The Devilish Duke, page 7
Huntington went almost preternaturally still. “You have no idea of my intentions toward Lady Sophie,” he intoned slowly, his voice flat.
“I think I can hazard a guess,” Abelard responded, his own voice dangerously soft to match the Duke’s.
Huntington smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “You should not speculate unless you have your facts correct.”
“A fair point, yet here you are, visiting Lady Sophie.”
“Ah, but the lovely Lady Sophie and I had already prearranged that I would pay an early morning call upon her today.” The Duke looked back toward Sophie. “To have simply shown up at this time of the morning without a previous invitation would have been unquestionably rude.”
“That is enough, from both of you,” she commanded, inserting herself back into the conversation. Turning, she regarded Huntington, who appeared unperturbed, except that she could almost feel every sense of his on high alert. “The Earl is an old family friend and can visit when he pleases.”
Abelard gave a satisfied grunt.
She whirled around toward him, causing him to step back in surprise. “And as for you, sir, the Duke is an invited guest, and you will not criticize him in my home. Both of you will behave as gentleman, please.”
“I had best take my leave then,” Huntington said without preamble, turning toward the door.
The orphanage! If the Duke was too affronted to make his agreed-upon donation now, the children would suffer. “No, wait!” She reached forward and clutched at his arm. “You need not go.”
He glanced down at her hand on his sleeve. She released him with an abrupt jerk of her arm. “You and Abelard seemed to be enjoying yourselves immensely. Far be it from me to impose.”
Sophie huffed out an impatient breath and crossed her arms over her chest. The stubborn man. “Why must you be difficult?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Difficult?”
She had all but forgotten the Earl, as the world seemed to narrow down to only her and Huntington. “Yes! You enter unannounced and behave like a spoiled child.”
“I came here in good faith to deliver my donation for the orphanage, yet you were evidently too absorbed by what he was saying”—he flicked his fingers dismissively at Abelard, who bristled—“to pay any attention to my arrival.”
“Is that why you are upset?”
“You place too much importance upon yourself to suppose I would be upset by any antics of yours, particularly pertaining to this fop.”
Her breath hitched in her throat at his sharp words. Really, it should not matter what he said, but for some reason, his words cut more deeply than she would care to admit.
“Fop?” Abelard snarled, his alabaster complexion nearly scarlet with anger. “I have had enough of your insults! Name your seconds.”
Oh, for heaven’s— “You cannot call anyone out in my drawing room simply for being called a fop,” she ordered the Earl. “You are much too sensible to pay heed to such words.” Please, Lord, let him be sensible. She could only imagine the impact on her aunt’s nerves if Sophie’s two supposed suitors ended up shooting each other.
“A man’s honor is not something one takes lightly, Lady Sophie. Especially coming from him,” Abelard responded curtly, his upper lip curling as he mentioned Huntington.
“Nor is one’s life,” she said. Honestly, men, their notions of honor, and their manner of settling slights were ridiculous. “If you want my assistance with Jane, then I insist you retract your challenge.”
Abelard glowered for a moment and then nodded curtly. “Very well then, for you, I shall do so.”
“Thank you,” she acknowledged.
Just when she thought she’d gotten the situation in hand, Huntington brushed a speck of lint from his lapel. She didn’t like the look he had about him just now. “Your honor must mean a great deal to you,” Huntington said. Sophie could almost see the sarcasm dripping out of his mouth.
“That is enough!” Abelard declared as he shrugged out of his jacket and began to roll up his shirt sleeves. “I may have rescinded my challenge, but I will not continue to be insulted and let it pass with no consequence.”
Huntington, too, removed his jacket and tossed it onto a chair. “Good. I shall look forward to thrashing you.”
“You both cannot be serious?” Sophie said, unable to credit two peers of the realm about to fight each other like a pair of street urchins. “You cannot brawl in my sitting room.”
