Loving The Lost Duke (Dangerous Deceptions #1)(27)
‘Evening, Duke.’ Lord Wortham, similarly unmasked, strolled past. ‘All right? You look as though you’ve just been jabbed with a pin!’ He went on his way, roaring with laughter.
Jabbed with a pin? Knocked on the head, was more like it. When Madeleine had announced that she was expecting his child he had still been too angry at having been trapped into marriage to care – until the baby was born. At which point it was love at first sight. But Sophie… his children… This was different and he was not at all sure he liked the way it made him feel. Terrified.
Chapter Eight - Where Sophie Confesses
It was difficult, not thinking about the Duke of Calderbrook. In fact it was impossible. And that sinister Jared Hunt hadn’t helped matters. Sophie threaded some green silk floss onto her needle and tried to feel some enthusiasm for the bell pull she was embroidering.
Last night had been magical and exiting and decidedly agitating, but not as agitating as walking slap into Mr Hunt, unmasked and looking exceptionally dangerous in plain black. He wore his hair unfashionably long, tightly braided and tied back with a strip of leather, usually. Now it was loose, flowing around his shoulders, and he looked like some Renaissance Italian searching for an arras to hide behind before stabbing someone with a stiletto.
She had curtseyed, one hand to her mask to be certain it was securely back in place and he, bother him, had bowed and said, ‘Good evening, Miss Wilmott.’
Then, when she would have passed him by without any further conversation, he had put out one hand to detain her. ‘Miss Wilmott, a word of warning.’ She had been so taken aback that she had simply stared at him as he added smoothly, ‘I suggest that toying with the Duke’s affections might not be a good idea, not if there is another man in the equation.’
‘I… There is… Have you been spying on us?’
‘I watch his back, not what he does. His Grace takes his honour very seriously, and, of course, that of the women in his life. He has killed his man before now in a duel and I really would recommend that you take care.’
‘Killed?’
‘In America. Someone who tried to lure his wife into an entanglement. He was a dangerous opponent, a man with a reputation, but the Duke did not hesitate to challenge him.’ He bowed once more and strolled off leaving her shaken and apprehensive, staring after him.
Sophie came back to the present with a start and found herself back in the drawing room. ‘The Duke of Calderbrook, Miss Wilmott.’ Parrott was managing to look both smug – which went with being a superior butler – and indulgent, a fairly nauseating combination.
Sophie jabbed her needle into her thumb, said something regrettable under her breath and tossed aside the embroidery frame with its new blood spot to add to the misshapen flowers. Sewing was one of her skills, but her concentration had been completely absent these past few days. ‘Thank you, Parrott. Please send Mary down.’
‘I could just leave the door open, Miss Wilmott.’ She could have sworn the butler’s left eyelid drooped into something perilously close to a wink. ‘I will be right outside.’
‘Very well.’ Parrott being obvious was probably less embarrassing than having a witness in the room as she dealt with last night’s impetuous kiss in the cold light of day. Her heart was pounding and she felt decidedly light-headed which was embarrassment of course, and nothing whatsoever to do with wanting to see the man again.
‘His Grace the Duke of Calderbrook.’ Parrott opened the door onto a vast bouquet of flowers which appeared to have legs of its own. Legs clad in exquisite Hessian boots and exceedingly tight biscuit-coloured pantaloons.
‘Your Grace.’ She stood up and curtseyed to the bouquet which sank to reveal Cal behind it. ‘Are you entertaining tonight and carrying the flowers home yourself? There are enough there to deck three rooms, I should imagine.’
‘Miss Wilmott. Having presented these I will just hand them to Parrott who is so conveniently placed to take them.’ Cal turned and thrust the flowers through the open door, presumably into Parrott’s arms, then strolled in and took her hand. And kept hold of it. ‘I thought that it seemed an appropriate bouquet for courtship.’
‘Courtship?’ Sophie sat down with a bump, dragging Cal down beside her. Fortunately they both found the sofa. ‘But it was just a kiss,’ she hissed. Now what had she done? It had been an impulse, an irresistible moment of yielding to desire and attraction. ‘Surely you cannot take seriously anything that happens at a masquerade. Not anything so harmless.’ Although your henchman seemed to take it seriously enough.
‘Harmless?’ Cal still held her hand, his thumb tracing lazy circles in the palm. ‘I didn’t get a wink of sleep all night, you have afflicted me with, er… insomnia.’ His face was perfectly serious but his eyes, those haunting silver eyes, were alight with laughter.
‘Do not laugh at me, please. It really is not funny.’ Sophie bit her lower lip as though the sharp little pain would steady her voice.
‘No, of course not.’ Cal was instantly serious. ‘Sophie, what is wrong? Has anyone threatened you, told you not to marry me?’
She shook her head. ‘No. Who on earth would do that?’ The grip on her hand that had tightened, relaxed again. ‘No, I just cannot. And no-one saw us. There is absolutely no need to fear I have been compromised.’