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“Gambling.”
“Yes. At the Lyon’s Den. I was... collateral. Some of his debts were handled when I married Crewood. He managed somehow the next ten years, but there were still debts left when he died not long after Crewood did.” She cut her eyes at him. “But that is no concern of yours. I paid those off, along with other obligations. All I have left is what I owe Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
A growl sounded deep in the man’s chest.
Interesting response. Sarah glanced at the duke again. He was already studying the walls of her house. “But not all was for naught, Your Grace. Where do you think I get my skills at cards? I suppose it is fortunate that I have nothing to lose but the money I can wager.” She opened the narrow gate that separated her house from the pavement and climbed the four steps to the door. She pulled her key from her reticule and entered the small entrance hall.
Within moments, Harris, her butler, appeared, stopping short when he spotted Embleton. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I did not realize you were expecting guests.”
She put her reticule on the small table near the door. “I was not. Harris, this is the Duke of Embleton. Your Grace, my butler, Harris.”
Harris straightened, then bowed. “Your Grace. May I take your hat and cloak?”
Embleton acknowledged the honorific and handed over the items as Sarah moved closer to Harris. “Would you please ask the staff to gather in my drawing room?”
The butler’s eyebrows arched. “All of them?”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Now, please.”
Sarah turned back to Embleton to see a deeper scowl on his face as he watched Harris disappear. “Is something wrong?”
“Does he ordinarily question your orders?”
“Only when the orders are out of the ordinary,Your Grace.” Her emphasis on the last two words got his attention. “Harris has been with me since I was a child, first with our family, then with Crewood. He is quite loyal and dedicated to protocol. I would be far more scandalous if not for him.”
“Is he the one who—”
“Pulled me from the fire? Yes. So you heard that part, did you?”
“I heard that it was a butler who saved your life. Do you mean to tell them?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Because they are part of my household, and I do not want anyone guessing about your visits.”
“Is it any of their concern?”
“Yes. In a smaller household, sir, servants are never simply servants.”
“As on the battlefield.”
Sarah stilled, looking at him, but those hazel eyes had taken on a distant stare. She finally cleared her throat and gestured to the room on their right. “The main parlor. Across the hall is the receiving room. At the back is the main dining room, which we never use.”
“Where do you take your meals?”
“It is only me, so I eat at my desk in the receiving room or in my bedchamber. The kitchens and servants’ quarters are on the ground floor.” She pointed at the narrow staircase near the back of the entrance hall. “There are two bedchambers on the second floor, and a room that seems to have served variously as a schoolroom, a nursery, and an office. My lady’s maid currently uses it as her bedchamber.” She held her hands wide. “That’s it. The two previous owners were single gentlemen. A bit crowded for a family or anyone who wants to entertain, but quite sufficient for me.” She pointed at the drawing room again. “Would you care to sit?”
Without waiting for an answer, she stepped into the room. He followed, looking around, examining everything from the mantel to the cornices to the molding at the top of the walls. Sarah watched him, for the first time truly observing the man to whom she had committed her life. She had not been able to see him clearly in Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s office, and their movement on the pavement kept her from seeing the details. Without his top hat, his dark curls were short and ruffled. His double-breasted cutaway tailcoat, black and made from exquisite silk, fit him perfectly, its cut revealing a trim waist and narrow hips. Black buckskin breeches molded against well-formed thighs and disappeared into pristine and highly polished black boots. A black cravat had wilted a bit but was precisely tied around a high white collar. Elegant and respectful of his father’s death without being too much the dandy.
“What are you—”
“My lady?”
