How to Catch a Duke (Rogues to Riches #6) - Grace Burrowes Page 0,47

his foot off the hassock. “Stapleton might have them and believe there are more. He might have stolen them from you and suspect you stole them back, when instead one of his political detractors has them. We need to take a closer look at his lordship’s domestic situation.”

Abigail cast a look at the duke and duchess, expecting Her Grace of Walden to object to housebreaking. Their Graces were holding hands, and the duchess was sitting close enough to the duke that their joined hands rested on her thigh.

“We also need to go to the opera,” Lord Stephen said, pushing to his feet. “Stapleton favors the opera. Jane, does Miss Abbott have suitable attire for Friday night’s performance?”

Ned rose as well. “I hate the damned opera.”

“Language, Ned,” Her Grace murmured. “Miss Abbott will be appropriately dressed for an evening engagement.”

“Neddy, if you’d rather not attend,” Stephen said, “I will escort Miss Abbott unassisted. Stapleton should have word by now of her arrival in London, and I don’t want him getting any untoward ideas.”

“I have an untoward idea,” Ned replied.

Stephen smiled. “I knew I could count on you.”

“No housebreaking,” Abigail said, though clearly her words were falling on deaf male ears. “We have no reason to believe Stapleton has the letters.”

“We aren’t looking for the letters,” Ned said. “We’re looking for why he’s desperate to get his manicured, beringed paws on them.”

“Lady Champlain does not favor the opera generally,” Stephen said, “and she stays in when Stapleton attends—you are not to seduce her, Ned. She has gallants aplenty for that. I must take myself off for a spot of contemplation. Miss Abbott, I’d like to escort you on a round of the shops tomorrow. You’ll want your own pair of opera glasses.”

Abigail had no intention of spending a single farthing on opera glasses she would use only once. “What time should I be ready, my lord?”

“Walk me to my coach, and we’ll sort that out.”

That was about as subtle as Wodin’s enormous paw on her knee. Abigail excused herself and accompanied Stephen down the steps to the main foyer.

“Ned doubtless knows what he’s doing, but I have no wish to impose on your time, my lord, and no interest in enriching Mayfair’s shopkeepers.”

Stephen took her hand, hung his cane on the edge of the sideboard, braced his back against the wall, and pulled Abigail in close.

“To blazes with the rubbishing shopkeepers, Abigail. To blazes with Stapleton, and if Ned makes sheep’s eyes at you one more time, to blazes with him too. You’re driving me mad, d’you hear me? Mad.”

Then he fused his mouth to hers, wedged his bad knee between her legs, and drove her mad too.

Chapter Eight

“This is half of them,” Abigail said. “I can’t promise I’ve recalled them word for word, but I’ve read them dozens of times. Much of the language is verbatim.”

Stephen accepted the copies of the letters and all they represented. “I promise they are safe with me. May I show them to my family?” He tucked them into an inside pocket, though he longed to read them. He would rather keep Abigail’s secrets to himself, but only a fool would muddle on without the aid of keen minds eager to help.

“Read them first, then decide. You look splendid.”

They held this exchange in the foyer of Quinn’s home, for the hour had come to accompany Abigail on a shopping expedition. The outing was for show—Stephen hated shopping and suspected Abigail wasn’t much for idling about in commercial venues either.

“I am supposed to look besotted.” He’d spent five minutes choosing a cravat pin and eventually settled on plain gold. “Somebody waits in the carriage whom I’d like you to meet.”

Her gaze grew wary. “Not another one of your sneak thieves in dandy’s clothing?”

“Neddy is not a sneak thief. He’s a loyal and highly skilled family retainer, and I was so jealous of Quinn’s affection for him I nearly shot young Ned in the leg. Quinn hugged him, just the once, when Ned was a boy, and I happened to see it. I should not have been spying—Ned would die of mortification if he knew I’d caught that moment—but I was overcome with jealousy.”

Stephen was also babbling, prattling like the nervous suitor he almost was.

Abigail took down a cloak from a hook. “My father always had fine words for the ladies who came into his shop. They wore lovely bonnets, had fetching reticules, or were in quite good looks, while I—striving endlessly to learn his trade without even