Page 8

CHAPTER 7

“C ome in!”

Philip Oakley stuck his head through the doorway. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Harlington,” Duncan acknowledged his friend with a nod, as dipped his quill in the inkpot, “as my note said, I can’t join you tonight, I’m busy.”

“That’s exactly why I’m here,” his friend answered, dropping himself into the chair opposite him. “How can I help?”

Duncan hastily gathered the papers together. “It’s nothing I can’t handle myself, Harls. I’m certain you and Fairhaven can survive a night without me.”

“What’s really going on, Blackmoore?” Philip crossed his arms. “Sure, there are the daily responsibilities we can’t avoid, but we always make sure to finish our significant work early in the week to-”

“What’s your point, Harlington?” Duncan mindlessly twirled the quill in his fingers.

Philip leaned forward. “My point is that I’ve known you twenty or so years now, and I know when you’re not yourself.”

Duncan mindlessly tapped his finger on the desk. “And are these just your observations, or does Fairhaven agree with you too?”

The marquess let out a snort. “I don’t think he’s even noticed that I have yet to arrive at the club.”

Duncan couldn't help but smile, stretching his arms above his head. “Don’t you sometimes wish we were more like him?”

“Don’t try to change the subject, old boy.” Philip pointed a finger at him before his eyes widened in sudden realization.

Both men dove for Duncan’s notes. One shove, grunt, and yelp later, Duncan secured his papers while Philip looked up at him from the floor.

“Blackmoore, please tell me you didn’t...” His friend looked up in dismay. Jumping to his feet, he leaned on the desk and whispered, “Did you get someone pregnant?”

“What?” Duncan bellowed, “Of course not, dimwit!”

His friend screwed up his face. “Then what on earth could possibly have you in this state?”

Duncan rubbed his temples.

Who else can I trust if not Harlington and Fairhaven?

With only some hesitance, Duncan slammed the notes down on the desk, nodding for Harlington to take a look.

Philip snatched one of the sheets and squinted to read his scribbles. “Lord Bayshear... too old? Viscount Eastglen... possible?” He flashed Duncan a look. “This is doing absolutely nothing to assuage my concerns as I somehow have even more questions now, old chap.”

“All in due time,” Duncan assured him, grabbing two glasses from the decanting table with one hand and a bottle of gin with the other.

With the conversation grease sliding down his throat, Duncan finally managed to explain the favor he owed Lady Penelope and how he was working to pay it back.

“So, these lists...” Philip gathered the papers together once again and gestured to the other stack on his desk, “...and these newspapers are your research? Any luck?”

“I have two or three candidates in mind.”

“Do you?” Philip turned the pages over in his hands. “Because it seems to me you’ve written something terrible down about all of these gentlemen.”

“Naturally, no suitor is perfect.” Duncan shrugged.

“And is that the only reason you’re being so severe in your assessments?” His friend raised an eyebrow.

“Of course.” Duncan downed the final swig in his glass. “If I’m going to pay Lady Pen back, I must do so in full.”

Duncan glanced at the clock, which told him it was a quarter past eight., “I know Fairhaven’s quite adept at entertaining himself, but he’ll surely be missing you by now.”

“First the dowager duchess kicks me out without a crumb for breakfast,” Philip lazily pushed himself up from the chair, “and now you’re sending me away without a bite of dinner.”

Duncan rolled his eyes. “Don’t act like you aren’t pleased to be leaving me behind.”

“Then come along!” Philip threw an arm around him. “You could conduct your research ‘in the field’ and report your findings to Lady Pen.”

“Lady Penelope,” Duncan corrected him.

“But ‘Lady Pen’ is much easier to sa-”

“Lady Penelope,” Duncan said one last time.

Harlington acquiesced and bid Duncan a good night as the latter returned to his place at his desk. But the former lingered just long enough in the doorway to say, “You don’t have to worry about sharing your latest puzzle, Blackmoore.” He winked. “She’s all yours.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Duncan called after him but to no avail.

* * *

Penelope set her book aside and rubbed her eyes. As she reached over to put out her candle, the clock in the corner told her it was half past nine.

It had been a good night so far, although His Grace hadn’t joined them for dinner, at least Mother did—possibly an effect of getting her fill of fresh air.

Tomorrow, I must remember to thank the dowager duchess and the duke for persuading her.

She inhaled as she got ready to blow out the candle, but a knock on the door interrupted her. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

It couldn’t be him again, could it?

Penelope shook her head. For yes, His Grace was a rather unconventional man, but he wasn’t a halfwit by any means.

He isn’t dense enough to come back here, is he?”

But to be sure, she threw on her robe this time before answering the door.

“Your Grace?” she gasped, only opening it partially. “What is it this time?”

