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“A cowardly thief!” The servant pointed a bony finger at the open window. “A sneaking pilferer crept through the window. His Grace arrived to investigate and the burglar accosted him and fled back out the window. Did the craven larcenist abscond with anything of value?”
My hopes. My dreams. My freedom.
“It was Lord Rafe,” she said.
“The thief absconded with Lord Rafe?”
“No, Lord Rafe hit His Grace on the back of the head with a candlestick.”
“Ah.” The servant nodded sagely. “That’s happened a time or two. They’ve always fought tooth and nail, ever since they were lads. There was the time the young marquess (that would be His Grace now) caught his brother reading his private journal and, after locking the journal away, upended a chamber pot over Lord Rafe’s head.” The servant sighed happily. “Oh it is so wonderful that he’s back. I do hope he’ll take a bride. We’re all longing for a little heir to coddle. A child would mean he wouldn’t stay in Cornwall the whole year round. Now, if you ask me—”
“Er,” Mina broke in. “I don’t suppose you might help me revive the duke before you marry him off and make a father of him?”
“Of course, of course.” The servant moved closer. “My name is Crankshaw, madam. I’m at your service.”
“Thank you, Crankshaw.”
“I’ve no idea who you are, madam, and I don’t want to know. You speak with the tones of a lady of Quality but I have no desire to know if you are truly a lady. I’m famous for my discretion. No one shall ever hear a word about what I’ve seen tonight.”
“Thank you, now if you might raise the duke’s—”
“Have you tried smelling salts?”
“I was about to when I was... capsized. The salts are there on the floor.”
Crankshaw retrieved the vial.
Bending over the duke, she slapped his cheeks lightly. He groaned.
Crankshaw passed the vial under the duke’s nose.
His eyelids fluttered open. He had long, dark eyelashes. She hadn’t noticed that before. Dark eyelashes and glowing amber eyes. Very confused eyes. “Where am I?” he croaked.
“In the study, Your Grace,” said Crankshaw, enunciating very loudly and clearly. “You’ve suffered a blow to the head.”
“No I haven’t,” said the duke. “I’m dreaming in my bed.”
“Afraid not,” said Mina. “You’re lying on the floor of the study.”
“No I’m not,” said the duke. “Do you know how I know that? Because you’re here. I’m obviously dreaming. The dreamiest dream. Daisies. Cows. Sunshine on my bare skin.” He smiled warmly and gave her a sensual wink. “And on your skin. Why are you still wearing so much clothing? I specifically dreamed that your dress was already slipping off your shoulders.”
Now she knew the knock on his head had caused damage. This was the first time she’d seen him smile and the sight was disconcerting.
When he smiled, it touched a fuse in her mind that sparked and burned dangerously close to her heart. And winking? He wasnota winker.
“His Grace is disoriented,” she whispered to Crankshaw.
The servant nodded. “He’ll come ’round eventually.”
“Help me carry him to bed,” Mina whispered.
“Bed sounds nice.” The duke gave her another wicked wink.
The blow to his head had scrambled his brains like eggs. He needed rest, and possibly a physician.
Crankshaw slid his arms under the duke’s armpits from behind and hoisted him to a seated position.
“Are you able to stand, Your Grace?” Mina asked.
