A Duke by Any Other Name by Grace Burrowes Page 0,37
got a few pennies for her humiliation, she made sure Con and I had something to eat before we returned home.
“When we did go home,” Stephen continued, “Althea went in first, to deal with Jack. If we’d earned little—or nothing, which was often the case—she endured his displeasure and she forbade us to go to her rescue, not that we could have done much.”
Quinn took off his spectacles, folding the earpieces slowly, right then left. “I knew Jack was dangerous, but why wasn’t I told that Althea purposely drew his fire? We agreed none of you three was ever to be alone with him.”
Constance held her coffee cup beneath her nose. “Tell you, so you could do what? Scold Jack into reforming? He would have killed you for trying. You were earning what you could, and that’s why Jack let you live. The problem with Althea isn’t that she’s accustomed to putting up with bullies, it’s that she remembers our mama.”
“Althea is very good with the girls,” Jane said. “She knew that Bitty was afraid of dogs when I had no inkling.”
Elizabeth—Bitty—was no longer afraid of dogs because Althea had jollied her niece past that fear.
“Althea wants a family,” Constance said. “She recalls what it was like to have a mama, she sees how happy a family can be, and she deserves that. She would never choose a spouse who’d bring gossip down on the rest of us—a sheep farmer or wainwright, no matter how lovely he was—so Stephen has the right of it: Althea has given up on the one dream she’s longed for.”
Quinn wrinkled a splendid ducal beak. “York has a few eligibles. She might simply be shopping in a different market or taking a breather between rounds.”
“Because for Althea,” Stephen said, “finding the right spouse must be akin to horse trading or pugilism? Is that how you think in-laws should be acquired, Quinn?”
“We don’t know why Althea has chosen to remain in Yorkshire this year,” Jane said. “Writing to her is of no use. She replies conscientiously, all platitudes and pleasantry. We must send a competent spy.”
Well, thank God for Jane’s common sense.
“Very well,” Stephen said, adopting an air of martyrdom. “I can forgo the pleasures of Almack’s in favor of two hundred miles of travail on the Great North Road. I have no use for the dance floor and it has no use for me.”
“A spy,” Constance said, sipping her drink. “A fine idea. How soon can you leave?”
Chapter Seven
Althea’s kiss was as contradictory as the woman herself. Her grip on Nathaniel’s lapels was ferocious, while the press of her lips to his was delicate. She invited with her mouth, she demanded with her hands.
He could refuse neither the demand nor the invitation, and took her by the shoulders to guide her two steps, such that her back was against the garden wall. Nathaniel managed this without breaking the kiss, for there would be only this one foray into madness, and when it was over he could permit no others.
Althea settled back against the hard stones with a sigh that feathered past Nathaniel’s mouth. She slipped one arm around his waist, inside his jacket. The other hand went to his nape, as if to hold him still for her exploration.
Cinnamon and sweetness flavored her kiss, and when she took a taste of Nathaniel he wrapped her close. Arousal should have been a foregone conclusion when a man had been without intimate pleasure for so long, and yet, it wasn’t.
He could have ridden into York any evening during the past six months. Instead, he’d galloped Loki like a madman, stayed up all night reading the philosophers, and become too fond of the brandy decanter, but he’d felt no inclination to seek out a woman.
He was becoming in truth the recluse he sought to present to the world, and that realization honestly infuriated him.
Althea’s kiss stirred long-dormant desire even as it soothed years of unhappy emotion. She pressed herself nearer and urged Nathaniel closer too. His senses awoke, not like a man rising from a night of slumber, but like a creature coming out of hibernation after months of torpor in some cold, dark cave.
The scent of mossy stones, rosy woman, and dewy grass blended with the song of a single bird, and the rays of a sun determined to burn away the night mist. The sheer sweetness of the kiss gilded desire with tenderness, and when Althea at last sank against him, her cheek pressed to his