Page 19 of A Gamble on the Duke (The Gambling Dukes #4)

TEN

Catherine

“And where exactly are we going?”

I had done my best not to sound too suspicious—but then, this was odd. Like, seriously odd.

Alfred had not said anything about where we were going, only that as soon as we were done with breakfast, that I should prepare myself for an outing.

An outing. What did that mean?

“You don’t need to know where we’re going,” said Alfred lightly, turning the page of his newspaper behind which he was hidden.

“Yes, I do,” I said firmly.

The newspaper descended. He did not look amused. “Why?”

“Because…because I may need more sturdy shoes,” I said, as though there was anywhere in London that was rocky or mountainous. “Or an umbrella.”

Alfred’s smile was brief. “You will not be spending much time outside.”

He disappeared again behind the newspaper .

My curiosity prickled. Not spending much time outside? Well that was all to the good, it was freezing today—but that still gave me almost no details whatsoever about where we were heading.

Which was irritating. And alluring.

I swallowed down the last of my toast and marmalade and sipped my tea, trying not to think about the hours I had spent last night lying in bed, thinking about the duke who slept just down the corridor.

Had he been thinking about me? Had he wondered whether I would creep into his bedchamber again?

This time not prompted by a nightmare…but the hope of a dream?

I put my teacup down. Honestly, Catherine! Pull yourself together.

The man—the duke had taken a gamble on you, and that was all. The moment they had managed to get this Earl of Tuxford to become a member of their little club, you’ll be out of this delightful townhouse and back in your cold lodgings, attempting to find sufficient money to keep your shop going.

Treat this as…a holiday. Yes, a holiday.

A holiday from reason.

“Are you finished?”

The newspaper had lowered again, and Alfred was looking at me with polite curiosity.

Perhaps that was the most galling thing. Sometimes he looked at me like…like he could not wait to take all my clothes off. And sometimes he looked at me like I was a maiden aunt who had wandered into the billiards room in search of a ball of wool.

It was infuriating.

“Yes, I suppose so,” I said calmly, trying not to reveal just how annoying the man was. The last thing I wanted was for him to get the idea that he could get underneath my skin.

Underneath my clothes, yes, but?—

“Excellent. We are running a little late,” said Alfred smoothly, folding his newspaper and placing it by his plate.

“Late?” I glanced at the longcase clock in the breakfast room. It was only just gone nine o’clock. “Late for what—I did not know we were aiming for a particular time!”

“Come on,” said the Duke of Kineallen, as though I was the one hindering him from his work. “There’s a Gambling Dukes gathering for luncheon at Lilah’s, and we have much to see in the meantime.”

Much to see?

“What do you mean, much to?—”

“The carriage is waiting,” Alfred said, more than a little severely, as though I was personally wasting his coachman’s time. “Do you want a pelisse?”

I definitely did. The air was freezing as we stepped outside his townhouse, my breath blossoming in the air even though it was past nine. Children screamed with delight as they raced along the icy pavements, and there was a warm grin on Alfred’s face as he beheld them.

“Tykes,” he said as he gave a laugh. “Come on, in you get.”

I don’t suppose it would have been too much to ask for him to treat me like an actual lady. That had been one of the reasons why I had enjoyed the dinner last night so much. The Earl of Tuxford, and the Viscount Kirekwall, and all the other guests—they had treated me like a lady.

Like someone worth knowing.

But Alfred just treated me like…well. Like a woman he ha d pleasured with his mouth, and then somehow got it all out of his system.

It was maddening.

Thankfully the Kineallen carriage was equipped with blankets and a pair of hot bricks, both of which Alfred gave to me without a second thought.

I blinked as I sat down. “Oh, but what about you?”

“What about me?” Alfred asked politely as he sat opposite me.

I held out one of the warming bricks. “I already have?—”

“They’re not for me, they’re for you,” came the quiet reply. “I didn’t want you to get cold.”

“Oh. I see.”

And I didn’t, not really, as the carriage lurched forward.

This man, he was a complete puzzle. Imperious duke at some times, warm and affectionate in others, I had struggled to believe some of the tales that his butler had told me about how Alfred—how the Duke of Kineallen had cared for his servants over the years.

And yet none of those stories rang false.

When I had recounted just a few of them to the Earl of Tuxford yesterday, I had observed not the guest, but the host.

And Alfred had been embarrassed.

