AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Marks that she’d come to regard as an integral part of him. But which were not, to judge by the butler’s expression of horror, by any means typical.
‘Oh, no need for that. I am sure Mrs Hoskins can supply a poultice, or some soothing ointment of some sort that will suffice. And, while we are on the subject of ointment, Miss Carstairs will need some for her feet.’
‘Her feet?’ The butler, reduced to repeating his master’s words in a strained manner, glanced down at her feet, and then to the staircase, from the direction of which came the sound of a slamming door.
A slender youth, in very natty dress, appeared on the landing and began to jog down the stairs, whistling cheerfully.
Until he caught sight of the three of them standing by the open front door. Which had him coming to an abrupt halt, mid-whistle.
‘Halstead!’
Since the youth was staring at Gregory, Prudence could only suppose that Halstead must be his real name. Or his title. Aristocrats always had a handful of each.
‘The devil!’
‘Language, Hugo,’ said Gregory—or Halstead—or whoever he was. Though at least she could surmise that this youth was the Hugo with whom Gregory had suspected she’d done some sort of deal when they’d first met.
‘Language be damned,’ said Hugo, reaching for the banister rail to steady himself. ‘You didn’t last the full week. I’ve won.’
Won? Won what?
‘Extenuating circumstances,’ said Gregory, waving a languid hand in her direction. He spoke in a bored drawl. As though he was completely unmoved by the shock afflicting everyone else in the hallway, which he’d caused by strolling through the front door and announcing both his rank and his betrothal.
‘No such thing,’ said the youth, folding his arms across his chest. ‘Ain’t you always telling me that there’s never any excuse for outrunning the constable? That if you only have a little backbone, or willpower, or a modicum of intelligence...’
‘Not here,’ muttered Gregory—she had to think of him by some name, and that was the one she’d grown used to. And if he hadn’t wanted her to use it he should jolly well not have let her do so! ‘We will repair to the morning room,’ he said, taking her elbow firmly to steer her across the hall. ‘While we await refreshments.’ He gave the butler a pointed look.
The butler flinched. ‘Her Ladyship is in the morning room, taking tea,’ he said, glancing at Prudence, then back at Gregory, in ill-concealed horror.
‘Ah,’ said Gregory, coming to a full stop.
‘No point in trying to keep anything from Lady Mixby,’ said Hugo cheerfully, jogging down the rest of the stairs. ‘Since the person she is currently entertaining to tea is a most interesting cove who claims you sent him here. By the name of Bodkin.’
Bodkin? Wasn’t that the name of the man with whom he’d told her he’d broken into a mill? Making it sound as if he was some sort of...Robin Hood, or something. Going about righting wrongs. Now this Hugo person was making it sound as though it was a great jest. Coupled with his first remark, about not lasting a week and not winning, it sounded suspiciously as though Gregory had gone to the factory in the course of trying to win some kind of wager.
Now all those things he’d said about what she had been doing in his bed made perfect sense. He’d thought that Hugo was doing all in his power to make him lose whatever wager they had agreed upon.
‘This way,’ said Gregory, steering her across the hall with the grip he still had on her elbow.
She put up no resistance. She didn’t have the strength. It had all seeped out through what felt like a great crack, somewhere deep inside her, where once her trust in Gregory had resided. She hadn’t even felt this stunned when she’d discovered that Aunt Charity, who’d appeared to be a pillar of society, had turned into a criminal overnight. Into a person she didn’t really know at all.
Because she’d never actually liked Aunt Charity, try as hard as she might.
But she’d started to look upon this man who was ushering her across the hall as a bit of a hero.
Now it turned out he was someone else—something else—entirely. A duke. A duke who’d been so bored with his dull existence that he’d put on rough clothes and changed his name in order to win a bet.
The butler leaped ahead of them to open the door to a room that was flooded with sunshine. Three people were sitting there.
A young man, wearing clothes that were so plain and so coarse that he just had to be Mr Bodkin, was perched on the very edge of a hard-backed chair, his hands braced on his knees as though ready to take flight at the slightest alarm. There was also a bracket-faced woman at a table under the window, tucking into a plate of cakes and sandwiches, a teacup at her elbow. And on one of the sofas placed on either side of the fire sat a plump little woman wearing lavender satin and a frivolous lace cap of white.
