Page 233 of Dukes for Dessert

Adam grinned to himself at the sound of children playing outside, but did not turn around to look out of the open window. He was using the natural light to reread and organize his old notes in order to create a plan for next season, and he needed to make haste. Once he finished, he had to duck back into the library to find his last few cherished volumes before the castle footman came to take all the books away.

He might have finished last night, if he hadn’t got lost in an old favorite he’d already read at least four times.

A peal of infectious laughter floated in with the rays of sun. It didn’t sound like a child. Adam twisted in his seat. It sounded like—

Miss Quincy.

Of course it was. Her kissable lips and ubiquitous presence meant nothing. Yet he could not look away.

She was trundling a large iron hoop up the steep road with impressive ease. A little boy and a little girl chased after her with shining eyes, like comets caught in the orbit of a star. He knew how they felt. Miss Quincy had a way of lighting up a room with her mere presence. She was fearless and fascinating, game for anything at any moment. Be that spontaneous romps with children, or breakneck phaeton rides courtesy of “le Ducs, actually.”

He rolled his eyes at the thought of the fortuneteller. What balderdash! Miss Quincy didn’t believe in signs and neither did Adam. He shouldn’t have allowed “five golden rings” to spook him. An earring wasn’t a message from beyond. Neither was a bracelet, no matter how many gold bands it contained. Those were coincidences and nothing more.

His lips twisted wryly. It was a good thing she was trundling hoops made of iron, or thanks to Madame Edna, Adam’s overactive imagination would think those were “rings,” too.

The only reason that poppycock had got under his skin was because he was looking for a wife. As a duke, Adam had the responsibility to secure a respected and competent duchess, with whom he was to produce an heir and a spare to inherit the duchy. Only a very specific sort of young lady would bring honor to the title, aid his political career, and provide the right social opportunities for his future heirs.

That demure paragon certainly would not be whooping delightedly as her iron hoop flew down a mountainside at nine o’clock in the morning.

And yet.

Adam flipped to the final page of his planning journal and added a new heading to the top:

* * *

Required Qualities for my Future Wife

* * *

He dipped his quill in fresh ink and added:

* * *

Friendly

Fearless

Good with children

* * *

There. He would know he’d found the right bride when she not only possessed the proper decorum and feminine accomplishments expected by the ton, but also displayed the sort of personality Adam hoped to share the rest of his life with.

Swinton strode into the dining room bearing a silver tray.

Adam quickly shut his journal.

“Crown secrets my lord?” Swinton eased down into the chair opposite. “Or penning a love note to a future duchess?”

“Neither,” Adam bit out. The heat flushing his cheeks probably wasn’t helping. “Where were you when Miss Quincy and I spent the afternoon alone in the library?”

Swinton held out the tray of correspondence with wide-eyed innocence. “Guarding the door with my life, Your Grace. ’Tis my sworn duty never to abandon my post.”

Adam arched a brow. “Even if a certain next-door maid happened to also be inside that closed door for the entirety of the afternoon?”

Swinton leaped up from the chair and fled the room without a backward glance.

Adam shook his head. When he’d purchased this cottage and installed his lifelong butler as master whilst Adam was away, it had occurred to him to wonder what Swinton was doing in Adam’s absence. If there had been only one social call during the entire summer a duke was in residence, there would have been even less for a butler to attend to without him.