“Oh, well,” she sighed, pursing her lips to a kiss, “since you’re so fetching…how about tuppence?”
He recoiled. Not that she wasn’t pretty, but… “I do not tup my household maids.” Or anyone else, but that was by the by, and the only female in his sights had remained closeted within the safety of her chambers all day.
Hiding.
Even refusing to dine with them this evening, despite the agreeable and lively conversation that had taken place on that first night.
“Worth a go, Yer Grace. In for a penny, in for a pounding, I always say,” themaidreplied jovially. “And at least yer butler ain’t so buttoned up.”
She strolled away with a twitch of hip and Casper gaped. That might explain the recent change he’d perceived in the customarily impeccable Copperhouse – awry buttons, tousled hair and a less than rigorous attitude.
It seemed the new inhabitants of this household were tearing the Rothwell world asunder and he stomped into the study – his sanctuary of business affairs, account tallying, report perusing and… Evelyn sprawled on his desk like some decadent offering, lips swollen and gasping his name.
In his imagination obviously.
He swung to his painting on the opposite wall but the defiant beauty cold-shouldered him, as was usual, and his gaze flickered to that pesky fake which Coppers had now hung alongside. Those incongruous eyes gleamed as though knowing more than he.
Whether in portrait or life, women were a blasted menace to his sanity.
Scowling, he smothered the desk with some very important reports and commenced reading, but no sooner had his mind settled into wheat forecasts than The Thing hopped upon his desk, posed uponThe Times –whose back page appeared to have been hacked at by a jug-bitten butcher – and commenced licking its paws.
Casper ignored it and continued reading.
Ceaseless rain had also been reported throughout the Continent and flour prices–
Rustling, and Casper glanced up to find The Thing now rolling upon hisCattle Managementarticle. Bloody blighter.
It swung from side to side, stabbing its paws aloft, displaying white belly and velvety neck.
Casper furtively peered to his study door and listened for any approaching footsteps – then sternly reached over to the mangy moggy and…
Tickled its tummy.
How unducal.
An appealing grumble for more emanated from The Thing, and so he obliged, rubbing the downy fur.
All in all, it was quite pleasant until with no warning whatsoever, mortiferous claws inserted themselves into his wrist, teeth diving into the fleshy part of his palm with brutal intent.
He yanked away but the hooks of steel dug, paws latching and fangs sinking deeper as though he were a deserving mouse. It bloody hurt, so with his other hand, he grabbed its scruff, and it released him in its own sweet time to sit uponCrop Rotation 1815 – Successes and Failures.
The Thing smirked. Yes, it blasted well did. Whiskers snickering and eyes mocking, and he thought of Evelyn – so similar: sneaky, independent and so damn adorable. But he stowed that last thought away in the “Unwarranted Emotions” portmanteau of his mind. He may havesharedconfidences with his brother yesterday, but he wasn’t about to gush sentimental drivel like some romantic poet – or Byron, if he had to pick just one.
Glaring, Casper tugged theCropreport from beneath it, but The Thing flicked its tail in his face and spun to present its backside, its entire body bristling with condescension – so similar.
He must acquire a dog to restore some balance to the household, but for now, he endeavoured to focus on how many acres of wheat could be lost this year.
A knock on the door and he groaned.
Chapter 21
Beside every king stands a queen.
The scurvy philanderer!
Evelyn found herself once more peeking from the unlit parlour off the hall as a pretty lady scuttled from Rothwell’s study.
With hair the colour of wet coal, a fragile mien and dainty step, the woman epitomised gentility. She paused to turn back to the duke, who bowed low upon her hand and…pattedit.
