Page 53 of The Devilish Pleasures of a Duke

“Mine are shackled,” Drake said.

Heath nodded in satisfaction. “None of us can break, not even under the duress of—well, you know their wiles. The women of this family, and I include our sisters and wives, have an uncanny sense for these affairs. If they suspect that we are making a decision without consulting them, our lives will not be worth living.”

Gabriel looked at him in disbelief. “Are you trying to tell me that the pair of you, former spies who did not break under torture, are really afraid that your wives will somehow find out about our meeting?”

Heath stared at the map of Egypt mounted on the wall. “You have no idea, Gabriel, what power the women in this family wield.”

Grayson Boscastle’s wife, the former Lady Jane Welsham, sister-in-law to Emma, and present Marchioness of Sedgecroft, lowered her field glasses as the head Boscastle footman, Weed, trudged breathlessly up the grassy knoll of the Kent estate toward her. Her son Rowan lay gurgling upon his blanket while his father and the family gamekeeper attempted to share their hunting knowledge with a child who could not even talk. Jane vowed that if Grayson showed Rowan that crossbow one more time, she would confiscate it.

She felt a flutter of anxiety in her chest. Weed waved a folded missive at her, puffing with exertion from what was apparently a frantic dash from the house.

“Who is it from, Weed?” she asked quietly, imagining that some tragedy had befallen any number of elderly aunts and uncles, her beloved parents, her wastrel brother, her sisters—

“I do not know, madam,” he wheezed, holding his side. “I was told only it was a matter of the gravest importance and that it must reach you posthaste.”

One of the three female attendants sitting at her feet arose with a worried look at Jane. “Please inform my husband that young Orion is in need of his afternoon rest,” she said, her gaze dark.

As the attendant scurried down toward the wooded preserve, Jane carefully broke the letter’s seal and scanned the missive. It was from Julia, Heath’s wife, in London.

And it was an urgent request indeed, tersely worded.

Emma. Adrian Ruxley. I trust you are able to read what discretion forbids me to write. Heath is cognizant of the situation and intends to call a cabal to decide her fate. May I ask you to intervene on behalf of the female contingency?

In the name of true love,

Your sister-in-law and no stranger to scandal,

Julia

Jane whipped around so abruptly that Weed, smiling at the sight of the marquess and young master below, nearly lost his balance. In fact, he might have slipped down the knoll had Jane’s hand not shot out to grasp his sleeve.

“I am a clumsy girl,” she said, hauling him back up beside her.

His gaze flickered to the letter she had unceremoniously stuffed into her bodice. “Not bad news, I pray, madam?”

“It will be if I don’t intervene,” she muttered, then bit her lip.

Weed worshipped the Boscastle family. Jane did not doubt he would lay down his life to save her if she were in danger. But when it came to choosing sides between her and her husband, she suspected that Grayson would win. Weed, after all, was a man and a Boscastle loyalist.

“Shall I order the carriage for immediate departure?” he inquired, gently disengaging himself from her grasp as he regained his dignity.

Jane cast a fond glance in the direction of her husband and child. “There’s no need to spoil my husband’s plans. I shall be leaving for London with Mrs. O’Brien and my son.” Mrs. O’Brien was Rowan’s Irish nursemaid, a woman not afraid to challenge Grayson’s authority when it came to the best interests of her charge.

The senior footman had witnessed too many Boscastle scandals for his suspicions not to be aroused. “Madam?” he asked cautiously in a voice that said everything and yet nothing.

She lowered her voice to a throaty whisper, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. “There’s an adorable shoemaker just arrived from Milan and I mean to engage his exclusive services before any other ladies steal him for their own.”

“Ah.” He nodded knowingly. A passion for fashionable attire he understood.

“You won’t tell, will you?” she asked with a beseeching smile.

“Need you even ask?”

“Good. I will be leaving for London as soon as I have explained the situation to the marquess.”

Grayson suspected something was afoot when his wife informed him of her intention to return to their Park Lane residence. They both knew the shoemaker could be brought to their Kent estate to do her bidding, as had the corsetiere, milliner, and numerous jewelers on several past occasions. An hour later, when the marquess received the missive from his brother Heath apprising him of the startling news about Emma, his suspicions were confirmed.

He did not know what devious plot his wife was hatching, but he deemed it wise to take action before she could gain any advantage on him. He and Jane took delight in outfoxing each other.