Page 89 of The Devilish Pleasures of a Duke

He shook his head in bemusement. “How the deuce he was able to persuade you to marry him—ah, well. He’s inherited his mother’s charms and will soon inherit my estate. It’s a relief for me to go knowing you will advise him.”

They walked arm in arm to the door, Bridgewater trailing. “And where exactly do you plan to go, your grace?” she asked lightly.

“Most likely to Hades.”

“Not true,” Bridgewater said. “Your grace is going upstairs to rest.”

“No, I’m not,” the duke said irritably. “I’m playing cards with Hermia and Odham. He and I are both passionate for that woman.”

“Well, you must not let your passions get the better of you, your grace,” Bridgewater said gracefully.

“Stuff it, you old busybody.”

Emma bit her lip as the pair of them, clearly forgetting her presence, began to bicker back and forth. She was certain that the duke would not have permitted such familiarity had he not trusted Bridgewater as one did a cousin or close friend.

By the time the three of them reached the dark vaulted hall, she could see that the duke was indeed struggling for breath. She thought of her own father, how she’d believed him invulnerable before his death.

“He’s come back just in time, hasn’t he?” a soft voice asked her. Adrian’s sister came up the stairs behind Emma. “I think there will be peace now for everyone.”

Adrian did not return from his ride with Cedric until late afternoon. Windblown, elegantly commanding his mount, he cantered across the park where Emma was walking with Florence. Both women stopped in their tracks and turned as he dismounted and ran toward them. He was as grand as the estate he would inherit.

Before Emma could greet him in a fashionable manner, he picked her up and spun her in the air. “I missed you.”

Florence coughed lightly. “Has it been all of six hours?”

“Nine,” he replied, setting Emma back on her feet. “And you’ll both be relieved to know that there are no brigands in the area.”

“That’s where you’ve been, chasing villains?” Emma asked in chagrin. “You really do love danger, don’t you?”

He laughed. “I love you.”

Her face grew warm. If they had been alone, she would have had a hard time keeping her hands off her husband. He looked irresistibly handsome in his billowing white muslin shirt, molded leather riding breeches, and—

“You’ve got mud on your boots.”

“So I do.”

“We’re having a formal supper tonight with the family,” she said, biting her bottom lip.

His eyes danced with mischief. “Are you suggesting I’m not decent to dine with?”

Indecent. That’s what you are. And that’s fine with me.

She glanced away. “A bath would not be remiss.”

“Oh, good.” He closed his black-gloved hand over hers. “We’ll take one together. My father has had a huge Roman bath built.”

“Adrian,” she whispered, “your sister.”

He winked at Florence. “She can take her own bath later.”

“You haven’t changed at all,” Florence exclaimed with a delighted grin.

A groom ran forth to take Adrian’s lathered horse. Cedric trotted past them toward the stables, nodding his head to the ladies. A footman greeted Adrian at the entrance portico with a sweeping bow.

“Shall I draw your bath, my lord?” he inquired, his young voice unsteady.

Adrian glanced down at his mud-besmirched boots with a devil-may-care grin. “Are you all in on my wife’s plot to make me a presentable gentleman?”