“Too late, my dear,” the Duke responded as he crouched into an odd-looking pose. He’d spread his feet apart, widening his stance, while bending his arms at the elbow in front of him. Most peculiarly, his hands were cocked back with his palms facing forward and his fingers curled slightly over, as if he were about to claw the air.
Richard rolled his shoulders. “You are versed in eastern fighting techniques then?” He raised his own hands into claws and mirrored Devlin’s adopted position.
Eastern fighting…? Oh, dear.
“So, it appears, are you,” Huntington replied. He looked positively predatory, a hawkish glint in his deep blue eyes, while Abelard appeared confident but decidedly less lethal. “How interesting. Charity work across Europe must pose a great deal of danger.”
“You would not know what charity meant even if it bit you on the backside,” Abelard replied as they began to circle each other. Sophie could only circle with them, watching their movements as she tried in vain to think of the magic words that would bring peace to this ludicrous situation.
Huntington hitched a shoulder in a shrug, without losing his posture. “If that is what you want to call what you get up to over there.” Completely mesmerized by his elegant stance, she felt like a mouse observing a swaying cobra. And he wasn’t even looking directly at her.
“That is the last straw.” Abelard strode forward and sliced a hand through the air. Huntington neatly bowed his body to avoid the blow.
The motion jolted Sophie out of her preoccupation. “Stop it!” She darted in between them, whirling from one to the other to give both of them the full weight of her fury. “I simply will not tolerate such ridiculous behavior.”
“God damn it, Sophie, get out of the way! You could get hurt,” the Duke barked as he straightened, lowering his arms. Somewhat reluctantly, Abelard followed suit.
She put up a hand on each man’s chest, allowing the pads of her fingers to dig slightly into Huntington’s shirt to emphasize her immovability. “I am not budging, Devlin Markham,” she said, mentally cringing at the loudness of her voice. She inhaled deeply and attempted to re-gather her wits. “And if you both want to behave like idiots, you will have to risk hurting me in the process.”
A self-satisfied smile spread across Huntington’s face. “Didn’t I tell you, you would scream my name aloud? Not particularly the way I had in mind.” He winked at her. “But I’ll take it.”
“Sophie Louise Wolcott!” Mabel’s voice shrilled from the doorway. “What in the Lord’s good name is going on here?”
Chapter Eight
Sophie’s aunt huffed into the room, an expression of utter shock on her face, while Stokes and a barrage of footmen were at her back. Mabel glared first at Sophie, then toward the two men flanking her niece.
Oh, my. Theatrical fainting, she was used to. But she had never seen Mabel quite so furious before. “Aunt Mabel, I can explain,” she began. “It is no—”
“Do not ‘Aunt Mabel’ me, Sophie Louise Wolcott!” Mabel stalked into the room, the group of servants following closely at her heels. “Step away from Lady Sophie immediately,” she commanded the gentlemen.
With some reluctance, both Abelard and Huntington moved away from Sophie. Her fingers tingled where they’d been in contact with Huntington’s clothing. Good heavens, she was getting to be as ridiculous as the maidens who swooned over the Devil Duke at evening assemblies.
“Good,” Mabel declared. She inclined her head to the servants waiting behind her. “It appears the situation is at hand for the time being. Would you all wait in the hall? Oh, and Stokes, do ensure the door is closed behind you.”
“Very good, my lady,” Stokes bowed and motioned the footmen out of the room.
“Do stay within hearing distance,” Mabel called out, “just in case these gentlemen decide to forget all of their good breeding once again.”
“Yes, my lady,” Stokes said as he shut the door.
Mabel pinned Sophie with a look of outrage, gesturing wordlessly as her emotions built. Finally, the angry words burst forth: “What is the meaning of this? Have you completely lost your wits? Obviously, you must have! An unmarried lady, unchaperoned and entertaining men in the sitting room, alone? Are you completely insane, girl?”
“No, of course not, Aunt—”
“And not only that! No, the sound of screaming ringing through the entire household had everyone rushing toward this room, not to mention it sent a shiver all the way to my bones. My goodness girl, I thought a murderer had crept into the house to kill us all.”
