Dukes By the Dozen полностью

His Grace armored himself with unshakable manners. Today, she would breach them and touch his bare leg.

Her palms tingled at the idea of it.

Their approach drew the attention of Mrs. Staveley, half in, half out of a doorway ahead. The housekeeper’s face brightened, and she nipped into the ducal apartments. There was a quick clap clap, and two charwomen, their mob-caps aquiver, rushed out of the room. They executed speedy curtseys, murmuring Your Grace, Mrs. Chatham before scurrying down the stairs.

“So much for caution,” he muttered.

“I’ll talk to Mrs. Staveley. My room is on the third floor. Perhaps she can pass this off as you going to your chambers and I was on the way to mine.”

“You’re on the third floor? This is the family wing.”

She ignored his consternation and swept through the doorway with a breezy, “Mrs. Staveley, how are you enjoying the roses I brought for you?”

The housekeeper clutched her skirts and curtseyed. “Your Grace. Ma’am.” She folded work-chafed hands against her bosom. “They are wonderful. Thank you.” The older woman’s hazel eyes twinkled beneath her mob-cap. “We’re all atwitter below stairs about the duke needing a butter churn. Simms and Cook think its inspiration for a folly. Two footmen say it’s for an entertainment on the south lawn. With the young lords home, there’s no telling what mischief they’ll make.”

The duke groaned.

Mrs. Staveley, more high-strung than the average housekeeper, fretted. “Oh, dear. I’ve spoken out of turn, Your Grace. Forgive me.”

“No trespass was done.” But he shifted uncomfortably.

They were on shaky ground. Her discreet flirting on the stairs was one thing; servants discussing the duke’s activities was another.

“Mrs. Staveley, Her Grace is counting on you to stop any gossip,” she said firmly.

“You’ve not to worry, ma’am.”

The housekeeper didn’t balk at her taking charge. When mourning the late duke and the heir, the dowager had often sent desperate notes: Please, help me with Richland Hall. Assisting with the house party was no different. Except she’d never ventured inside the ducal apartments. The duke’s sitting room wasn’t so improper. His bedchamber was. A veritable Pandora’s box. She checked the forbidden portal, which was safely shut, and mustered the authority of a queen.

“Make certain there are no further conversations about this below stairs.” She paused to add iron to her words. “Because no one else can know that I’m spending the afternoon with the duke.”

The housekeeper blinked fast. “Certainly, ma’am. I’ll have a word with the footmen and the charwomen.”

“And the visiting attendants?”

“They’re enjoying a picnic on the other side of the vegetable garden. They’ll not get a whiff of…” Mouth puckering, Mrs. Staveley eyed the waiting buckets and finished with a tactful, “Of whatever it is you’re going to do.”

“Very good. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The housekeeper bobbed a skittish curtsey and raced for the door. She hesitated there, a work-raw hand hovering over the knob. Shutting it would’ve been the natural thing to do.

“Leave it open,” the duke intoned.

His formality pricked her playful spirit. “Don’t worry Mrs. Staveley. His Grace’s virtue is safe with me.”

The servant’s hand jerked back, and she fled the room. When the noise of her starched skirts faded, the duke fisted a hand on his hip.

“Was that necessary? Your quip poked the beast of impropriety.” He was adorably grumpy.

“A little fun now and then is good for the soul.”

His scowl indicated otherwise.

She stepped bravely closer to him. He needed a good…something to ease his tension. A terse line settled between his brows. Brass buttons on his waistcoat strained against their moorings. She buried her hands in her skirts to keep from smoothing the silk covering his chest.

“I’ll own that I deserve your frown,” she said quietly. “But you’ve had week of stiff propriety. One might think you’ll burst with it.”

His shoulders were tense within his green velvet coat. “Saucy humor. That’s part of today’s remedy?”

“It can be.” She searched his eyes and found new pain which owed nothing to his injured leg. “I know you don’t take pleasure in these entertainments. You tolerate them. It’s not bad that you prefer a sedate, country life. It’s who you are.”

The atmosphere shifted. A pleasant fissure broke the strain, and the corners of his eyes softened.

“How refreshing to be understood.”

“I understand a good many things about you.”

His gaze rested at the base of her neck, and slowly, slowly he took in her jaw, her lips like a starving man. “I shall count myself fortunate to have you as my neighbor.”

Neighbors, yes, but they were never alone. This unexpected escape to his sitting room was luxurious torment. Pure denial. They’d not kiss. She reveled in flirting with him—and His Grace needed a good flirting—but a dalliance would only further their suffering.

Their attraction was a dance of the unsaid.

And it would have to stay that way.