. “I’m accustomed to … rough language, but I do try to avoid using it. The members at the club don’t appreciate it from dainty females, and I imagine the vicar would make his displeasure … unpleasant for me.” She shook herself, attempting to banish the thought and very aware that her host was still looking at her. “Keating can be somewhat liberal with the profanity, so I shall substitute the word ‘albatross’ where necessary, and you may read that part privately later.”

  He laughed. “Well, now I don’t know whether I hope to hear you say ‘albatross’ or not. Read the damned—albatross, I mean—letter, will you?”

  “Very well. ‘Adam,’” she resumed, looking a few words ahead as she read, “‘I should have known you would have an albatross old bridge here in the middle of albatross Yorkshire. I received your note this morning. Cammy and I are staying at the King George Inn in albatross Etherton. Given that Sophia is there with you already, we have resolved to remain here for at least a fortnight, on the chance that you will actually repair the albatross bridge.’” She looked up. “Keating does have a way with words, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, he does. Anything else?”

  “Let’s see. Yes. ‘You should see the gaggle of females milling about here, waiting to see you. Are you starting an albatross finishing school there? Give our love to Sophia, and for God’s sake, don’t scowl at her. We hope to see you soon.’ And then some more cursing about you repairing the bridge.”