“But Aunt—”
“I think I should have preferred the murderer, rather than to find you practically wedged in between these two.” She looked over at both men and grimaced. “Who are in a state of undress without their coats, I might add. Do you want me to have an apoplexy?”
“No, of course not,” Sophie tried to placate. She had never seen her aunt so furious nor as equally commanding before.
“My apologies, Lady Winthrup,” Abelard spoke. “It was unforgivable behavior on my part.”
Huntington tilted his head thoughtfully. “The only thing unforgivable about it was it put Lady Sophie in harm’s way.” That was almost gentleman-like. But she knew he was no gentleman.
Mabel curled her lip at the sight of their jackets strewn about the furniture. She snapped her hand toward the offending pieces of clothing. “I suggest you both put on your garments and take your leave at once.”
“But Aunt,” Sophie said, “I must speak with the Duke and the Ear—”
“No, you will not,” Mabel replied, her earlier thrill at the mere thought of her niece conversing with an eligible Duke apparently forgotten. “If they wish to speak with you, then they shall pay you the respect your position in society deserves and will call upon you another day. At a reasonable time, too, might I add, when a suitable chaperone such as myself is present.”
Mortified to be on the receiving end of her aunt’s reprimands and somewhat in awe of Mabel’s formidable temper, Sophie decided remaining quiet for a bit was likely her best option. She clasped her hands, widened her eyes, and tried to look as serene as possible.
“Your aunt is quite correct, Lady Sophie.” Abelard picked up his coat and approached Mabel. “I have paid you and your niece a great disservice today, behaving such as I have. I do apologize.”
“I had expected a great deal more, particularly from you, Abelard,” Mabel said. “Your reputation is that of a gentleman through and through. To behave in such a fashion is quite unacceptable. What would your dear mother think?”
“She would be as unimpressed as you, my lady,” he agreed with a dignified bow.
Mabel sniffed, though she looked somewhat mollified. “I do however trust that you will not make mention of this incident to anyone?” she said, the volume of her voice back to a conventional level. “And I hope it will not affect your opinion of Lady Sophie, as she is normally a model of propriety and sensibility.”
Huntington began to laugh but quickly covered it up with a cough. Sophie shot a quick glare at him, then resumed her calm pose.
“And you too, Your Grace.” Mabel directed her attention toward the Duke. “I trust Sophie’s honor and reputation is safe with you?”
“As safe as it ever will be, you can be certain of that.” Huntington widened those blue eyes of his and held out his hands, palms up, in an obvious effort to appear completely earnest. Sophie wasn’t fooled for an instant.
Mabel frowned a fraction at his reply. “Very good then.”
“Lady Winthrup, Lady Sophie,” Abelard said, “I shall take my leave now.” He cast Sophie a cordial bow before picking up her hand and placing a gentle kiss upon it. “Lady Sophie, if you will forgive me for my appalling behavior today, I should very much like to call upon you tomorrow.”
“Of course.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Devlin scowl and felt a jolt of satisfaction at the sight. “I should like that.”
“I shall see you both on the morrow.” Abelard strode to the door, then stopped and glowered at the Duke. “Huntington,” he said with a stiff nod. “I intend to finish what we started at a more appropriate time and place.”
“Oh, we will, Abelard. You can be sure of that.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” the Earl replied as he opened the door and left.
Sophie studied Huntington and felt a moment of alarm. The blasted man looked as if he was anticipating the encounter.
He picked up his coat. “I shall take my leave, too.” He walked over to where Sophie and her aunt were standing.
“But what about your pledge for the orphanage?” Sophie blurted out. Perhaps she was being indecorous, but he and Abelard had just been circling each other in the drawing room like a pair of wild lions, battling over who would be head of the pride. If she had lost her manners, it was only for the best of causes.
