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“Do stop badgering the girl, Edgar,” chided Lady India. “She’s from a reputable agency, is she not? And she can’t be any worse than the others. They’ve all been unqualified disasters.”
Mari smiled gratefully and Lady India returned the smile, her violet eyes dancing with humor. Such familiar speech between the lady and the duke. They must be intimates.
Mari cared not a whit if Lady India was one of the scarlet women Miss Dunkirk had whispered about with such disapproval. Right now the lady was her only ally, and Mari could use all the help she could get.
“The children are always running away, Miss Perkins,” said Lady India.
“I was told that the coachman has been sent to search the park,” said Mari.
“They always find their way home.” A sliver of pride crept into the duke’s voice.
“I wonder how they occupy themselves when they run away?” mused Lady India.
“I mean to ascertain exactly that,” Mari said. “I’ll gain their confidence posthaste and report back. Give me one week’s trial, Your Grace.”
He threw down his quill, rose abruptly, and slapped his hands down on either side of the desk. “Why are you still here, Perkins?”
She took an involuntary step backward and stumbled as her hip encountered an obstruction. Flinging out an arm for support, she encountered a handle and held on tight.
Unfortunately, the handle was attached to a large globe. Which was attached to... nothing.
She staggered sideways, the globe crashed to the floor along with several other objects on the table. Her foot crunched down on something which seemed to rise up like a claw to trap her boot. She did an awkward, foot-shaking dance, attempting to keep her balance.
A vicelike grip caught her by the waist and lifted her off the carpet.
“Damnation, Perkins! You’ve crushed my engine.”
The duke’s thumbs jabbed into her ribcage, making her breath come in short gasps.
“I’m terribly sorry,” she panted. “If you’ll just set me down...”
“Can’t. It’s stuck around your boot.” He shook her by the waist in an attempt to dislodge whatever she’d stepped upon.
Her boots dangled over the carpet, her right foot still surrounded by a heavy weight.
Mari had to admit that her daring plan was not off to a promising start.
Apparently she’d destroyed something precious to the duke and he might shake her to death in retribution.
“Do you have to... agitate me... quite so hard?” she asked, through rattling teeth.
He stopped shaking her and did something much, much worse.
He shifted her weight in his arms, slung her over his shoulder, and began to march.
The wriggling wisp of woman he held over his shoulder couldn’t weigh more than seven stone, soaking wet, yet Edgar could hardly fail to notice that her slender body was curved in all the best places.
Soft breasts jounced against his back.
A nicely rounded bottom squirmed beneath his palm.
“Let me go!” squeaked the destructive Miss Perkins, pounding his lower back with her small fists.
“Believe me, I want nothing more than for you to be gone, Perkins.”
He already knew she wouldn’t do. Too young and inexperienced.
Also, far too pretty.
