Page 82 of The Dueling Duchess

Why had she said that? Why?

He stepped toward her. “If you’d only—”

“Of course, I won’t!” she snapped, stepping back. “Not ever again!”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t smile.

“If you smirk in that obnoxious manner, Guy, so help me—”

“Sorry!” He pressed his lips together into a frown, or at least he attempted to. “No smirking here—see, only serious frowning.” But his smile would not be suppressed.

Cecile knew how to erase his smile. “There is a cupboard full of laundry that will not clean itself. Once you’ve taken that to Mrs. Bascom, you can help Basil mop the house since your contemporaries have been especially filthy of late. I want you to do all of it, from the pit to the gods. Nobody has cleaned the floor up there in far too long.”

The gods were cramped and dark and had a tendency to be neglected. It was bound to be nasty up there.

He grinned, his spirits clearly unbowed by the threat of a visit to Bascom and an afternoon spent with a mop and bucket.

The determination in his gaze was that of a predator stalking its prey. And it told her that the little bit of hope she’d just inadvertently let slip had strengthened his resolve in such a way that he’d never give up.

“What are you waiting for?” she snapped.

“Yes, Miss Tremblay, right away.”

When the stage door shut behind him, Cecile sagged against it.

Lord, she needed to stop speaking to the man, because every single time she did she lost more ground to him.

Chapter 14

“I can’t do it right now, Guy—I have to go to Paris, and I’ll be gone at least two weeks,” Elliot said.

“That’s fine. I’ll just look into the bloke who owns Blanchard guns myself—how hard can it be?” Guy lifted his almost-empty pint and then smiled and nodded at a nearby serving wench, who leapt up from the customer’s lap where she’d been lolling, and hurried toward the bar.

Elliot chuckled and Guy blinked. “What?”

“You don’t even notice, do you?”

“Notice what?”

“How women practically throw themselves at your feet and beg to do your bidding.”

Guy frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“That serving girl who just about broke her foot rushing to fetch you another pint of ale.”

“That’s her job, Elliot.”

“Yes, that’s true—but she didn’t hurry to get my drink with quite so much enthusiasm.”

Guy gave a dismissive grunt. There was only one woman he’d like to see eager to please him, and that wasn’t going to happen in this lifetime.

“But back to the other matter,” Elliot said. “Digging around in somebody’s business isn’t as easy as you think. If you start indiscriminately poking into things, this Blanchard bloke will hear about it—I promise you.”

“What? You don’t think I can be inconspicuous?”

Elliot coughed and glanced around the room.

“What the devil is that supposed to mean?”