Rules to Catch a Devilish Duke

by Suzanne Enoch

  He lifted his head. “One o’clock,” he repeated for emphasis. “Consider everything, Sophia. Everything I will give you.”

  She nodded, running her fingers down his cheek. “I will.”

  FIFTEEN

  Sophia watched as Adam left her room. Then she stood and went to the bellpull to summon Milly.

  That done, she reached up to carefully remove her beautiful necklace and gently place it back in its velvet-lined box. Just as carefully she kept her mind on the present, on the exact moment before her. The walk to the wardrobe. The ugly old hat she dropped to the floor. The hat box she carried to the bed. The pretty, hurtful gifts she could fit inside.

  Adam had offered her nothing but a few more weeks of what she already wanted—him. He’d merely attached a monetary worth to her presence, made her a thing. And then he’d made it even worse, by suggesting a way she could escape her fate, when they both knew she could never do such a thing. Or he should have known that about her, anyway.

  She’d agreed to marry Mr. Loines to save the Tantalus. Why, then, would she run the moment she thought she could get away with it, when that would ruin her husband, herself, and the woman whom Adam would have married by then? He hadn’t even suggested that she find her freedom, but only that she trade a wedding band for a mistress’s chains.

  And for a bare, awful moment she’d been tempted. “No, no, no,” she muttered to herself. Whatever people thought of her, whatever stigma had been placed on her from the moment of her birth, she meant to do the right thing. Even if it broke her heart.

  Setting eyes on Adam again would shatter her into a million pieces. Yes, she was disappointed in him, but she certainly understood his dilemma and his frustration. She shared them. If he couldn’t force himself to make the correct, difficult decision of walking away, she would do it for both of them. Better to plunge the dagger into her chest all at once and be done with it.

  Her door opened again. “Did His Grace like the scarf?” Milly asked, then stopped. Abruptly she closed the door behind her and latched it. “What’s happened, my dear? You look like death!”

  That made sense, because she was dead. “I need to ask you two very large favors, Milly,” she said, surprised that her voice was steady.

  “Of course. What do you need?”

  The swift answer nearly sent her over the edge into tears, and she fought for calm again. “I need for you to quietly ask Evans to saddle Copper and take me into Hanlith, and I need you to ask Udgell to see that His Grace doesn’t notice my departure at least until one o’clock.”

  The housekeeper began to look very alarmed. “I … can do that. But what’s happened? Did you and His Grace quarrel over something? Surely it’s not so serious you need to flee.”

  “It is precisely that serious.” She turned her purse over into her hand, and her few remaining coins tumbled into her hand. One pound, two shillings. Not enough to get her to Cornwall and purchase meals along the way. Damnation. “I also need you to find Camille Blackwood and ask her to lend me five pounds. Tell her I will repay the money, but I needed to send someone into the village to make a purchase.”

  Milly nodded despite the wringing of her hands. “Shall I bring her up here?”

  Alarm skittered through Sophia. She would much rather remember Cammy and Keating as they smiled over their Christmas gifts—not as Camille watched her drive off to Cornwall and misery. “No. No one is to know.”

  “Oh, dear. Very well.”

  “And please hurry.”

  “Oh, dear, oh, dear.”

  The housekeeper hurried from the room, and Sophia locked the door again. By the mantel clock it was nearly eleven, and the mail stage left Hanlith at noon. It would take her to Cornwall within four days. Once there she would find the vicar and inform him that there was no sense in delaying their nuptials until January fifteenth. Then any temptations or thoughts of escape could simply wither and die.

  Swiftly she removed her pretty gray gown and pulled on her blue muslin traveling dress. Her new walking shoes went into a sack; she would return Evans’s boots to him in Hanlith. She hesitated over Adam’s old caped greatcoat. Her own coat had been ruined, and she hadn’t replaced it. Finally she pulled it on. She needed it, and so she would take it. The remainder of her unasked-for dresses she left in the wardrobe. She didn’t want to explain to the vicar where she’d gotten them.

