The Historical Collection 2018: The Duchess Deal / From Duke Till Dawn / His Sinful Touch / His Wicked Charm

As he strode away, this time he heard no scampering steps in pursuit.

Thank heaven.

“You’re right,” Trevor called after him cheerily. “Tomorrow night’s better. I need time to sort out my disguise anyway.”

Ash tugged down the brim of his hat and groaned.

If this boy was indicative of the next generation, God save England.

Emma tripped down to the servants’ hall, intending to request eggs be added to the evening’s dinner menu. To every evening’s dinner menu. Eggs were rumored to increase the chances of conception, weren’t they? Perhaps nothing but superstition, but it wouldn’t hurt to try.

She stopped just outside the door. The servants seemed to be having some sort of a meeting. Khan stood in front of a large slate—the one usually employed for the day’s menus—with the remainder of the house staff huddled around the servants’ long dining table.

She was about turn around and come back later. Then the topic of conversation reached her ears.

“Think hard, all of you,” Khan said. “Swanlea wasn’t enough. We need a new plan.”

A new plan?

Emma wasn’t an eavesdropper by nature, but further “plans” involving her marriage seemed good cause for an exception. She tucked herself in the wedge of space between the open door and the wall. From here, she could not only listen, but peek through the gap.

“Well, it has to be a ball,” Mary said. “Balls are ever so romantic. Surely they’ll receive an invitation to one.”

“The duke would never accept,” one of the footmen said.

“Then perhaps we could host a ball here,” she replied. “As a surprise.”

“Perhaps we could,” said Khan dryly, “if we all wished to be summarily executed.”

Mary sighed. “Well, whatever we do, we must do it soon. Once Her Grace is with child, it will be too late.”

A scullery maid hooted with laughter. “That won’t be long, will it? What with them humping like rabbits all over the house.”

“Not only the house,” a groom said. “The mews, as well.”

Mary hushed them. “We’re not supposed to let on that we’ve noticed.”

“Oh, come on. How could we not?”

Oh, Lord. Behind the door, Emma cringed. How mortifying. Although she supposed it was to be expected. They had polished every stick of furniture in Ashbury House with her hiked petticoats. They weren’t especially quiet, either. Naturally, the servants had noticed. As the groom said, how could they not?

“Ahem.” Khan tapped his chalk against the slate. “Let’s return to the list, please.”

The servants burst out with a flurry of suggestions.

“Set a small fire?”

“Rig one of the carriage axles to break. Accidentally. In a storm.”

“Oh! They could go swimming in the Serpentine.”

Khan refused to even chalk that one on the slate. “It’s nearly December. They’d catch their deaths.”

“I suppose,” Mary said. “But there’s nothing to encourage affection like a good scare. Perhaps we could make one of them just a little bit sick?”

“The duke was bedridden for nearly a year,” the butler replied. “That would be cruel. Though perhaps a minor incident . . .”

The same footman’s hand shot toward the ceiling. “Bees! Hornets! Spiders! Snakes!”

“Frogs. Locusts. Rivers of blood,” Cook deadpanned. “I believe we’ve covered all the plagues, Moses.”

Emma wheezed. She clapped both hands to her mouth.

“She could walk in on the duke while he’s dressing,” Mary suggested.

All the servants perked up at that one. “Oooh.”

Khan apparently agreed. “Now that has possibilities.”

Emma couldn’t remain quiet any longer. She emerged from her hiding place and announced her presence. “That last happened already.”

The assembled staff leapt to their feet, the blood draining from their faces. For a good half minute, the only sounds were anxious gulping.

Mary broke the silence. “And . . . ? What was the duke’s response?”

“The duke’s response was none of your business.”

The footman piped up. “How do you feel about spider bites?”

“What I feel is that this needs to stop. All of it. You must all adjust your expectations. There will be no romance. The duke is not falling in love.”

Emma needed the stern reminder as much as anyone.

It wouldn’t even matter if he did begin to love her. In the end, they would part. He was resolute on the matter, and she needed to be at Swanlea this winter for Davina’s sake. But before Davina could get permission to visit, Emma must convince the duke to move in society—at least a little bit.

“I think,” she said quietly, “he needs friends.”

Khan gave a heavy sigh. “We’re sunk.”

“They all deserted him,” Mary said. “And the few who didn’t—well, he drove them away. His Grace doesn’t have any friends any longer. Not outside this room.”

Emma pondered in the ensuing quiet. If it was true that Ashbury’s only remaining friends resided inside this house . . .

She must convince him to venture outside it.

Chapter Twenty (#ulink_5c1e39d8-933a-5fdf-b4bb-9e307acc35b4)

Ash stalked the corridors of Ashbury House. Where the devil was his butler?