My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)(24)

“Does it even matter?” he said to goad her. “You did wager a week.”

Her knife clattered to the plate. “That bloody wager! You proposed it. Was this what you had in mind?”

Jack opened his mouth to reply, then realized he had no answer. “To be perfectly honest, I fully expected to lose.”

Her lips parted in astonishment. “Well—-I fully expected to win!”

Against his will he smiled. “Serves us both right.”

She made a derisive noise, almost a snort, and rolled her eyes. “Given that neither one of us wanted this, shall we brave the elements and attempt a return to London? It will mitigate the damage for both of us.”

I never said I didn’t want it. Jack shifted in his chair. “No. That would be foolish, and almost surely end in failure.”

Pique flashed across her face. She jumped up and went to the sideboard to prepare herself a cup of tea. When she came back, her determinedly pleasant expression was back in place. “Then what are we to do, since we’re marooned here?”

And that was the moment that Jack realized he was completely at leisure for the first time in years. Normally his visits to Alwyn House were planned, at least a few days in advance; his secretary and estate agent made the trip with him, as did the endless stream of work that was his lot in life. Even here in his private sanctuary he was usually kept busy for hours a day.

But all of that was off in London, and even if it caught up to him tomorrow, it still meant today was devoid of responsibility. He leaned back in his chair, adjusting to the novelty of it. “I’ve no idea,” he murmured, almost in wonder.

Mrs. Campbell shook her head. “This really is the most dreadful kidnapping. I expected more of a duke.”

“Oh? What, specifically?”

She thought for a moment, sipping her tea. “Well, have you got a dungeon?” He shook his head. “A torture chamber?”

“Alas,” he said dryly, entertained in spite of himself.

She sighed. “You see my point. You’ve spirited me out of London to a beautiful house full of servants, including a cook who is worth twice what you pay her, whatever that sum is.” She lifted the muffin in illustration. “If this is your idea of punishment, I should very much like to see your vision of pleasure.”

And I should very much like to show you pleasure. Jack bit his tongue to keep the treasonous thought silent. “It is a beautiful house—-my favorite, in fact. But it is fairly new, and I doubt there are any medieval devices lurking in the attics.”

“Your favorite house.” She arched a brow. Her face was marvelously expressive; he could tell just from that brow that she was laughing at him, even though her tone was politely somber. “Have you got so many there’s a ranking of preference?”

“It only takes two to have a ranking of preference,” he pointed out.

“Have you only got two?”

“No.” He thought for a second. “Five.”

Now both her eyebrows went up. “Five houses. Good heavens. How could one possibly choose among so many?”

“Quite easily. This one is the smallest and coziest.” He said it to needle her, although it probably was true.

“I see.” Her eyes flitted over the room. “And how, pray, would you describe the others?”

“Drafty,” he said. “Cold. Dark, for the most part.” He turned to the windows and sighed at the vista of iron--gray rain clouds and fog. “On sunny days this room is bright and cheerful.”

“I shall have to take your word for it today.” She finished her tea and pushed back her chair. “Well. I think I shall explore the house and see why it’s your favorite. Since we’ve neither of us anything more important to do,” she added as he turned to stare at her.

It was probably the safest thing he could do with her. And oddly, it appealed. He did like this house, and yet it had been almost two months since he’d been able to visit. “I would be delighted to show it to you.”



Sophie had lain awake late into the night, trying to think of a way out of this predicament.

She absolutely had to return to London as soon as possible. Her absence would only confirm the wildest rumors, and there were sure to be some, thanks to the public display she and the duke had made of themselves. The duke claimed he had no designs on her, but he’d been stubbornly dismissive of her promises to avoid Philip. That was worrying. Sophie had learned to live on her personal charm and persuasive ability, and now more than ever she needed to convince the duke to see her point of view.

But he merely sat through all her attempts to reason with him, watching her with those cool blue--gray eyes and a faint smile, pointing out every tiny fault in her argument. The man was infuriating. She had no choice but to continue trying; he was lord and master here, and her only way back to town was by his command.

Exploring the house might allow her to discover more about him. He was unlike anyone she had ever known: reserved, cold, and a bloody duke. She had tried to ignore that last one, as it only reminded her how powerless she was in comparison, but there was no way to ignore the difference in their situations in life.

He led her through the formal entrance hall, which she had seen by lamplight when they arrived. The clerestory windows let in the gray light of the day, but even so the hall was magnificent. The robin’s--egg blue walls must glow like the antechamber to heaven when the sun was out, and the floors were polished to a rich sheen. Her eyes caught on the portrait of a lady in a richly embroidered gown of some antiquated fashion, hung high above the door the duke opened. The woman’s face was serene, almost regal. A small dog stood at her feet, the trailing end of her shawl in his teeth. Behind her were rolling hills and a building that was most likely Alwyn House itself. “Who is she?” Sophie asked without thinking.