Page 5 of Only a Duke (Ladies Who Dare #6)

“W here in the heavens is that blasted book?”

Louisa straightened from where she peered beneath the last couch in the drawing room.

Not that she ever believed the book would be under the furniture, but not searching there would have bothered her much more.

If she hadn’t looked there, she would have then been forced to endlessly wonder whether she should have looked if only to prove to herself that the book wasn’t there.

No stone left unturned.

Her gaze flicked over every corner of the room with exasperation.

One might think she had gone mad. The room was in utter disarray.

She had overturned all the pillows of every sofa, opened all the drawers, and removed every book from the small bookstand in the corner.

She’d even lifted the top of the pianoforte to peek inside, wondering if it might have somehow found its way there to keep company with the piano strings!

But no.

Nothing.

The betting book was decidedly not in the drawing room. Neither was it anywhere to be found in the kitchen, which had been the first place she’d looked, even though she and the duke had been in there mere hours ago and his hawk eyes probably wouldn’t have missed it.

Louisa scratched her head.

“I should look in Papa’s study next.” She supposed if the book had been “put back in its place” by a servant, it ought to be her father’s study.

If anyone were to open the book to take a peek at its contents, it would be hard not to believe it wasn’t a ledger of some sort, with its log of names and amounts.

In other words, business. Of sorts. And business belonged in the study.

If it wasn’t there, then her only other place to search would be the library.

She glanced at the clock.

Drat.

The clock had already struck three in the afternoon.

A pair of hot, amber eyes set in a cold face filled her mind.

Undeniably attractive.

Stiff as a statue.

Papa would explode if he learned the Duke of Mortimer had been in his daughter’s bedchamber in the dead of night.

And even though her father would not direct his rage at her, it would give her stepmother the opportunity she’d wanted since Louisa debuted—to marry her off.

It was fortunate, then, that no one would ever find out.

I should be more careful.

No one must discover the duke’s presence anywhere near Ashford, either, which meant she must find the book before he made another nighttime visit. It would set any and all Talbots on alert, which was the last thing anyone needed at present.

Speaking of the man, he must be writhing on pins and needles waiting for her note.

But Louisa hadn’t risen until past noon, anchored to a deep sleep.

For whatever reason, quite remarkably, she’d fallen into a slumber the moment her head had landed on the pillow.

That hadn’t happened in such a long time.

Really, she shouldn’t have gotten a wink of rest after finding a man—the duke of all people, and a mortal family enemy of her family—snooping in her chamber.

Yet, she had slept as though she had years to make up for. And she probably had.

Might it be because of the warm honeyed milk? The lingering scent of the duke? Or had the stimulation of last night exhausted her to the point where her brain had shut down?

She couldn’t say.

All of them could have played a role. But was it too much to hope that sleep would come easy again tonight? If it did manage to happen, then she could rule out the duke as a contributing factor. But if not, could she ask him to sneak into her chamber again?

What are you even thinking, Louisa?

She shook her head at her musings and strode to her father’s study. She’d best locate the book first. Not only for the duke, but for herself and the other heiresses. Theodosia had entrusted her with the safekeeping of the thing, so misplacing it was out of the question.

She stopped in the middle of her father’s sacred space, her shoulders slumping when her gaze landed on his messy desk and all the cabinets filled with ledgers atop ledgers. What’s more, several piles of books were stacked on the floor beside the desk.

This is going to take a while.

Another small tendril of guilt curled in her belly. How could she have misplaced the betting book of all books? She must have been in a fit of complete senselessness!

Lawks. “Might as well start at the desk and then work my way outward.” She harbored no doubt that if she didn’t find that book today, there would be a man in her chamber tonight.

And while she might indulge in ridiculous thoughts about the situation, she still couldn’t have a repetition of last night.

“Well! Let’s get to it, then.” She sprang to work, lifting each book on her father’s desk, not happy until she had touched every single one to confirm that it wasn’t the betting book. She didn’t want to miss it because she hadn’t been thorough or paid enough attention. Again.