  Finally she returned to the writing desk. She’d promised Adam a definitive answer, if not an explanation, and she kept her word. It was done in a moment, and she folded the missive, addressed his name on it, and sealed it with wax. Then she placed it beneath the oblong box on the center of the bed where he would be certain to notice it.

  When Milly returned she was ready, her old hat box full and heavy in one hand, and her new one with her spring hat in the other. Her coins were in the pocket of her greatcoat. Tears in her eyes, the housekeeper handed over five pounds, which Sophia added to her own money.

  “You’re certain of this?” Milly asked, wiping at her eyes. “You want to leave? I thought you didn’t need to be in Cornwall until after the beginning of the year.”

  She never wanted to leave, which was why she needed to go. “I’m certain. No sense in chancing the weather.”

  “Down the back stairs, then. Udgell and the other servants are assembling in the drawing room to sing carols for the pleasure of His Grace and his guests.”

  She almost hated to miss that—but then she would miss nearly everything about this place. Together they hurried down the servants’ stairs and through the kitchen, where Mrs. Beasel studiously ignored them. Evans waited just outside with Copper and his own horse, and Sophia handed up both hat boxes before she turned to give Milly a tight hug.

  “Go and join the choir, so you won’t be blamed for helping me.”

  Milly rubbed at her eyes again. “I will miss you, child. You warmed this cold, old house.”

  “I will miss you, Milly,” Sophia returned, still refusing to cry. Not yet. Not until she was safely away.

  Evans handed her up, and they circled around the back of the stable to stay out of view of the house. The snow had begun falling more heavily, but Sophia pulled her borrowed hat down lower on her head and otherwise ignored the weather.

  In twenty minutes they’d reached Hanlith, and Evans stopped just outside the Trout’s Mouth Inn. The mail stage was already there, standing while the horses were changed. The groom helped her to the ground and she gave him a hug, as well. “And this is for Udgell,” she said, planting a kiss on his cheek.

  “I’m sorry to see you go, Miss Sophia,” he said gruffly, handing her the hat boxes.

  “I’m sorry to leave.” She set a box down to grip his sleeve. “I don’t know how to keep Greaves from knowing you aided me. If he sacks you, go to The Tantalus Club in London. I swear there will be employment waiting for you at the stable if you should need it.”

  He nodded, then doffed his hat, waiting as she sat on a bench to pull off the boots and hat and return them to him. Once she stepped into her walking shoes, he moved back to the horses. “Best of luck to you, Miss Sophia.”

  “And to you, Evans.”

  With that she walked into the warm, crowded inn and purchased a seat on the mail coach going all the way south to Cornwall. Fifteen minutes later she sat on the rear-facing seat beside someone’s grandmother and opposite Rector Gibbs and his wife, headed south to Rotherham. The irony of her companions might once have struck her as amusing, but at the moment it felt like the first chime of the bells of doom.

  As Mr. Gibbs immediately began lecturing about a life of sin and finding redemption through charitable works, she looked out the coach’s window. She’d had one last kiss with Adam, at least. And she would always remember it, because she would never see him or touch him again.

  * * *

  The only servants who didn’t seem to be present for the unexpected recital were the lads from the stable and part of the kitchen staff. Adam hadn’t known Udgell could
sing, but the butler had a surprisingly good bass voice. As for why his servants were serenading his rather amused guests, he had something of an idea; everyone in the house had seemed more … animated since Sophia’s arrival. She should be there in fact, because she would certainly enjoy this spectacle.

  According to his pocket watch, however, he had twenty more minutes to wait. He remained uncertain about what she might be contemplating, precisely, except for the damage to her own pride. Sophia was eminently practical, though, so she would realize his plan was the only one worth following.

  The couch settled beside him. “You’re a bastard,” Keating murmured, keeping his gaze on the servant choir.

  Splendid. “Sophia knows what I can provide her. And she knows I can certainly offer her a more pleasant life than she’ll find with the Reverend Loines.”

  “Aside from the fact that you don’t know anything about this pastor, Sophia had a reason for agreeing to marry him.”

