Page 225 of Dukes for Dessert

“Gold earring,” Swinton repeated, touching a finger to his generous earlobe as if this new explanation made any more sense than the one Adam had imagined.

Miss Quincy’s lips parted in sudden realization. “Mr. Swinton, you’ve had a new haircut! Subtle, but handsome. This is a splendid look for you.”

It was? Swinton did? How would Miss Quincy know?

Before Adam could ask any of his questions, they were already inside the entranceway and Swinton was closing the front door.

“I’ll just be a moment,” Miss Quincy assured him. “I lost my earring in your library during your party—”

“Six months ago?” Adam said doubtfully.

“That’s what I said,” Swinton murmured.

Miss Quincy lifted her chin. “This was my first chance to come and look for it.”

“Second chance,” came his butler’s bored voice. “You were here three days ago.”

“Second chance,” Miss Quincy agreed. “If you don’t mind…”

But he did mind. Rather than stalk after her as she turned toward the corridor, he loped past her to block the library entrance with his own body if necessary. The library was his private domain. The rest of the world might be random and overwhelming, but his library was the one place where every single book—

Was completely out of order?

A strangled sound burst from Adam’s throat as he forgot about Miss Quincy completely. His books! Who had touched them? Were they all still here? This was not how it was supposed to be at all! Adam had specifically ordered the contents transferred from his London residence to be presented in the same manner his father had kept them: displayed by size and color, making the library a veritable rainbow of literature no matter what the weather might be doing outside. It had been that way for generations. Adam would never have changed that. His servants would never have ruined the careful order. Miss Quincy…

He whirled to face her.

“Did you do this?” he demanded, his growl this time very real indeed.

“You didn’t do it?” she countered with obvious surprise.

Of course she hadn’t snuck in and rearranged his books. Swinton would have tossed her out by her ear, missing jewelry or no.

At this point, Adam didn’t give a fig about Miss Quincy and her earrings. What mattered was ensuring the dozen volumes he had planned to keep for the rest of his life were still here.

If not, heads would roll.

3

Carole leaned into a shaft of sunlight shining over the freshly ironed billiard table and carefully missed her shot.

“That was a near miss,” said her father in surprise and admiration. “You almost made it.”

“Thank you,” she murmured in reply.

Although the le Duc family often joined the Quincys for their weekly billiards game, this afternoon Carole and her father were enjoying a rare moment together. She was taking extra care to ensure neither one of them gained too many points, in order to ensure the too-brief game lasted as long as possible. In her family, a foul shot cost two points—which erased most of her three-point lead.

“How are your sketches coming?” Father asked.

“Very well,” she prevaricated.

As far as Carole knew, her best sketchbook was making the rounds with the neighbors or bobbing at the bottom of a well. The Duke of Azureford had sent her away without giving her a chance to look for it. Her chest tightened.

Father sent her a fond smile. “You’ll have to let me see your drawings one day.”

“One day,” she agreed vaguely.

As far as Father knew, her sketchbook was full of ladylike images: still-lifes of fruit at the breakfast table, watercolors of the bright yellow rapeseed flowers in their rear garden. He considered himself progressive to allow his daughter to play billiards with a proper cue rather than a ladies’ rack. If he found out she’d sketched the elegant castle ballroom as a billiard pub for whisky-swilling ladies, he’d never let Carole near a billiard ball again.

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