Say No to the Duke (The Wildes of Lindow Castle #4) - Eloisa James Page 0,73
said absentmindedly.
He gave his hair a last shake and stretched. His shirt pulled free of his breeches, and she caught sight of his ridged stomach, an arrow of hair disappearing into his waistband.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Unheeding, unknowing, he strode toward the inn, out of her sight in a moment.
Chapter Seventeen
Jeremy had discovered to his surprise that vigorous exercise in the morning had become a necessity. He had managed a few hours of sleep before he woke at dawn. After fruitlessly staring at the ceiling, he flung himself out of doors and tackled the snow.
It pulled his mind from the battlefield to the present. He wasn’t in the colonies. He was in a small inn crowded with eccentric, loud people of whom he was growing inordinately fond. Especially one of them.
The corridor leading from the courtyard seemed dark and musty after squinting at piles of shining snow. There was no mistaking the tall figure of Lady Knowe, waiting for him.
“Betsy has tamped herself down in the last years,” she said without introduction. Her eyes searched his face. “Believe it or not, she was the wildest of my children.”
“I believe you,” Jeremy said.
“Do you?” she demanded.
How was he supposed to answer that? “I gather that you approve of Bess’s”—he caught himself—“Betsy’s wish to dress herself in men’s clothing. Since you are doing the same.”
“Are you being judgmental?” Lady Knowe said. “It never suits a man to be judgmental. Life is far too easy for you, so you must reel in your tendency to censure others.”
Life was too easy? Jeremy could feel his jaw tightening, but he nodded.
Lady Knowe’s eyes softened. “Not in all ways, my dear,” she said, more gently. “But believe me, when it comes to relations between men and women, men hold all the cards. Betsy is finally letting herself out of a box she created.”
“I see.” And he did.
“Emily as well. She has been an excellent duchess and mother, and she’s finally doing something that she wants to do.”
Jeremy nodded.
“You and your father must watch out for Betsy, and Thaddeus will do the same for his mother.”
Her Grace emerged from the door behind Lady Knowe, her mouth tight. “Thaddeus and I have come to a mutual decision that he should remain in the inn and not accompany us to the auction.”
Lady Knowe muttered something under her breath.
“I am going,” the duchess said, her voice rising loud enough so that it could easily be heard in the room behind her. “I shall attend the auction, with or without him, and frankly, I’d rather it was without. I can’t believe that a son of mine is such a priggish, self-righteous, prudish—”
“We understand,” Lady Knowe said.
“—puff of air!” the duchess finished triumphantly.
Thaddeus appeared in the doorway, his expression imperturbable. “As you will have ascertained, Her Grace and I do not agree.”
Lady Knowe shook her head. “Not the time to play the haughty duke, Thaddeus.”
“I merely expressed concern,” he said.
“I’d be honored to accompany you, Your Grace,” Jeremy said.
“No, you will be accompanying Betsy,” Lady Knowe said. “In case the worst happens, I want someone with her who has a talent for fisticuffs, which I do not have, obviously. Your father can accompany the duchess.”
Thaddeus’s eyes narrowed. “Your concern increases my own, Lady Knowe.”
“No reason for you to worry,” Lady Knowe said dismissively. “In the unlikely event that an auction-goer has the temerity to question Betsy’s costume, I want him thrown out of the establishment.” Lady Knowe stared at Jeremy. “Do you understand?”
“Completely.” The very idea of someone ogling Betsy’s arse—other than himself—made his blood boil.
Thaddeus and his mother had begun to argue again.
“Go have a bath,” Lady Knowe said to Jeremy. “You’re sweaty as a pig and Betsy will be downstairs, in breeches, soon.”
Jeremy bounded to the top of the stairs. As he walked by Betsy’s door, it sprang open and a slender hand emerged, curled around his wrist, and tugged.
“I need you,” Betsy whispered. She tugged again.
He went, because although she didn’t know it, he would always come when she needed him. Whenever she needed him.
Inside the chamber, his eyes went straight to Betsy’s face. She looked as exquisite as ever: A man’s wig suited her. She generally wore towering creations or arranged her own hair into powdered mounds on her head.
A small white wig focused attention on her face, especially her dark, arched eyebrows. She looked unmistakably like a Wilde. She was damned beautiful.
But then, Wilde men were beautiful. It was one of the irritating things about them,