Ten Things I Hate About the Duke - Loretta Chase Page 0,93

the early evening din of Park Street and Park Lane, they helped create an oasis of calm. She was able to hear voices coming from one of the open windows. Though she couldn’t make out the words, she recognized Ashmont’s, and her heart went into a wild flutter.

Still here, then.

Very well. No turning back now.

The offices were in the west wing of the house. Judging by the sounds Cassandra caught, the servants were taking their dinner. While this didn’t eliminate the risk of being detected as she ran up the back stairs, it reduced the chances. In any case, she crept inside unhindered. Once inside, the odds were in her favor. If they tried to stop her, she’d raise strong objections, and Ashmont would hear her.

That was the plan, at any rate.

She made her way cautiously to the first-floor rooms where she’d last heard his voice, and stepped into the first one. A bedchamber. His, judging by the size and furnishings. Empty. The voices she’d heard became clearer, from the next room, it sounded like. A dispute about coats, with the other voice sounding tearful. That must be Sommers, the valet.

“It doesn’t matter, where I’m going,” Ashmont said. “Go, take your dinner. We won’t leave for hours yet, and I want to be let alone in the meantime.”

“But Your Grace’s red under-waistcoat—”

“Can’t think what I’d need it for. Go to dinner. Or read a book. Whatever you like, only go away. I’m sick to death of waistcoats. You’ll drive me to travel in my dressing gown.”

The valet mumbled something. Then footsteps came toward Cassandra, and she pressed herself against the wall behind the door. But the footsteps changed direction, and she heard another nearby door close.

Time now.

Ashmont threw off his dressing gown and pulled off the waistcoat Sommers had objected to.

“Your Grace cannot wear that,” Ashmont mimicked his valet in a low voice. “Because if I do,” he answered in his own, “don’t you know, the world will come to an end. Rain of frogs. Ghouls rising in the churchyard.”

He heard a gasp, and spun toward the sound. A man stood in the doorway of the light closet. Though the room was far from brightly lit, it was clear he wasn’t Sommers or any other servant.

Ashmont didn’t pause to think or ask questions. He lunged—and a walking stick blocked him, and an unforgettable voice said, “If you try to kill me, I’ll make you sorry.”

He backed away and the voice’s owner stepped out of the closet’s doorway and into his dressing room.

He watched, heart thumping, while she—for it was she, and no other—straightened her hat, smoothed her neckcloth, and brushed the sleeve of her coat. “If you’d spared a minute of your precious time to see me, I should not have been obliged to break into your house.”

Ashmont only stood gaping at her and waiting for his heart to slow down.

His gaze moved from the top hat down over the brown coat, colorful neckcloth and waistcoat, and striped silk Cossack trousers. Cut full at the thigh and tapering to the ankles, they accommodated her shape, as did the layers of shirt, waistcoat, and coat, with its nipped-in waist. In most circumstances, one would assume she was a young man. He’d assumed it, and now he wondered how he could have done so, even in the shadowy light.

“I could hardly come as myself,” she said.

He found his voice. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“You left me no choice. As it was, the odds were good you’d run away before I could get to you. Ashmont, if you must go to Southampton, you must, but—”

“Southampton? I’m not going to Southampton.”

“Oh, direct to Goodwood, then.”

“What in blazes are you talking about?”

She relayed the tale she’d had from Morris’s mother earlier in the day.

“Morris made that up,” he said. “I told him I didn’t want anybody to know where I’d be—Camberley Place, actually, but it makes no matter. Didn’t you understand my note? Admittedly, I’m not the most coherent—at least according to Blackwood—but—”

“You’re running away,” she said. “You’ve given up on me.”

“That isn’t what—”

“Not that I blame you. But your timing is execrable. I had only this day realized— No, I am not going to explain my thinking. You’ll fall asleep before I’m halfway done.”

“Not likely to fall asleep with you standing there in trousers. I can practically see your legs.”

“Don’t be silly. The trousers are lined with cotton. Not at all transparent.”

“I can see more of your legs than when you wear a dress and