My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)(19)



At the top of the stairs Mrs. Gibbon led her down a corridor into a room that looked sumptuous in the shadows. “I beg your pardon that it’s not been prepared, but the maid will be in directly.” She pulled the bell rope, then hurried through the room and opened another door, revealing a cozy dressing room, tiled before the fireplace. A large copper tub sat at the back. “It will take a good while to draw a hot bath, but you’ve got to get out of those wet clothes.” She sized up Sophie, who was beginning to shiver in the cool room. “After that . . . Well, we’ll see what we can do.”

By the time Sophie had shed her sodden dress and undergarments and was wrapped in a number of blankets, two other servants had arrived, one of them bearing a cup of tea. Sophie sipped and watched as they started the fire already laid in the hearth, arranged the copper tub and conferred with Mrs. Gibbon in low voices. Someone took her clothing, promising to make an effort to save it.

When the tub was filled with steaming water, she sank into it gratefully. At home she had only her maid, Colleen, and a cook who came in every other day. It was lovely to have a throng of people look after her, although she still felt the duke owed her that much at least, after upending her evening so arrogantly.

The duke. She slid down until the water covered her to the chin, with only her knees sticking out. What was she to make of the duke?

Philip claimed he’d gone to the club to see Mr. Dashwood, and he’d startled like a guilty boy when his brother appeared. Mr. Dashwood had said the duke was not a member, and the duke himself had told Philip he wouldn’t pay any more gambling debts. Therefore the duke must have been at Vega’s to settle Philip’s debt. Sophie could understand the duke’s anger, if things were as he said.

But why the devil had he turned on her? She certainly hadn’t held the debt from Philip, although heaven knew it wouldn’t have been difficult. For all she—-or the duke—-knew, Philip was still at Vega’s, wagering madly since he knew his brother was nowhere nearby to stop him.

And now she was stuck here, far from London, with a man she did not know or like. Rain still pattered against the windows, and it would take at least a day of dry weather for the roads to become passable. Sophie had spent the carriage ride thinking rude thoughts about the duke, which was terribly cathartic, but now it was time to address the more practical question of how she should handle him. If only Philip had told her more about him. If only she had been curious to know more.

She swirled her fingers through the water. He was younger than expected, surely not more than thirty--five, which meant he had inherited when he was a young man. What might that do to a person? She wondered how different his upbringing had been from Philip’s; they appeared nothing alike, based on her limited observation.

In the end she decided it was a mistake to assume too much either way. She ought to focus on their area of agreement, which was that she would not gamble with Philip anymore, ever. If she proved herself understanding, discreet, and trustworthy, he would be far more likely to send her back to town in the morning.

And it was vital that she return to London as soon as possible. Despite Mr. Dashwood’s rule against gossip, this story would leak out. Sophie was well aware of what would happen when it did. If there were rumors that she had made a scandalous wager to spend a week with the Duke of Ware, bolstered by whispers that he swept her away from Vega’s that very night, and then she wasn’t seen anywhere in London for a week, she would lose her last shred of respectability. Everyone would think her the duke’s mistress, and that would destroy any chance she had of finding a decent husband. Sophie refused to let that man ruin her life so carelessly.

Her mind made up, she got out of the tub. Mrs. Gibbon had left plenty of warm towels for her, and she went into the other room—-now brightly lit and warmed by a roaring fire in the hearth—-feeling revitalized.

Her determination took a blow, however, when the housekeeper said she had been unable to locate any suitable clothing. The only females in the house were two maids, the cook and Mrs. Gibbon herself, none of whom were close to Sophie’s size. “We’re searching for something suitable,” the housekeeper promised, “but I’ve located something for tonight.” She laid a beautiful blue velvet banyan on the bed.

Sophie stared at that dressing gown. “Whose is this?” But she knew.

“His Grace’s,” said Mrs. Gibbon. “His man gave it to me when I asked what to do for you. By morning, I vow, I’ll have proper clothing.”

She touched the plush fabric. It was lined with purple silk, so decadent she almost sighed with pleasure just from touching it.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” added the housekeeper. “I’ll fetch one of my own nightgowns for you. It’s the best I can do.”

She started out of her reverie. “Thank you,” she said fervently. “It’s very kind of you.”

The woman inclined her head in acknowledgment. “His Grace bid me tell you that he will see you in the library, if you wish to speak to him.”

She certainly had plenty to say to the duke. It wasn’t ideal to face him down wearing his dressing gown, but he was responsible for that circumstance. She stroked the velvet again. “Thank you, Mrs. Gibbon. I will.”



Jack felt greatly restored to sense once he was warm and dry again.

He sent Michaels, the footman who attended him in the absence of his valet, to inform Mrs. Gibbon that he would be in the library, if his guest wished to speak to him, and then he sprawled in one of the comfortable leather chairs by the fire. Michaels brought a glass of brandy and left him to his thoughts.

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