Loving The Lost Duke (Dangerous Deceptions #1)(43)

‘What are you smiling about?’ She looked up, head tipped to see his face properly.

‘A whimsical thought. Now, is the colour to your taste?’ he asked as he led her through to the sitting room. This was newly decorated too, on his orders when he reached London. He had left it to his senior staff to chose exactly what was done and he wished now he had taken a more personal interest.

‘I love the colour, that old rose and the soft gilt and ivory.’ She walked around, touched the desk, bounced on a chair. ‘I might change the furniture around.’

‘Whatever you like,’ Cal agreed, distracted by the thought of how there was room in that chair for both of them and what an interesting height it was.

‘Now you are frowning.’

‘Was I?’ Wondering just why I am crazy with desire for you, that is all. Yes, Sophie was very beautiful, yes she was refreshingly open and obviously intelligent, but he had seen any number of beautiful, intelligent, interesting women over the past years without becoming obsessed with the idea of getting them into bed. And that had nothing to do with the fact that he had been married and inconveniently inclined to honour his wedding vows.

Sophie was in motion again, circling the room, touching things as if nothing was quite real unless her fingers stroked it. Lord, there went his imagination again. ‘Through here is my sitting room. I don’t know how much I will use it.’ Cal opened the door and followed Sophie in. ‘I’ve got a study downstairs.’ He strode across the Aubusson carpet and opened his bedchamber door, unable to cope with the sight of Sophie caressing any more objects. ‘And this is as far as we are going today.’





Chapter Thirteen - Where Sophie and the Duke Survey a Bed


Sophie’s eyes were wide as she stood on the threshold and studied the bed which was, he had to agree, quite indecently large and ornate. ‘It is very…’

‘I’ll have it moved into the State Bedchamber and get something simpler. That chamber never did get a bed. It was all done up for George II and he went and died before he got here, which saved the family a great deal of money, I suspect.’

‘State bedchamber,’ Sophie said faintly.

‘There’s an entire suite of state rooms. Wonderful for entertaining visitors on wet days and for children playing hide and seek. We will probably lose Isobel in there for weeks at a time.’

‘I hope not. Did you have to sleep in that as a child? It must have given you nightmares.’

‘No, I was spared that. I was ill, or laid up after one accident or another half the time, so much that I had a suite in the West Wing. Much more straightforward furnishings.’ He eyed the monstrosity. ‘In fact this is too short for me. Apparently in those days people slept sitting more or less upright. You will have to help me choose another bed, there must be enough in this place for us to find one the right size for us.’

The blue eyes turned to give him a look which said very clearly that she knew exactly what he was hoping might happen on a tour of bedchambers combined with the close study of beds. ‘You promised.’

‘I know. And I did not for a moment believe you would actually help me chose a bed.’

‘I cannot imagine what Mama would say.’

‘I can. Come along, Sophie, back to your bedchamber. You may lock all the doors after you, ring for the maid and play with the plumbing. They should have brought you some tea up by now.’

‘Cal.’ She stopped in the middle of her sitting room, stood in front of him and looked steadily into his face, all the laughter gone. ‘What do you want of me? I realise I don’t know you, not at all. We kiss, and we make jokes and… I do not know you.’

‘I want whatever you can give me, Sophie. Nothing more. What do you want of me?’

‘I don’t know that either.’ She said it abruptly, as though the admission had been forced out of her. ‘I really do not know.’ Then she was gone, a whirl of blue skirts and flying ribbons, and the door shut and there was a soft click as the key turned.



Whatever had that been about? What had impelled her to ask such a question? The answer should be obvious. Cal wanted a lady of breeding who could act as an hostess, who could manage large households, who would give him children and raise his daughter. And yet she had been compelled to ask and he had thrown the question back and she hadn’t been able to answer him.

A faint sound made her start before she saw it was a maid who was setting out tea things on a small table in the window embrasure. ‘Miss Wilmott, I’ve brought you tea.’ It looked more like a comprehensive meal. ‘Is there anything else you would like? Different cake, perhaps?’

‘No, this looks excellent, thank you – ?’

‘Betty, ma’am.’ A bob of a curtsey.

‘Could you ask someone to fetch… to run my bath in twenty minutes? And send my maid up to help me dress.’

‘Mary’s unpacking your things now, Miss Wilmott. I’ll just tell her when you want your bath for.’

Betty, Mrs Fairfax the housekeeper. Only about ninety eight more names to learn. Sophie poured herself a cup of tea, selected a watercress sandwich and gave herself a brisk talking-to while she ate. It took another sandwich, ham that time, and a scone with blackberry jelly, but she had talked herself into something approaching calm confidence by the time Mary appeared to announce that her bath was ready.