How to Catch a Duke (Rogues to Riches #6) - Grace Burrowes Page 0,102

second greatest joy after being your husband.” As a younger man, Quinn had been too shy and backward to give his wife the words she needed. Thank heavens Jane was, indeed, a patient woman.

“It’s not fair.” Jane sighed against Quinn’s neck. “With every child, you grow more handsome and distinguished. I become fat and irritable.”

Quinn kissed her cheek. “You talk this way when you’re tired. It’s very bad of Stephen to be courting his Abigail while you are recovering from childbed. Duncan is grumbling because Stephen hasn’t spared him even a single game of chess.”

“Stephen will have time for chess again soon. I do believe I am about to steal a nap.”

“Jane, what aren’t you telling me?”

She was silent for a moment. Quinn had learned to wait for her replies.

“Ned is fond of Miss Abbott.”

“We all are.” Quinn did not understand exactly what drew Stephen and Abigail to each other, but the lady was clearly a match for Stephen’s intellect and for his heart.

“She asked Ned to procure her a ticket on the Wednesday night Northern Flyer. Ned had sense enough to make it an inside ticket. She booked two seats all the way to York—one for Hercules, if you can imagine that—and asked Ned to tell no one.”

But Ned, like Quinn, was entirely the Duchess of Walden’s creature, and had thus apparently tempered his silence with a judicious slip of the tongue in Jane’s hearing.

“And Stephen has no idea,” Quinn muttered. Neddy’s slip of the tongue neatly placed upon Jane the burden of telling Stephen this news.

She yawned delicately. “This is not how I envisioned their situation resolving, Quinn. You had better have a word with Stephen.”

Well, of course. “Go to sleep, my dear. I will have a word, and love will prevail, if I have to rap Stephen over the head with his own canes to ensure the outcome my duchess prefers.”

Jane dozed off, a warm, beloved weight in Quinn’s arms. Her naps were deep and usually brief, and this one gave Quinn a chance to ponder his brother’s situation with Miss Abbott. They were profoundly in love, of that Quinn was certain. Stephen would not part with his manufactories for any other motivation, but as for Miss Abbott…

Quinn would have a word, and not with Stephen.

Chapter Sixteen

“You are abandoning my brother,” His Grace of Walden said, taking the place beside Abigail on the garden bench. “Why?”

One did not tell a duke to take himself off, not in his own garden, but Abigail dearly wanted to.

“My reasons are my own, Your Grace. I am very appreciative of your hospitality, but my errand here in London is concluded. The time has come for me to return to York.”

She would have called for Hercules and retreated to the house, but His Grace went on speaking as if she’d remarked nothing more significant than the mild weather.

“I have four daughters.” The duke offered this observation with the sort of relish that suggested he stood to inherit the crown jewels.

“Lovely little girls,” Abigail said. “Very dear. I’m sure you’re quite proud of them.”

“I am besotted with my womenfolk, and Stephen is besotted with you. Yet you turn your back on him. Is this your Quaker heritage taking a stand against firearms, Abigail?”

She should scold him for using her given name, but with His Grace of Walden, etiquette worked in reverse. If the duke condescended so far as to use familiar address, the person so addressed was honored, and, besides, Abigail liked that he’d not stand on ceremony with her. Stephen would make the same sort of duke, adept at navigating social subtleties, devoted to his wife and children—blast him to Hades.

“I do not approve of warfare,” she said. “Particularly not aggressive warfare. Stephen is welcome to involve himself in whatever business he pleases. His commercial undertakings are no concern of mine.”

The duke was a larger specimen than Stephen. He was more heavily muscled and took up more of the bench. His scent was pleasant, though not as enticing as the beguiling fragrance Stephen wore. Abigail would not have noticed these differences, but becoming Stephen’s lover had changed how she experienced the world.

Men were either Stephen or not Stephen, and those who were not Stephen could never match the standard he set. For wit, loyalty, fierceness, passion, tenderness…

“Stephen,” His Grace said, “whose affairs are no concern of yours, is arranging the sale of any interest he holds in ventures related to making or repairing firearms of any stripe. I have been urging him