Page 128 of Dukes for Dessert

“Excellent,” she clipped, reaching out to pick at a sliver from the edge of the desk. “I don’t want to keep you from courting the duchess’s daughter, so if you’ll just state your business, I’ll be on my way.”

His lips twisted into a grimace at the thought of the vapid lady Jessica and her militant mother. “They’re courting me, more like. I’d rather leash my life to a leathered old sow.”

“Even with her excessive dowry?” she asked, lifting a skeptical brow.

“You forget, my lady, that I’ve a pirate’s hoard of treasure, and no one’s whim but my own to spend it on. I need a debutant’s dowry like the lake district needs more rain.”

“Oh.” She blinked rapidly. “But I’ve been told your estate and finances are in ruin.”

“Come now, Countess, do you believe everything the gossip mill has to offer? Besides, why restore a defunct ruin when I could spend my ill-gotten gains on myself rather than a legacy I’m not likely to sire.”

Though his response seemed to trouble her, she still refused to lift her eyes above his cravat. “I suppose your answer in that regard shouldn’t surprise me. So, if you please, would you tell me why you’ve summoned me, and we can both return to the business of the day.”

“That very business is why I’d like to speak with you,” he said. “I awoke curious as to exactly how you plan to spirit poor Penelope and her lover to America. And also to offer my assistance, such as it is.”

“Why would you do that?” she asked suspiciously.

Because Arthur Weller was a dangerous man to cross. Because the conscience he thought he’d buried whispered that her broken trust in him was a fault he needed to work to regain. Because something about her overrode every selfish instinct he’d carefully cultivated over the decades.

He could say none of this out loud.

“Because, dear lady, I cannot do my part until yours is done, and impatience is chief among my vast assortment of flaws.”

“I see.” His answer seemed to mollify her. “Well, the plan is a simple one, really. Once we pull into Gare de Lyon, I’ve a contact that will conduct us in his coach to Le Havre where they’re booked on a steamship to America under pseudonyms.”

“I’m impressed.” Sebastian examined her with different eyes. She was so shrewd for someone so gentle. A ruthless mind did not often maintain such a soft heart, encased in all that exquisite loveliness.

Lord but she transfixed him.

“You said ‘us’ when discussing the journey to Le Havre. Does that mean you’re going with them?”

“Yes.”

The idea of such distance curdled like bad cream in his gut. “To America?”

“No, to the ship. I want to see them off safely, but I also want to come back for Adrienne. She doesn’t know that she’ll be alone in this world once her husband and only child are gone.”

“What if Weller does something to subvert this elopement?” he asked. “Do you have contingencies?”

“Of course.” She rolled her eyes, crossing defensive arms over her chest, doing lovely things to her decolletage. “It will be night when we pull into Paris, so in the unlikely event that Arthur Weller disengages himself from his mistress to prevent us from leaving the train, I suppose I’ll just have to create a diversion.”

“That, at least, will be simple, as I’m certain you’re aware you’re one of the most diverting creatures on the planet.” He reached toward a wayward ringlet that’d come loose from her coiffure and fallen in front of her eyes.

She jerked her head back before he could touch her and retreated several steps. “Please don’t.”

His hand froze mid-air. Several dark suspicions swirled about in his chest, ones that condemned all those of his sex into a lake of eternal hellfire. A fire he’d often the mind to stoke himself. “Veronica, why can you not look at me?”

“I am looking at you.”

“My throat does not count. Look at me.”

Her brows knit together, and even in the dimness her cheeks flared a color vibrant enough to rival her dress. “Do not presume to tell me where to look or what to do, sir. You are not my keeper nor my master.”

“On the contrary, my lady,” he murmured. “I am but your humble servant.”

Her gaze latched onto the desk against which his hip now rested. “Are we finished? Or was there something else to discuss?”

“Something has driven you to a pique,” he observed. “Was it Weller?”