No Good Duke Goes Unpunished (The Rules of Scoundrels #3)(5)

Oh, how he wanted to prove her wrong.

But she had already moved on. “At any rate. This one’s maid’s sister, that one’s cousin’s friend, the other’s friend’s cousin or maid’s cousin . . . women talk, Mr. Cross. And you should be aware that they are not ashamed to reveal details. About you.”

He raised a brow. “What kind of details?”

She hesitated, and the blush returned. He resisted the pleasure that coursed through him at the pretty pink wash. Was there anything more tempting than a woman flushed with scandalous thoughts?

“I am told you are the kind of gentleman who has a keen understanding of the . . . mechanics . . . of the act in question.” She was utterly, completely matter-of-fact. As though they were discussing the weather.

She had no idea what she was doing. What beast she was tempting. What she did have, however, was courage—the kind that was bound to drive fine, upstanding ladies directly into trouble.

And he knew better than to be a party to it.

He placed both hands on the top of his desk, stood and, for the first time that afternoon, spoke the truth. “I am afraid you were told wrong, Lady Philippa. And it is time for you to leave. I shall do you a service and neglect to tell your brother-in-law that you were here. In fact, I shall forget you were here at all.”

She stilled for a long moment, and he realized that her lack of movement was out of character. The woman had not been still since he’d woken to the soft sound of her fingertips sliding over the pages of the ledger. The fact that she was still now unnerved him; he steeled himself for what came next, for some logical defense, some strange turn of phrase that would tempt him more than he was willing to admit.

“I suppose it will be easy for you to forget me.”

There was nothing in the tone to suggest that she angled for a compliment or a refusal. Nothing he would have expected from other women. Though he was coming to realize that there was nothing about Lady Philippa Marbury that was at all like other women.

And he was willing to guarantee that it would be impossible to forget her.

“But I’m afraid that I cannot allow it,” she pressed on, frustration clear in her tone as he had the impression that she was speaking to herself rather than to him. “I have a great deal of questions, and no one to answer them. And I’ve only fourteen days to learn.”

“What happens in fourteen days?”

Dammit. He didn’t care. He shouldn’t have asked.

Surprise flashed at the question, and he had the sense that she had forgotten him. She tilted her head again, brow furrowed as though his query was ridiculous. Which, of course, it was.

“I am to be married.”

That, he knew. For two seasons, Lady Philippa had been courted by Lord Castleton, a young dandy with little between his ears. But Cross had forgotten her future husband the moment she’d introduced herself, bold, brilliant and not a little bit bizarre.

There was nothing about this woman to indicate that she would make an even-halfway-decent Countess of Castleton.

It’s not your problem.

He cleared his throat. “My very best wishes.”

“You don’t even know who my husband is to be.”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

Her brows shot up. “You do? How?”

“Aside from the facts that your brother-in-law is my business partner, and that the double wedding of the final sisters Marbury is the talk of the ton, you will find that there are few things that happen at any level of society about which I do not know.” He paused. “Lord Castleton is fortunate indeed.”

“That’s very gracious of you.”

He shook his head. “Not grace. Truth.”

One side of her mouth twitched. “And me?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. She’d be bored of Castleton within twenty-four hours of their marriage. And then she’d be miserable.

It’s not your problem.

“Castleton is a gentleman.”

“How diplomatic,” she said, spinning the globe and letting her fingers trail across the raised topography on the sphere as it whirled around. “Lord Castleton is indeed that. He is also an earl. And he likes dogs.”

“And these are the qualities women seek in husbands these days?”

Hadn’t she been about to leave? Why, then, was he still speaking to her?

“They’re better than some of the lesser qualities with which husbands might arrive,” she offered, and he thought he heard an edge of defensiveness in her tone.

“For example?”

“Infidelity. Tendency toward drink. Interest in bull-baiting.”

“Bull-baiting?”

She nodded once, curtly. “A cruel sport. For the bull and the dogs.”

“Not a sport at all, I would argue. But more importantly, are you familiar with a great deal of men who enjoy it?”

She pushed her glasses high on the bridge of her nose. “I read quite a bit. There was a very serious discussion of the practice in last week’s News of London. More men than you would think seem to enjoy its barbarism. Thankfully, not Lord Castleton.”

“A veritable prince among men,” Cross said, ignoring the way her gaze narrowed at the sarcasm in his tone. “Imagine my surprise, then, to find his future countess at my bedside this very morning, asking to be ruined.”