Say No to the Duke (The Wildes of Lindow Castle #4) - Eloisa James Page 0,72
she could see carriages tooling slowly up and down the road. A robin was hopping along the top of the stone wall, its feet leaving marks that looked like the scratchings of an ancient civilization.
Three grooms were clearing snow from the courtyard. The one on the right, with his back to her, had dark hair tied in a queue. It gleamed in the chilly sunlight. His shoulders rose and fell, scooping huge amounts of snow onto a shovel and throwing them on a pile to the side.
“Which one of the two do you think I should marry?” she asked Winnie.
“The viscount,” Winnie said from behind her back. “He’ll be a duke someday. What’s more, Lord Jeremy can be cross as the dickens. Mind you,” she added, “his valet talks about him as if he walked on water.”
Betsy put a great deal of store by what servants thought of their masters. Two of the grooms trotted away, as if the third had dispatched them.
He straightened and ran the back of his hand over his forehead. His breath puffed white as he wrenched off his greatcoat and tossed it over a hitching post. Then he began shoveling again. She knew those shoulders, even from the rear.
“The household loves Lord Jeremy,” Winnie said. “Mind you, the same goes for the viscount. I haven’t heard a bad word about him, whereas Lord Jeremy drinks himself into a stupor and slides on the floor. No, there’s no question at all about which to marry.”
“He is never truly inebriated,” Betsy said. The robin was tugging on a twig sticking out from the snow. It tilted its head and tugged, its claws tramping a flat space in the snow.
The shoveler was working so hard that Betsy was amazed his linen shirt didn’t split between the shoulders. As he threw snow on the mound she caught sight of his profile.
Nose. Chin. Shoulders.
Jeremy.
Winnie made an exasperated sound. “So says Lady Knowe, but evidence doesn’t agree, does it? Lord Jeremy drinks a whole bottle and then falls to the floor. It’s not as if he didn’t drink the bottle. Plus there was unpleasantness over in the colonies.”
Betsy kept watching.
“What are you looking at?” Winnie joined her at the window. “That’s a very nice back. I can see why you’re ogling the fellow.”
“He’s not a ‘fellow,’” Betsy said.
Was she “ogling”? Yes, she was. She would never have allowed herself to do something so improper a month ago.
Winnie leaned closer to the window. “Lord Jeremy!”
They stood in silent appreciation of the smooth motion with which Jeremy threw huge amounts of snow onto a shoulder-high mound.
“He doesn’t suffer from ill effects of inebriation,” Winnie admitted.
He was attacking the last patch of snow as if . . .
Well, as if every snowflake were an enemy.
“Something happened over there in the colonies,” Winnie said. “Something terrible. There are rumors . . .”
“You mustn’t listen to them,” Betsy said sharply.
“My point is that a man with darkness in his soul isn’t an easy one to tame. Husbands need taming, everyone knows that. You can tell that the viscount would never flaunt a mistress in front of you.”
“Neither would Jeremy!”
Winnie snorted. “I’ve heard stories as you wouldn’t believe—”
“About him?”
Down below them, Jeremy had straightened, wiping his forehead with his arm. Betsy’s skin prickled.
What would those girls from school say if they knew what she was thinking? Did they ever watch a man doing honest labor and wonder if his sweat tasted salty or sweet?
They would think she was lascivious, and they would be right.
He pulled the strip of leather from his hair and shook it free.
“Lord, but he’s a pretty man,” Winnie said with a sigh. “His shoulders are much bigger than they seem in a jacket, aren’t they? Or perhaps his hips are narrower.”
Betsy bit back a remark. He wasn’t hers. Any woman could admire him. The snow was casting bright light, making Jeremy’s sculpted features stand out clearly. In the dark of the billiard room, they looked as if they were chiseled in harsh lines, but in clear morning sunlight, his profile appeared to be drawn by an old master.
“Stop gawping over that man,” Winnie said, turning away. “Did you hear what I said?”
Betsy remained glued to the window, irritatingly aware that her breath was quick and shallow, and her toes were curling. Jeremy’s shirt was damp with sweat, clinging to his arms and chest. Of course he wouldn’t strip it off, the way he had done at the stables. It was freezing outside.