The duke stood before her with papers tucked under his arm and a small lamp in his free hand. He looked left and right before whispering, “Get dressed, we have much to discuss.”

Penelope considered slamming the door shut and telling him to return at a more sensible hour. Her eyes returned to the papers under his arm once more and she wondered if they had to do with their secret undertaking.

“Where are we going?” She raised an eyebrow.

“At this hour? Nowhere,” he answered matter-of-factly. “But I’m worried that if I touch anything else in your room, you’ll have it thrown out or sent away, so let’s use the library instead.”

She looked down at her robe before nodding, “All right, Your Grace. I shall get changed at once and meet you there.”

“But then you’ll have to change again once we’re done.” He shook his head. “Just throw on any old cloak or shawl, and let’s go.”

Soon, the pair were quietly inching their way down the darkened hall, led by the small lamp His Grace carried.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” she whispered to him.

“We’ll be fine,” he assured her. “The servants are already in their quarters, and our mothers went to bed almost an hour ago.”

Even so, Penelope chewed her lip nervously, her eyes flitting to every object that loomed towards them out of the darkness. At last, they reached the stairs, but even these were only barely visible in the diminished candlelight.

“Here.” He handed her the papers to hold so that he could free up his right arm, which he then proceeded to offer her. “I’ll help you down.”

She took his arm but then dropped it almost immediately with a gasp.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered, the concern in his voice evident.

“N-Nothing.” She cleared her throat. “It was nothing.”

Penelope suddenly found herself grateful for the lack of light because at least he wouldn’t notice how hard she was blushing at that moment.

With a deep breath, she took his arm again.

Even though she knew what to expect this time, she still couldn’t believe how muscular he was. Hidden beneath his soft linen long-sleeve was an arm that felt as solid as a steel beam. As they slowly descended the steps, she caught herself thinking about what else he was hiding under his shirt and immediately pinched herself to stop.

“Ouch,” she whispered, just as they reached the end of the steps.

He glanced at her, but she silently waved a hand to indicate that it was nothing important. She dropped his arm once more as they crossed the hall.

When they finally stood outside the library’s door, she pointed to the light seeping out from underneath it, raising her eyebrows in concern.

To her surprise, he chuckled at this and reached for the doorknob. No one was inside, but all of the lamps had been lit and a stack of newspapers waited for them on the center table.

Even though she had never entered their library before, she knew for a fact, that the furniture had been rearranged because at either end of the center table were the two armchairs that he had tried to put in her room.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“What?” he smirked. “You didn’t want them, so I found them a new home. Or would you prefer that we remain standing for the entirety of this discussion?"

She rolled her eyes and dropped into one of the chairs. “Speaking of which, I suppose we might as well get started now. What did you want to speak about, Your Grace?”

Settling into the other armchair, the duke set down the small lamp he had been carrying and gestured for her to hand the papers back to him. She obliged.

His Grace spread them out on the center table and leaned back. “After some careful research, I have narrowed down your list of prospects, Lady Pen.”

Lifting one of the sheets, he explained, “Here are your best three choices.”

Penelope extended a hand to take it, but he quickly pulled away and added, “But you’re not ready for them just yet.”

“What do you me-”

“If you go straight to them whilst unprepared, well, you’ll be rejected outright.” He nodded to the remaining sheets on the center table. “Instead, you are to practice winning over these gentlemen first.”

Penelope let out a mortified gasp. “Heavens no! I shall never become a wily, pleasure-seeking- er, whatever you are!” she sputtered.

“Thank you for rewarding my hard work with insults.” His Grace rolled his eyes. “But I didn’t say you’d have to seduce these men or whatever else you’re thinking, just use them as practice. Once you’ve mastered the technique, you’ll be able to try your hand at any of the main three I have in mind for you.”

“And those main three are?”

“None of your business for now.” He wagged a finger at her. “Focus on improving your flirting technique and maintaining your composure. Only then can I safely reveal their identities.”

He slid the remaining papers towards her.

With a sigh, she began skimming through them. To her surprise, there were only five names on these sheets; the remaining pages were a detailed summary of their families, interests, and traits.

“How did you even learn all of this?” she asked incredulously.

“The usual way,” he answered vaguely.

Penelope narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. “Oh sure, I think I remember reading in the Herald how...” She brought the paper closer to her face. “Lord Steepwharf’s favorite fruit is the orange.”

“His sister happened to mention it,” shrugged the duke.

Penelope shook her head. “How much of this information did you glean from your trysts and exploits?”

The duke smirked amusedly at her. “Are you sure you want me to answer that?”

She averted her gaze, earning a laugh from him.

