Page 223 of Dukes for Dessert

“How did you know I—”

“Madame Edna knows all.” She rubbed her palms over the glass sphere. “You don’t wish to be seen as aloof. You are lonely. You seek the missing piece.”

He dropped coins into the basin. “Two bob more. Now, how do I do it?”

Madame Edna leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Share your balls.”

“Share my what?”

“And your table.” She placed the glass sphere inside a wooden box and removed her turban. “The rest will become clear.”

“Where are you going?” He placed his hands on the table. “I thought you were going to tell my fortune.”

“I did.” She tugged down her sign. “The rest is up to you.”

With a muffled groan, Adam pushed away from her table to almost crash directly into the castle’s resident solicitor, Mr. Thompson, who had aided Adam’s man of business with the purchase of the cottage.

“Thank God.” Adam’s shoulders relaxed. “Someone sane.”

“Your Grace!” Mr. Thompson said warmly. “May I help you?”

“I’d like to donate several hundred volumes to the castle library. Is there a process for such contributions?”

“There is, indeed. If the day after tomorrow is amenable, I can have several footmen and coaches available to fetch the books from your door. You needn’t lift a finger.”

Except for separating a dozen cherished titles Adam was unwilling to part with. “Two o’clock?”

“It’s as good as done, Your Grace.”

“Splendid.” Adam hurried from the castle to his waiting coach before he was forced into any more awkward conversations.

“To the cottage?” his driver asked.

“Please,” Adam replied with feeling.

The encounter with Madame Edna had proven he was not yet ready to converse with strangers. His head still hurt from the effort. He could not wait to settle into the library and relax with a favorite book. At least it was a short drive.

When his coach stopped in front of his silent, cozy summer cottage, Adam’s tense shoulders relaxed. Without waiting for the driver, he opened the carriage door and stepped out onto springy green grass. Ten decorative stones up the neat front walk, and he’d finally be where he was most comfortable: alone.

As his shiny black Hessian touched the first gray stone, the wild sound of an out-of-control carriage rumbled down the hill toward him. Adam spun to face the narrow road, heart pounding in alarm.

It was not a runaway carriage. It was a high-flyer racing phaeton with a madman at the reins and three equally insane passengers crammed into the two-person seat. They caught sight of Adam at the same moment.

“It’s the Duke of Azureford!” shouted a voice. “Let me out!”

The phaeton slowed to a stop, and the top of a young woman’s head poked up over the side. Did the driver not intend to help her down?

Adam hurried in her direction.

Before he could offer assistance, the young woman’s delicate kid half-boots landed on the colorful leaves below.

Time seemed to slow. Adam could swear his spellbound eyes registered each bounce of her golden tendrils, each magnetic sway of her hips, each crinkle at the edges of her sparkling hazel eyes.

This wasn’t any young woman. This was Miss Carole Quincy, Adam’s next-door neighbor.

His heartbeat was so loud in his ears, he barely registered the phaeton rolling merrily away, its occupants apparently confident that their recently ejected passenger could fend for herself. Nor did Adam have any doubts.

Miss Quincy was a beautiful hoyden, an unpredictable tempest disguised as springtime. Adam’s opposite in every way. She was gregarious and popular, wild and joyful, her easy manner and infectious laugh winning the hearts of every soul who crossed her path.

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