“Ah yes, the money for your precious orphanage,” he drawled. “Tell me, has Abelard ever donated such a sum?”
“No, not such a large amount,” she answered, back on familiar ground. She had often played one man’s pride against another’s to persuade them to increase their generosity. “But he has donated a few times over the years. Several, in fact, if memory serves. It is a worthy cause.”
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, as if he knew perfectly well what she was about. “Yes, and that seems to be what you care for most, the children of Grey Street Orphanage. In fact, I think you would do practically anything to ensure their survival, would you not?”
What an odd question. “They have no one else who cares what happens to them. Which is why the money you are donating—and the Earl has donated in the past—is so important.”
“Sophie,” Mabel admonished, “do not speak of money!” She glanced over at the Duke. “Please forgive her, Your Grace. She knows better than to talk of such a vulgar subject.”
He put his coat back on, then leaned down and took her aunt’s outstretched hand. “Lady Winthrup.” He placed a quick kiss upon her glove before releasing her. “I applaud you for the years you have had to manage Lady Sophie. With her headstrong ways, it could not have been easy.”
Sophie ground her teeth at his patronizing tone but kept her expression carefully neutral, refusing to make eye contact with him. She knew he was only trying to tease her, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a response.
“No, it has not been.” Mabel sighed but then looked up at him in alarm. “But that is not to say that she is headstrong. Why, quite the opposite, I assure you. She is actually very biddable and docile. Just not this morning.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. Biddable and docile indeed! Only in conversation with her own self, thank you very much.
“Of course,” Devlin agreed, a decided twinkle in his eye. “Fear not though, dear lady, I do not credit your niece’s stubbornness as a bad attribute. In fact, my opinion of her is the opposite.”
“Well, I am glad to hear it, Your Grace.” Mabel smiled and fluttered her eyelashes at him, obviously doing her very best to appear charming, given the intimation that all was not lost.
“Now I must be off. I have much to organize.” He placed a warm kiss upon Sophie’s hand, and she clamped her teeth down on her bottom lip to keep her traitorous body from reacting. “And don’t worry over my pledge, Lady Sophie. I honor my word, contrary to what Society might believe.”
It didn’t work. A frisson of excitement raced through her from his touch, despite her best intentions not to allow it. She snatched her hand from his. He was the most unsettling man to be near.
He bowed and departed through the doors, never once looking back.
She did not know whether to laugh or cry. Instead, she sat upon the lounge.
“There is no time to sit, my girl!” Mabel cried. “A Duke and an Earl courting you. How wonderfully marvelous. Did I not say they were both looking for a wife? And they appear to have both set their sights on you. I think I might faint from the excitement of it all!”
Ah, there was the Mabel she knew and loved, exasperating though she might be. Sophie rolled her eyes. Goodness, there would be no deterring her aunt now.
Chapter Nine
The laneway was filled with shadows, the gas lamps on the main road barely shedding any light into the inky depths of the side street.
Tina Marks crouched on the shadowy door stoop of a corner shop at the end of the alley, with her fiancé, Robbie Benlow next to her, both of them watching the entrance from the main road with eager but wary anticipation. If everything went as planned tonight, as Robbie had ensured her it would, they would never have to work for the Crowleys, or anyone else, for that matter, ever again.
“Do ya think the man’s coming?” she whispered, gripping the skirts of her plain black dress until her knuckles ached.
Robbie chucked a finger under her chin and smiled. “’Course he will. We’re gonna be rich tonight, love. I can feel it.”
“I don’t know about this,” she worried. “Jane was awful scared when she fled, and she didn’t scare easy. Makes me wonder what sort of bloke this pretend lord is?” Scared was probably too plain a word to call the terror Tina had seen blaring in Jane’s eyes the last time they’d spoken.
They had both been turning down the guests’ beds at yet another of the Crowleys’ infamous country house-parties when Tina had exited one of the rooms, only to see Jane madly dash past her and go up the stairs to the servants’ quarters, as if the very Devil was on her tail.
