Page 94 of The Devilish Pleasures of a Duke

“A—who is he?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter? We cannot be discovered tumbling in a barn.”

They disengaged, Adrian swearing to himself, Emma looking embarrassed as the intruder strode up to them with a pitchfork in his hands.

“Excuse me,” the middle-aged arrival said in a wry voice. “I’m Robin Turner, the lodgekeeper. Can I be of service to the pair of you?”

Adrian whisked Emma to her feet. “As a matter of fact, this is my wife and we’re—”

“The new help?” the grizzle-haired keeper guessed. His dark eyes softened with empathy. “Well, ’tis a hell of a way to start service, but I suppose there’s no harm done as long as you’re presentable when you meet the duke. His heir is come home and we’re all to be on our best behavior.”

“You’re a generous soul, sir.” Adrian stood in front of Emma so that she could straighten her skirt and smooth away the pieces of straw that clung to it. “I’ll try to repay the favor.”

The lodgekeeper shook his hand. “Go on, both of you. Just do the job you’re hired to do. I’m not so ancient that I don’t remember—oh, hell, get out of here. I’ll say nothing of this to the master.”

And he didn’t.

Not even when, only two hours later, he met with the duke to discuss what repairs were needed on the estate’s outbuildings, and was introduced to Lord and Lady Wolverton.

Adrian thought he and his new ally Turner did a convincing job of pretending not to know each other, despite the fact that Emma winked saucily over her shoulder to the lodgekeeper as he turned to exit from the hall. Adrian’s mouth dropped. Turner nearly walked into the wall.

The duke gave a puzzled laugh. “Have I missed something?”

“Emma and I made an inspection of the lodge earlier today,” Adrian said evasively, his gaze lingering on his wife. “Isn’t that what you wished for us to do?”

“Do you know what I wish for before I die?” the duke asked, a canny gleam in his eye. “Come along with me for a minute. I’ll share my final request with you, Adrian.”

Later that same evening, Adrian laid preoccupied in bed with his wife, she tossing and turning until he finally glanced down at her and asked, “Do you have something on your mind?”

She surfaced from the depths of the Queen Anne pinewood bedstead and asked, “Do you?”

He slid beneath the covers until they were nestled together, his hand curled around her hip. He enjoyed sleeping thus, his body protecting hers. “Explain.”

“Your father’s dying wish,” she said in concern. “Is it something you are honor-bound to keep secret?”

“Actually, no.”

He rested his chin against her cheek. Her body tempted him, her spine arching beneath his hand, her skin soft as cream. She waited. So did he, a smile he could not hide surfacing at her question.

It seemed that he’d fought this moment from the day he had run away from Scarfield.

He was stronger now, his only need, his only weakness the woman in his arms.

And finally that woman drew away from him and demanded, “Then are you going to lie here smiling at me all night, or give me my answer?”

“He would like us to present him with a grandchild before he dies. He’s stubborn enough to see his request fulfilled, too.”

“I see,” Emma said, her voice reflective. “And what did you tell him?”

He cleared his throat. “I assured him that we were doing our part to perform that ducal duty.”

“You didn’t,” she whispered, laughter in her voice.

“Yes, I did. But not in detail.”

She ran her hands down his lean, muscular flanks. “A duke always keeps his promises.”

His mouth captured hers. “I’m only a duke’s son. Do you suggest an interim form of etiquette to satisfy the situation?”