Page 168 of The Dueling Duchess

“I thought it was a noble sacrifice. But I was just being a fool, wasn’t I?”

“Yes. But you are my fool—a big, handsome, gorgeous fool.”

He grinned, well-pleased with the epithet. But then something occurred to him.

“What is it?” she asked, nibbling on his neck.

“I know the Fayre is closed for performances and that you’ve given the employees a holiday, but there are still lots of things that need doing. I could always stay to make sure it all runs smoothly.”

“Actually, I have a bit of a secret for you.”

He groaned. “Not another one.”

“This isn’t a bad one. Helen wants to purchase the Fayre.”

“Helen! But I thought she was penniless.”

“Apparently, she has some money from her mother. It’s not a fortune and she will either need to take partners or make payments.”

“Do you think she’s thought this through, Cecile? Does she really wish to spend her life as a sharpshooter?”

“I don’t know if she will ever become good enough for that, but she has an aptitude for organization and is a positive wizard when it comes to keeping a ledger.”

Guy knew the younger woman had taken on some of the Fayre’s crushing paperwork.

“Leaving her gilded cage to come work in a circus seems the act of a reckless person,” Cecile said, “but I don’t think she made the decision impulsively.”

“I don’t either,” Guy conceded. “I think this is a good decision for her.”

“So do I. She took a stand against her draconian father and came here with a broken, or at least bruised, heart, but I think she no longer regrets the loss of her fickle beau as much as she did even a few weeks ago.”

He snorted softly.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Life is indeed stranger than fiction, isn’t it? England’s erstwhile wealthiest heiress now managing a circus for an excessively wealthy duchess.”

“It’s no stranger than the Darling of the ton marrying a female circus performer.”

“Touché.”

She winced.

Guy laughed. “Oh, come now, my accent cannot be so dreadful with just one word.”

“Oh, yes it can. But your kissing . . . well, that is sublime.”

“I’ll have you know that this level of kissing requires lots and lots of practice.” Guy slid his hands beneath her fine bottom again and lifted her to his lips.

All too soon, she squirmed. “Put me down. I know I am heavy.”

“A mere feather.” But he set her bottom on the desk where he’d found the note. “So, what do you think we should do?”

She glanced around the room. “Blankets, food, drink, and blissful privacy? What do you thin—”

Cecile didn’t finish that sentence, or any other, for a long, long time.

Several blissful hours later . . .