Not because the stories were not true. But because they were.

What sort of a man was he?

“We’re almost there,” said Alfred, cutting into my thoughts.

“And where is ‘there’ exactly?” I asked curiously, glancing out of the window and not recognizing where we were.

That was the trouble with London. Every street looked so different, you could be fifty yards from a very familiar place and still not know it.

“Near Kensington,” Alfred said. “Here will be fine.”

The last few words were spoken not to me, not really, but to the driver. The carriage slowed to a trot and then a walk and then juddered to a halt, the horses blowing in the cool air.

“We’re here,” said Alfred, stepping forward as the door opened.

Where here was, I could not tell. I was far too distracted by the figure who was now standing in the doorway and holding out his hand.

The last time I had taken Alfred’s hand…well, the encounter had ended with his head between my thighs. Though I did not think that was likely to occur this time.

More’s the pity.

“Thank you,” I managed to say as he helped me out of the carriage and onto the pavement. “Where are we?”

It appeared to be a normal street. Just a normal street, with normal buildings. The houses looked rich, of course, but honestly that was not a huge surprise. I couldn’t imagine Alfred, the Duke of Kineallen, taking me to the East End.

“Just a friend’s home. It is open for visitors, very select visitors, for a small price,” Alfred said with a smile.

And he offered me his arm.

I stared at the limb in perhaps what was not quite as positive a reaction as he might have hoped.

“What?” Alfred said defensively.

I gaped, hardly able to believe it. When I spoke, it was in a hushed tone. “You…you’ve never offered me your arm before.”

Which was ridiculous. This was surely less intimate than what I had allowed him to do just two nights ago !

But somehow, it was on a par. To take my hand in the crook of his arm—it was what courting couples did in public. True courting couples. Engaged couples. Married couples.

It was not something we had ever done.

When I lifted my gaze to Alfred’s, he was—goodness, was he flushing?

“I just thought—never mind,” he said gruffly, dropping his arm to his side. “Forget it.”

But I couldn’t. It would be impossible for me to ignore such a moment of vulnerability.

“A friend’s house, then,” I said cheerfully, taking his arm and stepping forward. “I’m guessing he allows people to view it because it’s very beautiful? Filled with priceless antiques?”

“Something like that.”

Perhaps I should have guessed that it was nothing like that at all by the way that Alfred was smiling, but I was so attracted to the man it was difficult to think anything when I was this close to him.

It became even more difficult when we stepped into the house.

“Oh…oh my goodness,” I breathed.

It was full of pottery.

That made it sound ordinary. It was full of pottery—plates and pots and vases and sculptures.

Some were ancient, some were modern, some were in the Italian style and used the dark rich red clay parts of that land were famed for, and some used the dark black of other European countries.

Some were glazed and some were painted and some were raw, left in their natural state to dazzle and be admired as they came from the kiln.

And we were just standing in the hallway .

“Do you like it?”

When I looked at Alfred in wonder, it was to see him smiling, to see a hope in his eyes that he had impressed.

No. Not that he had impressed.

That he had delighted.

“This is incredible,” I breathed. “What a collection!”

“A small portion of it, yes. The widowed Mrs. Laura Bessington has been renowned for her collection of pottery for quite some time,” Alfred said lightly, allowing himself to be dragged by my footsteps toward a plinth upon which stood a most stupendous vase.

“She inherited the ancient, and has continued the collection by purchasing the modern.”

And some of it was most modern. The designs, almost romantic like the poets. I could see the same influences, spot the signs.

Wait a moment.

“Did you say this is only a small portion of it?” I asked.

Alfred beamed—he actually beamed. “The entire house is full of it, and we have the place to ourselves until midday. Care to explore?”

Care to explore?

Warm affection rushed through me as I nodded. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me?—”

“Yes I do. You are the one who organized all this,” I said, hardly able to believe it. “Come, look at this.”

I had grasped his hand in mine this time, not bothering with the crook of his arm, and Alfred grinned as I pulled him toward the vase on the plinth.

“See here? The marks, there—that’s used by a particularly fine tool, and can only be done when the clay is almost dry,” I said, trying not to allow my excitement to overwhelm me.

“And here?” Another plinth, and this time a beautiful ornament, painted in bright colors.

“See how the cracks have formed part of the piece? I expect it was made in a place with low humidity.”

“Low humidity?” Alfred nodded slowly. “So it dried out?”