Page 33 of Distracting the Duke

“Clara, I’m off to Kessington. Do you have any message for the duke? He said he’d written to you.”

“No, I don’t. What did he say in your letter?”

Philip shook his head. “That must remain between himself and me until he chooses to tell you. Even then, you are sworn to secrecy. Say nothing to Ellie.”

“Then I won’t tell you what he wrote in my letter,” Clara said with pique.

Philip paused in putting on his riding jacket. Automatically, she stepped forward and helped him into it. He scowled at her for a moment, then his face relaxed. “I don’t think we shall be dueling, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ll tell you what I can when I get back.”

Well, she’d done all she could, and now she had to endure the torment of waiting.

Which gave her plenty of time to puzzle out something that had been bothering her since that fateful day in Ulvercombe’s chamber when she’d seen him gloriously naked.

Was it only Philip’s skin she wanted to ensure remained whole? Or had she become rather too interested in Ulvercombe’s skin, as well?

Chapter Eighteen

Clara waited in an agony of agitation for Philip to come home. Ellie however—the person whose future hung in the balance—appeared completely composed.

She was a good girl. She knew her duty, and she would make any man a beautiful and amenable wife as well as being a kind and loving mother. Exactly the sort of person Ulvercombe would want in his nursery, at his table, and in his bed.

Did the duke have mistresses or lovers? No man with a body like his would be short of offers from the demimonde, lonely widows, and unhappy matrons. Would such liaisons be discarded when he married Ellie?

No matter. Once married, they would find a way to compromise, as Philip and Sarah had, and perhaps even find love eventually. Clara hoped so, for Ellie was very deserving of it. As was the duke.

Good God! Where had that thought come from? She chewed at her lip, then stared through the window for the millionth time that day. At last! Philip was home!

But he hadn’t come alone.

There was no mistaking the tall figure of the Duke of Ulvercombe as he slid from his horse in an easy, fluid movement and handed the reins to their manservant.

Curse it! Ulvercombe was here? Clara was in no way prepared to see him. Certainly not after that shocking moment at Kessington House.

She pulled at her hair, patted down her gown, and made several nerve-wracked circuits of her room, then heard Philip’s voice calling to her from the foot of the stairs.

She came down slowly, concentrating hard on not tripping, and joined the group in the hallway, shooting only the barest of glances at the duke as she made her curtsey to him. Luckily the hallway was dark, so he couldn’t see her blush.

She hoped.

“Can I offer you some refreshment, Ulvercombe, before you go for your walk?” Philip invited.

Walk? What walk?

“I think not. The skies are looking rather threatening, so we’d better be done before the rain hits us. But a spot of tea on our return would be splendid.”

“My wife will see to it.”

Philip was wreathed in smiles. Whatever deal Ulvercombe had struck, her brother was thrilled with it.

So, the courtship of Ellie was to go ahead. But, surely, Philip wasn’t going to let the pair go out unchaperoned? She must offer to accompany them.

“Lady Tinniswood,” said the duke, bowing and offering her his elbow. “Shall we?”

She froze. “What?”

Her heart dropped like a lead weight in a window, then bounded back to life again. He wanted to walk out with her? Not Ellie? But why?

Philip explained, “The duke wants to bury the hatchet with you, Clara. I think it’s high time we were all friends again. Especially in light of what is about to happen.”