“I’m afraid you greatly overestimate the extent of my trysts,” he chuckled. “I simply make it a point to observe the people around me, so don’t worry your pretty head, Lady Pen. Much of the knowledge and tidbits in your hands right now was gathered through my own research.”

“And you would now have me study all of this?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Yes, not all at once, of course.” He stifled a yawn. “But since you mentioned Steepwharf, I suppose we could start with him and his family.”

“This is all very thorough and generous of you, Your Grace.” Penelope found herself stifling a yawn of her own, thanks to him. “But with all due respect, I don’t know if this will be much help with actually sharpening my flirting ‘technique’ as you called it.”

“Do you really believe that or are you simply looking for an excuse to get out of studying?” he teased, somewhat accusatorily.

“Why would I bother to get out of it?” she laughed. “You’re not my tutor, so you can’t exactly punish me for failing a test.”

“Well... let’s agree to disagree on that point.” He propped his head up with an elbow.

Her face grew hot. Looking down at the documents once more, adding, “Yes, well, even so. Isn’t flirting supposed to be spur-of-the-moment as opposed to well... this ?”

“Baby steps, Lady Pen.” He smiled. “You’re trying to run before you’ve even learned to crawl. The more you practice your technique, the less you’ll need to study. But seeing as your technique right now is—frankly—abysmal, you shall have to rely on your studies as a crutch.”

“Abysmal?” she scoffed. “Such a confident assessment when you’ve never even observed me flirt.”

He pushed himself up from his armchair and walked to the back corner of the room, reaching for a water jug.

“What was it that you said to me when we first met?” he mused, filling up two glasses. “Ah yes, 'I am—unfortunately—all too familiar with your sort’.” He winked.

He returned with two glasses of water and offered her one.

“You truly are a dangerous man, Your Grace,” she sighed, accepting her glass.

His eyes lit up with intrigue. “How so?”

“You’re observant, intelligent, and crafty,” came Penelope’s matter-of-fact reply. “It’s no wonder everyone says to be wary of you.”

“By ‘everyone’, I presume you mean the Earl of Graystone,” he scoffed, moving his glass in circles to swish the water that remained inside.

“He’s just one of several, actually,” Penelope huffed. “As such, there’s no reason to single him out.”

“Yes, well, it isn’t wise to believe everything one hears,” the duke reminded her drily. “Graystone might have said such things to accomplish his own agenda.”

“Jerry would never!” Penelope snapped.

“Is that so?” The duke leaned forward. “I say he would , especially since he’d be encouraged by the way you—not only entertained, but—reciprocated his advances.”

Penelope’s jaw dropped. “He wasn’t flirting, and neither was I!” She set her glass down on the center table. “If you actually made friends with the women around you instead of only using them for pleasure, the bond that Graystone and I share wouldn’t be so difficult for you to grasp.”

He tapped his chin contemplatively. “If that wasn’t how you flirt, then prove it. Flirt with me now.”

“Absolutely not, you lunati-”

“Let me see what we’re working with,” the duke egged her on. “First, you called my initial assessment of your technique inaccurate and now you claim that I can’t distinguish flirting from friendly banter.” He lowered his eyes. “So go on, then. Show me.”

Penelope could hardly believe that she was agreeing to this. But determined to prove him wrong, she set aside her discomfort and pressed onward.

“It’s good to see you here, Your Grace,” she began with a smile. “Interested in a little... fun?”

Clearly amused, he leaned forward in his seat, his sultry eyes met her gaze head-on. “Perhaps...” he asked in a low growl, “What did you have in mind for me?”

Taken aback by his bold rejoinder, Penelope faltered. “Well, I- It's-”

His sultry gaze disappeared as he laughed at her agitation and tutted, “You didn’t even last ten seconds.”

Unable to take any more of this, Penelope jumped up from her seat and sprinted towards the door. But the duke was faster and managed to grab her wrist just as she reached for the handle.

“Wait!” he said, the warmth of his hand wrapping around her wrist, “it wasn’t that bad, you just need to work on keeping your composure.”

But Penelope couldn’t even bring herself to speak, let alone face him again, so she attempted to silently shake her wrist free.

He pulled her back towards him and a gasp escaped her lips as she found herself mere inches away from his face. Shadows and flickering candlelight danced across his face, drawing her eyes to his lips.

His other hand found its way to her waist, stirring up butterflies in her stomach. The corners of his lips turned upwards as he slowly closed what little distance remained between them.

For a moment, Penelope let her eyelids drop, bracing herself for the collision. But thankfully, her better judgment won over and she shoved him away.

“Now that was much, much better,” he smirked.

Penelope opened her mouth to protest, but a knock at the door startled them both.

“Duncan, is that you in there?” the dowager duchess’ muffled voice came through the door.