Finally she cast the desk one last dirty look and plopped onto the chair to survey the room at large. Servants wouldn’t haphazardly clean the study or disrupt the flow of her father’s mess. If they hadn’t placed the book on the desk, she didn’t think they’d place it anywhere else.

However, she couldn’t not search every inch of this room. It would drive her to Bedlam. It would also be yet another reason to lay awake at night.

Louisa let out a begrudging sigh, her gaze drifting to the tall windows overlooking the sweeping gardens. Her brows furrowed as she caught sight of a man standing amidst the lush greenery of blooming roses and neatly trimmed box hedges, observing his surroundings.

Louisa blinked at the sight.

Why did that rigid posture look so familiar? She squinted, her eyes raking over every inch of the man. Broad shoulders. Long legs. Hah! That was because he was familiar!

Mortimer!

Lawks. There was no mistaking his build.

She leaped to her feet and strode over to the window, peering hard through the glass. Was he... dressed as a gardener? He might be wearing the clothes of one, and they might be well-worn and dulled by sun and soil, and they might even have belonged to a gardener, but they did not belong to him .

Louisa suddenly laughed.

So much for waiting patiently until she sent word to him. She should have known! That man wasn’t capable of standing aside without lifting a finger. Given the lengths he had gone to sneaking into her house, this could be considered almost nothing.

But it wasn’t good either. What if someone recognized him and told her father?

No, no, no. This wouldn’t do!

How can the man be so blasted confident?

He didn’t look anything like a gardener.

No amount of humble clothing could hide the fact that he was a man born of station.

A high station. He stood too straight, too assured, more like a man accustomed to giving orders than one who spent his days bent over flowerbeds.

Authority bled from every one of his pores.

If he wanted to look the part, he should at the very least try to act the part.

Dig up a plant, Duke!

Her stepmother ran the household with an iron fist. She received reports from her servants about all the other servants. This gardener would be reported, Louisa was sure.

She strode to the door, intent on sending a duke home.

She would toss him bodily off her property if she had to.

In fact, the picture that formed in her mind held a wealth of appeal.

But as her fingers curled around the doorknob, a question stirred in her mind, unbidden. One Theodosia had asked her recently.

When would you not marry a man?

Louisa pulled a face. Right. She wouldn’t marry a fortune hunter, a criminal, or a man with too much power. She needed to stay strong.

She yanked the door open.

Now was certainly not the time to be thinking about men—least of all a duke. Especially one who still oozed power, despite dressing in unattractive, outdoor clothing.

*

Oliver’s gaze tracked over the garden, the house, and the little boy who exited the side doors of one of the drawing rooms. This must be the Talbot heir, Lady Louisa’s brother, the future duke.

Ah, to be young and still at such an age. Oliver could scarcely recall such a time of his own life. Of course, his father hadn’t allowed him much of a childhood. He certainly didn’t recall himself ever possessing such innocent, rosy cheeks when he was young. This must be because of her presence.

His gaze returned to the house.

The young lord would probably not give him a second look, so he needn’t worry. He had a man at the front of the house as well, so he would know if any servants or Lady Louisa left the house. There had been no movement so far.

He wished he could have disguised himself as a footman and been inside the residence.

But servants were quite quick-witted amongst themselves.

He’d have been caught in no time. A gardener, on the other hand, was a bit easier to overlook.

In fact, the moment Oliver had learned of the duchess’s possible involvement in the organization he was hunting, he’d placed one of his men here in the household as a groundskeeper. Today, he’d simply taken his place.

He hadn’t actually been able to get any of his men inside the house—a pity. The duchess was meticulous when it came to hiring new servants for their residence. It almost made him surprised that she’d been so lax with the gardens. No one had questioned his presence yet.

The boy’s eyes landed on him, narrowed, before he strode straight over to him. Oliver didn’t so much as twitch.

Interesting.

The boy stopped before him, craning his neck to meet his gaze. “Who are you and what are you doing here, sir?”

“What do you mean, young master?” Oliver inched the corner of his mouth upward. The boy was sharp. “I’m the gardener.”

“You don’t look like a gardener.”

“Oh?” Oliver said, half amused. “And what does the young master think I look like?”