Page 106 of The Boxing Baroness

He looked up from his lustful thoughts to find the object of his desire standing beside him, wearing one of her dreary dresses rather than the breeches and boots she’d worn while they’d been on the road. “Do you have anything that needs washing?”

“I’m sure we could pay Madam Blanchet to do our wash.”

“Probably, but I feel the need to do something.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you saying you miss running behind Dobbin?”

“I’m not that desperate. But I just need to be doing . . . something.”

Sin stood. “I have plenty of dirty clothing. I will carry it for you.”

To his surprise, she didn’t demur. Instead, she turned to Cecile, who was engaged in a whispered but visibly heated argument with Guy. “I’ll see you down there.”

The Frenchwoman nodded at Marianne without stopping the angry flow of words.

“What are they arguing about?” Sin asked once they were out of earshot.

Marianne gave him a wry look. “What do you think?”

Amazingly, his face heated. “Oh. I didn’t know whether they’ d—”

“They have.”

“And there is now a problem?”

“I don’t know; I think they both just like to argue.”

Sin laughed and she turned to him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You never laugh.”

“I laugh plenty.”

“No, you occasionally snort—or maybe snicker—but genuine laugher? Not that I can recall.”

Sin left the unwinnable argument alone. Instead, he said, “I saw you talking to Barnabas. Have you—”

“No. I just wanted to know if there had been another miniature in the locket. Both he and Sonia swore there hadn’t been.” She snorted. “For what their word is worth.”

“Maybe your mother kept it?”

“Maybe. Anyhow, I suppose I should be glad.”

“What do you mean?”

“If there was a picture of my father, then Dominic would have two people to blackmail.”

* * *

Marianne was desperate for a bath, but the duke stayed after carrying their laundry to the river, and she didn’t have the heart to ask him to leave.

She knew she should push him away, for both their sakes, but she’d already denied herself the pleasure of his body; surely, she deserved his companionship in exchange for such wisdom and selflessness?

It was very wise and selfless of you to launch yourself at him that night, the voice in her head pointed out.

Marianne refused to regret her actions. She would have shown up at his door the following night if she hadn’t had a very enlightening discussion with the duke’s friend, Guy.

Her mouth tightened at the memory of their brief chat, and she beat the shirt she was washing—one that belonged to the man in question—with extra aggression.