  “Yes, well, she needs to have more care over her own well-being.”

  “Then where the deuce is she? Shouldn’t she be sitting in your lap and feeding you grapes if she agreed with you?”

  Finally Adam glanced sideways at his friend. “She wanted time to think. I’ll bring her down with me in a few minutes.” And then he wouldn’t have to hide his interest any longer. He could smile at her in front of everyone, because she would have taken an ordered place in his well-ordered world. And once he offered for Lady Caroline, he wouldn’t even have to explain his attachment to Sophia. Such things were understood in their world, after all.

  “She’s thinking about it?” Keating repeated, furrowing his brow. “Then she hasn’t agreed to anything, despite what you told everyone in here. I was wrong; you aren’t a bastard.”

  “Thank you for realizing that.”

  “You’re a villain.”

  So he’d been called before, but not lately. This was beginning to be irritating. “I offered her everything, Keating. And she can still marry the damned vicar. Long enough to fulfill her obligations, anyway.”

  “As a married man, I find that very offensive.”

  “I’m not attempting to convince you.”

  Keating shook his head. “You’re assuming she wants what you want.”

  Adam had no idea when Blackwood thought he’d become such an expert. “Of course she does. Do you think for a moment that I would treat her poorly?”

  Blackwood continued to eye him. “You insulted her, and you’re continuing to do so. But believe what you will. And I wonder if you’ve considered that you also insulted your future potential wife. I do hope she doesn’t decide that marrying a fiend isn’t worth the wealth she’ll receive.”

  “Then you don’t know as much about women as you think.”

  The rousing rendition of “Adeste Fideles” drew to a ragged end, and Adam stood, applauding. A breath later and his guests joined him in the ovation. His servants bowed, then with a nod from Udgell, scattered to resume their duties.

  “What I think is that I don’t actually want to look at you any longer.” Keating stood and strolled over to rejoin his wife.

  Well, wasn’t that hilarious? Keating Blackwood, who’d once killed a lover’s husband, wanted nothing to do with him. Adam knew the nature of people. He knew how to find their weaknesses, and he generally knew precisely what someone would do in any given situation. He knew what Sophia would do. He needed her in his life, and she wouldn’t refuse him.

  “Your Grace,” Udgell said, as the butler walked up to him. “You asked to be informed of a particular piece of mail.” The servant held up the silver salver, a single folded piece of paper resting on it.

  At least Oliver still had splendid timing. With a nod, Adam took the paper and retreated to his office. As he broke the wax seal and unfolded the single page, he shut his eyes. He knew the Reverend Loines would be unsuitable for Sophia, because otherwise her father wouldn’t have chosen him.

  But what if Hennessy had found a drop of kindness in his soul? What if Mr. Loines was a perfectly kind, understanding young man who would accept Sophia without question? Was he a monster, a villain, for hoping otherwise? For wanting to be correct in his assessment of the situation, and wanting Sophia to accept that he’d found the only reasonable solution to her troubles?

  He opened his eyes again. “‘Greaves,’” he read to himself, remembering at the last moment to be surprised and thankful that Oliver had bothered to help him at all, “‘I spoke with the Reverend Loines this morning. He is well educated, well spoken, and eager to marry.’”

  That stopped him for a moment. By now in his imaginings the vicar had become a drooling, mouth-breathing ape with damp hands and bulging eyes. Narrowing his own eyes, he resumed the letter.

  “‘In fact, I believe he sees marrying and reforming Sophia as the reason he was called to the Church,’” Haybury went on, and Adam’s consternation began to deepen toward anger. “‘If he were in a more powerful position, I would call him dangerous rather than simply close-minded and tending toward cruelty.

  “‘I have no idea why you’ve involved yourself, Greaves, but from what I’ve been able to decipher, Hennessy has made The Tantalus Club the hostage in this predicament. That makes me rather angry. Do something to resolve the situation, or I will. I intend to remain in Cornwall until the fifth of January. Haybury.’”

