Miranda Jarrett - The Duke's Gamble

“If you wish, your grace, I would be glad to show you exactly how the funds we raise are distributed and employed,” she said. “It would be my pleasure.”

He raised his brows with a great show of surprise. “You have forgiven me, then, even if you returned my peace offering?”

She wished she didn’t have this nagging feeling that he was saying more than she realized. “Is there a reason why I shouldn’t, your grace?”

He bowed his head, contorting his features to look as painfully contrite as any altar boy. “I’ve always heard it’s divine to forgive, Miss Penny.”

“It’s more divine not to sin in the first place, your grace,” she said, trying not to laugh. “Though I shall grant you a point for audacity, trotting out such a shopworn old homily for a clergyman’s daughter.”

He looked up at her without lifting his chin, his blue eyes full of mischief. “I always try my best, Miss Penny, especially for you.”

“More properly, your grace, you are always trying,” she said, unable to resist. They were falling back into their usual banter, the back-and-forth that she’d always enjoyed with Guilford. Maybe last night really had been no more than a regrettable lapse; maybe they really could put it past them. Because he’d always been one of her favorite members—and an important figure on the club’s membership committee—she’d be willing to shorten her memory.

He laughed, his amusement genuine. “Let me truly repent, Miss Penny. Explain to me these charities, and I vow I’ll listen to every word, and then make whatever contribution you deem fitting.”

“The price of that bracelet would be more than enough, your grace,” she said, feeling the glow of expansive goodwill. “But I’ll do better than a dry explanation. Tomorrow is Sunday, and, of course, Penny House is closed. If you wish, I’ll take you to one of our favorite charities, and show you myself what we have accomplished.”

“What an outstanding idea, Miss Penny!” he exclaimed, ready to embrace this plan as his own. “I shall be here tomorrow morning with my carriage.”

She paused for a second, then decided not to take the obvious jab back at him. Whether or not the duke chose to spend his Sunday mornings in churchgoing was his decision, not hers. She’d accept his money for her good works, true, but she knew better than to overstep and try to save his soul as she emptied his pocket.

“Later in the afternoon would be more convenient for me, your grace,” she said lightly, without a breath of reproach. “And perhaps hiring a hackney might be less obtrusive.”

“We’ll compromise, and take my chaise,” he said with a sweep of his hand. “That’s plain enough.”

Of course, it wouldn’t be, not with a ducal crest bright with gold leaf painted on the door. Then again, Guilford wouldn’t know how to be unobtrusive if his life depended upon it.

But she’d be willing to compromise, too. “Thank you, your grace,” she said. “I’ll be delighted to ride in your chaise.”

“And in your company, Miss Penny, I shall be…” He paused, frowning a bit as if searching for the perfect word. “I shall be ecstatic.”

He bowed, then turned away and into the crowd of other members before she could answer. Apparently that was farewell enough for him tonight, or perhaps that was how he’d chosen to save a scrap more face. Amariah only smiled, and shook her head with bemusement as she began to greet the next gentleman. Good, bad or indifferent, there’d be no changing the Duke of Guilford, and resolutely Amariah put him from her thoughts until tomorrow.

Guilford pushed the curtains of his bedchamber aside to look out the window, and smiled broadly. Sunshine, blue skies, and plenty of both: the gods of good luck and winning wagers were surely smiling on him today. Despite the romantic plays and ballads proclaiming that dark mists and fogs were best for lovers, he’d always found a warm, sunny day put ladies more in the mood than a chilly, gray one. With a cheerfully tuneless whistle on his lips, he turned around and let his manservant Crenshaw tie his neckcloth into a knot as perfect as the rest of the day promised to be.

“A splendid day, isn’t it, Crenshaw?” he declared, his voice a little strangled as he held his chin up and clear of the knot tying. “Would that every Sunday were so fine, eh?”

“As you wish, your grace,” said Crenshaw, his standard answer to all of Guilford’s questions for as long as either of them could recall. With puffs of wispy white hair capping perpetually gloomy resignation, Crenshaw was a servant of such indeterminate age that Guilford couldn’t swear if the man were forty or eighty; all he knew for sure was that Crenshaw had been a part of the family since before Guilford had been born. Guilford had inherited him along with his title when his father had died, and he expected Crenshaw to be there waiting each morning with his warm shaving water and razor until either he or Crenshaw died first. And Crenshaw being Crenshaw, Guilford wouldn’t bet against him to outlast the whole lot of Fitzhardings.

“It is what I wish,” Guilford said. “Not that I have any more say in the weather than the next man. Is the chaise around front yet?”

“I expect it any moment, your grace.” Crenshaw gave a last gentle pat to the center of the linen knot, like a nursemaid to a favorite charge. “Shall I expect you to return to dress for the evening, or will you be going directly to Miss Danton’s house?”

“No, no, Crenshaw, I am done with Miss Danton, and she with me,” Guilford said, without even a trace of rancor. “May she ride to the hounds happily into the sunset, and away from me. Today I’ll have another fair lady gracing my side—Miss Amariah Penny.”

“The lady from the gaming house, your grace?” Holding out Guilford’s coat, Crenshaw’s amazement briefly overcame his reticence. “One of those red-haired sisters, your grace?”

“The same, and the first and the finest of the three,” Guilford said with relish as he slipped his arms into the coat’s sleeves. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d anticipated an engagement with any lady this much. “I shall return when I return, Crenshaw. I can’t promise more than that. There’s the chaise now.”

He grabbed his gloves and hat, and bounded down the staircase. He had always liked Amariah Penny, liked her from the first night he’d met her. He’d first visited Penny House for the novelty of a club run by ladies, but Amariah was the reason he’d returned. It wasn’t just her flame-colored hair and well-curved figure—his London was full of far more beautiful women—but her cleverness. She was quick and witty in the same ways he was himself, and because she always had the right word at the ready, she was vastly entertaining. You’d never catch her relying on a languid simper to cover her ignorance. She smiled wickedly, then came at you with all guns blazing, and Guilford had never met another woman like her.

Yet before this week, he hadn’t thought of her as anything beyond her place at Penny House. He wasn’t certain why; perhaps he just hadn’t wanted to tamper with a perfectly good arrangement between them. The wager had changed that. It was almost as if he’d been granted permission to consider her in bed instead of just the front room of Penny House, and now he could scarce think of anything else. He wanted to see the whole expanse of her creamy pale skin, and learn every exact place she had freckles. He wanted to explore the body her drifting, constant blue gowns hinted at, and discover the lush breasts and hips he suspected were there. He wanted her to laugh that wonderfully husky laugh just for him, and he wanted to hear her moan with the pleasure he’d give her.