Page 31 of Wedded to the Cruel Duke

“I am really,reallyglad you came to see me today, Whiteson,” she sighed softly. “It just gets a little lonely at times…”

The cat rolled over and looked pointedly at her, as if to say, “Well, why don’t you dosomethingabout it?”

Phoebe just wrinkled her nose. “I suppose it is much simpler because you, my dear, are acat, and you may come and go as you please…”

Whiteson let out a miffed sort of sound, as if he refused to believe her.

“…while I must stay here and abide by the rules,” she finished. “Now, do not look at me like that. You cannot possibly—”

She trailed off and looked at the low wall that separated the two estates. That night, it had hardly taken much effort to scale the wall, even in the darkness.

I suppose I could…

Phoebe shook her head.Of course not! I really should not!

After all, she was already a Marchioness and Marchionesses simply did not scale walls to visit their families. No, a Marchioness was supposed to do the proper thing and walk up to the front door, preferably having sent in her calling card earlier in the morning to inform her family that she intended to visit…

“But then again,” she murmured, more to herself than to Whiteson. “It should not take me so long to visit. Nobody would even notice my absence, right?”

Whiteson let out a soft meow before it rolled back up on its feet once more. It nudged Phoebe’s hand in an affectionate way—well, as much affection as an independent feline like Whiteson could muster—and then, it was on its way.

Phoebe could only watch as it effortlessly scaled the wall and in mere moments, it was running through the grounds of Townsend House once more.

“And what has the Marchioness been doing this morning?”

Huxley and O’Malley looked at each other as their master questioned them within the confines of his study. Charles was seated behind his large oak desk, his fingers folded into a sort of steeple as he watched them both with a steely expression, daring them to lie or miss out on a single detail.

“Her Ladyship spent most of the morning out in the gardens, milord,” O’Malley reported. “She sat on the swings…”

“…and she seemed to be petting a cat,” Huxley finished.

“A cat.”

Both men nodded.

“A black creature of the feline persuasion, milord,” the butler confirmed.

Charles recalled the first time he had met her, when he had been doing his nightly patrol of Wentworth Park. She had managed to scale the wall that divided his estate from that of her family and crawl right into the trapdoor in search of a creature she had called Whiteson.

But the cat in her arms had been asblackas coal.

In all honesty, he hardly understood what went on in Phoebe’s head most of the time. Just this morning, she had flung open the curtains in her rooms and decided to do the same thing to therestof the manor, after he had let it be known that they were not to be openedunder any circumstances.

Still, he could not help but agree to her request. He had already posted more footmen to watch the perimeters of the estate and now, with her spending the greater part of the morning outdoors, the whole manor was in an uproar.

His wife seemed to just court danger at every turn, but it was his responsibility to make sure that she was safe.

“I suppose that she is merely accustomed to spending her time in the gardens,” he muttered, more to himself than to his staff.

“Should we have more men to watch Her Ladyship, milord?”

Charles had initially thought of it and stopped. If Phoebe found out that he had men watching her, that would only lead to more questions. The more men he assigned to her, the more likely she was going to find out about it.

“I do not think that is necessary,” he finally said slowly. “Just the ones we have currently assigned to her will suffice.”

“As you wish, milord.”

With nothing more to say, he waved them off and went back to perusing the documents before him, adopting the air of a man who was too busy to deal with anything else.