Now that the gist of the story was revealed, Sandhurst hated to prolong the interview, but curiosity got the better of him. "You are not exactly privy to the intimate details of my life, Rupert, so I wonder what led to your suspicion that Kettlewell might find Lady Dangerfield in my bed."
Rupert blushed and dropped his eyes. "Lord Dangerfield arrived back from a journey to Cornwall yesterday. As I understood the story, he went to his home, but his wife was absent. Then he—uh—visited the court at Whitehall, where he imbibed a rather injudicious amount of ale and told anyone who would listen that Lady Dangerfield was embroiled in an open affair with you, that she was doubtless in your bed as he spoke, that—"
"Am I to assume that you were one of those people who 'would listen'?"
"Only for your sake, Sandhurst!" Rupert assured him eagerly. "Only to help you!"
"I'm a grown man. I don't want your help." He turned away before reason fled entirely and he said something brutal. "Leave me now to bathe and dress. You may tell my father when he awakens that I will join him in his chambers."
Sandhurst returned to his own bedchamber to discover that Iris had gone back to sleep. Drawing back the covers, he lightly spanked her shapely bottom and sat down on the edge of the bed.
"You'll have to get up, I'm afraid." He spoke distractedly, staring out the leaded-glass windows. Snow swirled against the panes. "Didn't you tell me that your husband returns from Cornwall today?"
"Yes, but not until midday." Iris ran her fingertips down the long, tapering line of his back. "Come back to bed, my lord," she purred. "I'm still hungry."
"Save your appetite for Dangerfield. He's back, and he knows you weren't in his bed last night. I'd suggest that you dress and hurry home to appease him, if you still can...."
* * *
Joshua Finchley, faithful valet to the Marquess of Sandhurst, prepared a hot bath for his lordship, then laid out fresh clothing and took his leave. Unlike most noblemen, his master preferred to shave, bathe, and dress himself.
It was past eight when Sandhurst stepped into the corridor, clad in rich gray velvet. Puffs of white silk showed through the slashings of his doublet, which was sewn tight at his narrow waist. A neat white fraise stood up against his golden-brown neck.
"Andrew!" cried a familiar female voice. He turned to find his sister, Cecily, running toward him, her face alight with love and excitement.
"Child," he murmured, and caught her up in his arms. "How you've grown."
"I'm almost a lady. I'm thirteen. A boy in Yorkshire has already asked for my hand!"
Sandhurst blinked, then smiled. "He was refused, I trust!"
"Of course, silly!" She stood on tiptoe, beaming up at him. Gleaming black curls framed her heart-shaped face which was dominated by beautiful sable-brown eyes. She was petite and slender, with gentle curves that he hadn't remembered... no longer a baby sister. "I've missed you so! How can you leave me up there with... them like this?" Cecily's voice had dropped to a whisper. She glanced down the hall toward Rupert and Patience, who appeared to be standing guard outside the duke's bedchamber.
"I'm not a fit guardian for a young lady," he replied with more than a twinge of guilt. If only their mother hadn't died, none of these problems would exist.
"Do you think it right that I'm being raised by—"
"My lord?" Rupert and Patience called in unison. "Your father awaits."
"I'm coming." He looked down at Cecily's earnest little face. "We'll talk about this later, all right?" Then, walking down the corridor toward the duke's bedchamber, Sandhurst could only feel a familiar rush of hostility. This was his house, after all, and he was thirty-two years old, yet other people continued to attempt to manipulate his life! They arrived without an invitation, ordering him about—
"Andrew? Andrew, where are you?" came the querulous voice of his father.
Lord Sandhurst paused for a moment and closed his eyes. Old instincts rose to the surface, but he pushed them back. He'd learned, years ago, that fighting with his father gained him nothing but frustration, though it had taken him many more years to perfect a more subtle approach. Opening his eyes, he practiced a smile on Rupert and Patience as he went through the doorway.
"Father, it is good to see you." Approaching the bed, Sandhurst extended his hand.
The Duke of Aylesbury wore an old nightgown faced with fox. He sat up in bed,