The Last Duke in London by Karen Lingefelt

Author:Karen Lingefelt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Karen Lingefelt
Published: 2023-11-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Lionel could have kicked up his heels and danced his way back to his house across the street, but a couple of carriages going opposite ways and passing by each other directly in front of the residences of Colfax and Rexford prevented that. He’d never seen Genevieve looking more dismayed than he had this morning.

She didn’t want to marry Pelham, and he couldn’t blame her. But he was more certain—not entirely, not enough to make an offer today—that she would much prefer to marry Lionel.

Those kisses, and maybe last night’s rescue—for that matter, the rescue at the Squirrel & Acorn and even in Bath—were starting to have their effect on her. Not that she really needed rescuing, and not that Lionel ever had to go out of his way to do it. But Pelham, and to a lesser extent the Morgan siblings, quite inadvertently had a way of bringing Lionel and Genevieve together.

Upon entering his own house, he told the butler to summon Roger at once.

“I believe he’s still in bed, Your Grace,” Barnaby said.

“Why does that not surprise me? Very well. I will wake him up myself.” Lionel dashed up the stairs and down the hallway to Roger’s bedchamber, but it was vacant save for a pair of maidservants making up the bed. At least they weren’t undressed and playing two slices of bread to Roger’s meat. “I don’t suppose either of you know the whereabouts of Mr. Morgan?”

They both shook their heads. If he hadn’t come downstairs yet, then where...and then Lionel thought of the Red Bedchamber. The hallway door was certain to be locked, so he returned to his own bedchamber where he twisted the rosette in the middle of the secret door and slowly opened it toward him. On the other side of the door was the mirror which at this angle offered an excellent view of the bed, but Roger wasn’t in it.

Lionel poked his head through the doorway and spotted his cousin standing directly in front of the female caryatid. Roger was unbuttoning his breeches and, “What the hell are you doing?” Lionel demanded.

Roger jumped and reeled back from the fireplace, hastily rebuttoning and oozing guilt. “Nothing. I was just—nothing.” He turned to make a mad dash for the door to the hallway, but Lionel lunged forward and grabbed him by the coat, hauling him back. “Now what?”

“Were you about to do what I think you were about to do?”

“I don’t know. What do you think I was about to do?”

“Does that female figure come with a—oh, I don’t know—shall we call it a secret little passage?”

“I always wondered—I just wanted to see if—well, my finger fits. In fact, two of my fingers fit. So—well, you know.”

“That’s marble, Roger. From Carrara, if that makes any difference, but my understanding is that no matter where marble comes from, it’s always cold.”

“I thought of that,” Roger said, as he made the necessary adjustments to his breeches. “But it didn’t feel so cold when I put my fi—”

“Never mind that.

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