  Adam sat back in his chair. The intelligent zealots were the dangerous ones, and he wondered how much sly preaching and criticism it would take to convince Sophia that she deserved to be trodden beneath the feet of her betters. Could he even risk her staying in Loines’s company for the year or so it would take for her agreement with Hennessy to be fulfilled?

  The better question was whether he could stand to see her gone from him for that year. He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. Five minutes of one o’clock—close enough.

  Sophia’s door was closed, and this time he knocked.

  Silence.

  “Sophia,” he said, and opened the door.

  The gray gown she’d worn earlier was on the floor, and automatically his gaze went to her bed. She wasn’t in it, however. Her half-drowned hat lay on the floor as well, but he was more interested in the jewelry box he spied in the middle of her quilted bedspread.

  A cold chill ran up his spine and out to his fingertips as he picked up the box and opened it. Her new necklace lay inside. Setting it aside again, pushing against the cold that was seeping now into his chest, he turned his attention to the folded missive that lay beneath the box.

  She’d written “Adam” on the outside, which at least sounded friendly. At the same time, in the back of his thoughts he knew that if the letter had been truly good news, she would have been in her room to deliver it instead of lurking somewhere else while he read it.

  Adam broke the seal and unfolded the note. “‘My answer is No,’” he read. “‘I know my duty and value my friendships, even if you do not. Sophia.’”

  For what felt like a very long time he stood there, studying the practiced curve of the letters and the elegant swirl of the S in her name. The meaning of the words seeped into him, cold and hopeless. He’d offered her everything, and she’d turned him down and gone to hide somewhere.

  So. Where had she gone? She preferred the orangerie or the library, but if she was attempting to avoid talking to him, she could very well have slipped away to find the Blackwoods. If so, he would be having that confrontation with Keating after all. No one would keep him from Sophia. He had to convince her, because he couldn’t imagine spending the remainder of his life without her.

  Stuffing the note and the necklace into his pocket, he left the room again. Most of his company was at luncheon, but other than looking into the dining room to note that Sophia wasn’t there, he didn’t spare them a thought. Neither Keating nor Camille were present, either, which meant he’d likely been correct and Sophia was somewhere barricaded with them.

  Next he strode into the orangerie, but i
t stood silent. In the library Lord Hayforth sat snoring in a chair, which meant that Sophia would be nowhere in the vicinity. Agitation began to pull at him. He’d been damned patient in all this, but searching a very large house on Christmas Day, of all things, wasn’t improving his mood. It wasn’t like her to hide, anyway.

  The door to the Blackwoods’ bedchamber stood partly open, and he leaned inside. Keating closed a portmanteau and carried it toward the door, while Camille folded one of her dresses and dropped it into another valise. “What are you doing?” he asked, shoving the door open the rest of the way.

  “We’re going,” Keating answered.

  “Keating. No brawling,” Camille said absently, opening a drawer and removing another piece of clothing.

  His aggravation increased by another notch. “She refused my offer, if that makes a difference.”

  “Of course she refused you, idiot.” Keating didn’t move forward, but he didn’t retreat, either.

  Because he’d clearly made a mistake in the way he approached Sophia, he let the insult pass. “Has she been in to see you?”

  Camille looked up when Keating remained silent. “No. But if you made her cry, Your Grace, I’m going to tell my husband to thrash you.”

  And he’d asked them here to keep him from being outnumbered by sycophants and hangers-on. “She actually left me a note,” he said grudgingly. “I’ve been looking for her, but haven’t had any luck.”

  “If she said no, then perhaps you should leave her alone, Greaves.”

  Tilting his head at Keating, Adam took a slow step forward. “I don’t want to leave her alone. I have additional information about her vicar that she needs to know. And I’ve reached the end of my patience with your growling. Do it again. I dare you.”

  “Oh, heavens.” Moving quickly, Camille dropped the clothes she’d been carrying and moved in between him and her husband. “Stop it. And you,” she said, pointing a finger at Adam, “go look in the library or the orangerie. She likes it in there.”