My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)(34)

It was true he’d forgotten about this particular ball. Normally he would have gone, if Lady Stowe and her daughter were to attend. Lucinda was making her debut this Season, and Jack knew his father would expect him to do anything he could to ensure she was a success among the ton. The last time he’d seen her, just after Christmas, she’d admitted she was nervous about it.

But his mother was not thinking of Lucinda’s nerves, she was trying to shame him into rushing back to London, something he had no intention of doing. Not only was he not accustomed to being coerced and shamed, he still hadn’t figured out what to do about Mrs. Campbell—-but he found her dangerously exhilarating, far more so than any ball.

He stuffed the letter into his pocket and took his time returning to the breakfast room. There was one sobering note of warning in it that he could not ignore. Of course Philip would discover a way to make him at fault, thereby deflecting any blame or reproach from himself. As long as the duchess believed Philip was more victim than scoundrel, she would continue making allowances for him instead of encouraging him to reform his ways. Perhaps Jack ought to open the account books and show his mother exactly how much he’d paid to settle Philip’s debts recently; he was certain Philip hadn’t told her. His father had believed it was not a woman’s place to see any accounting but the household expenditures she supervised, and that she should submit even those to her husband for approval. The late duke had treated his wife and younger son with an indulgence that left them both in ignorance of, and absolved of any responsibility for, the consequences of their actions. All of that had descended onto Jack, and the expectation that he would continue doing everything exactly as his father had done was beginning to wear.

Mrs. Campbell was seated at the table eating by the time he returned to the breakfast room. Today she wore a simple dress of dark green. He wondered where she’d got it, and then reminded himself that he ought not to be thinking about her clothing at all, as long as she was provided something decent. This dress, alas, had a slightly higher neckline than the housemaid’s dress of yesterday.

“Good morning,” she said with a smile at his entrance.

“Good morning.” He resumed his seat at the table. Somehow he must keep Percy from setting eyes on her. Percy had been his father’s man before his, and at times Jack suspected his loyalty was more to the dukedom than to the duke, whoever that fellow might be. Percy wasn’t blind, and if he reported that Jack had hared off to Alwyn House with a beautiful woman, it would inflame the duchess. Jack didn’t bother to think about why he cared. “Would you care to explore the attics today?”

She looked at him in amazement, and Jack realized how odd the question sounded. “You inquired about dungeons and torture chambers, neither of which Alwyn has. The attics would be the closest I can offer. The rain continues, which means we are stuck in the house. I am struggling for anything to pass the time.”

Her lips quirked in that sly smile he found so entrancing. “When you present it so appealingly, how could I miss the chance?”

They finished breakfast, and Jack told Wilson to fetch some lamps. He also murmured to his butler that nothing should impede Percy from returning to London as soon as possible. Then he headed toward the east wing with Mrs. Campbell at his side, unaccountably eager to exploring the dim, stuffy attics.

“What manner of things shall we find up here?” she asked as he opened the door leading to the attic stairs. A rush of warm stale air hit him in the face as he considered the question.

“In truth, I’m not sure. It’s been decades since I went up.”

She gathered her skirts and followed him up the stairs. “Another exploit with Philip?”

Jack grinned, glancing back. From this angle he could see down her bodice, and it almost made him miss a step and drop his lamp. “Er—-no,” he said, trying to remember the question. “Philip once got lost and took such a fright he refused to come up again.”

Her hands full of skirts, she looked up, her lips parted in surprise. “No!”

His mouth was dry. Perhaps this was a terrible idea. All he could think of now was being alone with her in the dark. She didn’t seem angry with him anymore, and it had been an eternity since he found any woman so tempting . . . “It became my hideaway after that,” he said, still distracted by her mouth and the plump curves of her breasts. “Free of mothers and younger brothers and any sort of lesson.”

“What did you discover up here?” She was a little out of breath, breathing harder than usual as she reached the top of the stairs. Covertly Jack watched the rise and fall of her bosom, straining the bonds of her drab green dress.

“Old furniture, mostly,” he said. Sofas and settees where one might seduce a woman properly. “With the odd suit of armor.”

“Oh my.” She stepped into the attics. The high mansard roof arched above, invisible in the darkness. The rain drummed down on the slate over their heads, not fiercely but steadily. Thanks to the leaden skies it wasn’t hot in the attics, but comfortably warm. “I see what you mean,” his guest exclaimed softly.

“Hmm?” She might have been a Madonna, reverently painted by an adoring artist, as she raised her face in awe toward the ceiling so far above them. Her skin glowed like gold in the light of his lamp.

“What a perfect hideaway!” She smiled broadly. “No one would ever find you. And as you said—-full of furniture. With a lantern, some biscuits, and a good book, who might not want to squirrel away on a lonely day?”