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**
“Rather bold of you, Barrow. I am not sure even I would have dared,” Ashford drawled from his side as they walked back towards the supper box. Lady Francesca and Ashford’s duchess were several yards ahead, and Arthur fought hard not to stare and make even more of a fool of himself. Bad enough that the other couple had likely seen their intimate interlude.
“Whatever do you mean? I did not realize that escorting a young lady about was considered untoward.”
“And I did not realize such things entailed mauling said lady in the middle of a public path.” The duke’s tone was banal, but knowing him so well, Arthur detected the hidden steel behind it.
“I thought you and I settled this manner last year.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t think you would actually make a conquest of her.” Ashford had seen his growing infatuation a mile away and had confronted him on the matter nearly a year ago. Arthur had assured him he meant no serious harm, confident that he could resist any genuine temptation. That confidence had flown completely out of the window after having her in his arms. She’d smelled like fresh roses on a spring day and tasted of the almond cookies that he’d spied at their table. Her tiny, tentative moans as her tongue lashed against his had nearly undone him. Lady Francesca was sweetness and sin wrapped in one prim little package.
“I hadn’t planned to.”
“You’d best get control of yourself before Amberwood senses something. I refuse to be caught between you two idiots. Is it even possible for a man to be the second of both combatants in a duel?”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “It won’t come to a duel, my god. Aristocrats and their theatrics.” He shook his head, both to prove his point and dispel the uncomfortable reality that, for all of his disdain, he was now a member of that sorry lot.
“If I catch you again, I am going to tell him you are dallying with her.”
“I am not dallying with her. It was one kiss.” Oh, but what a kiss it was.
“Believe me, my friend, it is never just one kiss,” Ashford replied, almost wistful.
“And you don’t see me casting aspersions on your character for your own indiscretions, do you?” Arthur thought the man was being rather hypocritical, considering his own ill-fated dalliance with Kitty Highbridge last year.
“You will note that I made Kitty my duchess.”
“After you got a child on her.”
Ashford shrugged with a small smile. “I think I’d have come up to scratch eventually, regardless of our daughter.”
“Perhaps I am now in the market for a wife,” Arthur replied flippantly. The thought wasn’t as terrifying as it once was, at least only when he pictured Lady Francesca by his side. He aggressively squashed the embarrassing image. Lust was no reason to commit oneself to such a decision, and the lady herself had made her feelings on the matter perfectly clear.
“I very much doubt that,” Ashford replied dryly.
“Actually, I likely will be soon,” he replied, more thinking aloud than anything, as the reality of his current situation dawned. He now had a succussion to secure, even if the thought filled him with utter revulsion. Again, the image of Lady Francesca standing at the helm of a grand estate he had yet to see, a bouncing boy with grey eyes perched on her hip assailed him, and again he attempted to shut the image away.
Ashford peered at him curiously. “What in the world would a man like you be in a need of a wife for?”
“The same reasons you and Amberwood did. Though marriage is the least of my worries at the moment.” His solicitor’s vague but obvious insinuations about the finances of the estate came to mind, reminding him he had far more the concern himself with than his attraction to Lady Francesca.
“Now the mystery is far too intriguing for me to let go.”
“I’d rather discuss it with you and Amberwood. I’d value advice from both of you, for I am completely out of my depth.”
“We’ll be all ears.”
**
Arthur sipped his whiskey, eyeing his friends irritably from across the table. After finishing a blessedly uneventful dinner at Vauxhall and doing a bang-up job of avoiding Lady Francesca entirely, he’d cajoled his two friends into joining him back at The White Heather. They lounged in his private parlor, Arthur doing his best not to smash a fist into Amberwood’s delicate face as the man laughed hysterically upon hearing the news of Arthur’s inheritance.
The marquess calmed enough to speak. “Of all the people this would happen to, it had to be you.” He doubled over in laughter once more, nearly spilling the contents of his glass.
Ashford raised his own glass with an amused smirk. “Welcome to the fold, Clifton.”
“Don’t call me that,” Arthur snapped irritably.
“You’d best get used to it. It’s the way of things with our lot.”
