Love Match by Maggie MacKeever

Author:Maggie MacKeever [MacKeever, Maggie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Regency Romance
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 2003-09-25T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

“A gentleman’s right to chastise his wife is indisputable.”—Lady Ratchett

The fire was burning, the candles lit, robe and slippers laid out neatly. The duke’s dressing room was quite cheerful, until the duke arrived. One peek at that irate visage was sufficient to alert Thornaby that the duchess’s dance lessons hadn’t achieved the result he’d hoped.

Discreetly, he inspected the ducal shoes. Definitely he must invest in pumice stone. Treacle and ivory black, to boot. He smiled at his unintentional witticism. ‘To boot.’

Justin was annoyed to see his valet so cheerful. “What do you find humorous?” he snapped.

“Nothing, Your Grace.” Thornaby suspected Lord Charnwood would find no amusement in the condition of his shoes. Lord Charnwood wasn’t in a frame of mind to find humor in much of anything, which didn’t bode well for a certain wager. Thornaby helped his master out of his coat.

“Damned right,” muttered Justin, though he would have rather argued. However, it would be shabby in him to pick a quarrel with his valet, because Thornaby wouldn’t dare fight back. Such familiarity would be opposed the valet’s notions of what was proper and what was not. Did a note of censure pass his lips, the man would probably go out and hang himself.

Justin deserved more than a note of censure. He was behaving badly. Lady Syb had said so, emphatically. “You are as busy as the devil in a high wind. Stop fussing, Thornaby.”

Thornaby had indeed been fussing, rather as if he were a trainer preparing his boxer to step into the ring. Unlikely that the duke would appreciate the analogy. At least he had managed to wrestle his master’s jacket off him, his waistcoat and cravat.

The valet got no further. His efforts were interrupted by a noise from the next room. The duke scowled ferociously and strode toward the door.

The knob moved beneath his hand, but the door refused to open. He pushed. Still the portal remained firmly closed. “Thornaby, this door is locked,” he said, through gritted teeth.

Thornaby tried the handle. “It seems to be, Your Grace. Mayhap you should knock?”

Justin would be boiled in oil before he knocked on the door of his own wife’s bedroom. “Do I have a key?”

Thornaby couldn’t decide who was the biggest pigwidgeon, the duchess or the duke. “I believe the key is in the duchess’s bedroom, Your Grace.”

Of course the key was not in the duchess’s bedroom, else the duchess would not have been able to lock him out. Justin put his shoulder to the door, and shoved. The heavy door budged not an inch. “Bring me my pistols, Thornaby.”

The valet’s question was thereby answered. The duke was the biggest pigeonhead. The duchess had but locked the bedroom door, which if not particularly intelligent of her, was hardly a hanging offense. “Mayhap you might wish to reconsider, Your Grace.”

“What I wish to do is throttle someone, and you are close to hand.” Justin bared his teeth. “The pistols, and be quick about it, man!”

Thornaby did not want to be throttled.

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