Page 240 of Dukes for Dessert

“They aren’t my books,” he admitted. When she spun to face him with a question in her eyes, he explained, “They belonged to my father. They’re his favorites. We used to argue about cracking spines and bending corners, but now those flaws are the things I love most about those books. It’s proof he lived, he loved, he was happy. When I touch them, it feels like he’s still here.”

She touched a hand to her chest and gave a tight nod. “I know what you mean.”

He leaned against the table. “That’s not why I summoned you.”

“Is it because you’re in the market for a rapeseed crown?” she guessed. “I know a girl. We can arrange it.”

“I know a girl, too.” He corrected himself, “A woman. Some might say, an expert in designing the perfect billiard room.”

Her hazel eyes widened. “Who says that besides me?”

“Me.” He lifted the most recent letter. “And Paterson, my man of business.” He brandished the winning proposal. “And some fellow called John… the Worst? John Thirsty? John—”

“John Thurston said I know how to design the perfect billiard room?”

“I watched you make that sketch in less than fifteen minutes, and you managed to include a billiard table that was recognizably one of his. He won the proposal. Of course he thinks you’re brilliant.”

“John Thurston is going to build you a custom billiard table?” Her expression went from shocked to overjoyed. “Here? In Christmas?”

“Right there where you’re standing. I don’t know if you’re still interested in helping me remodel this dusty old room—”

“Yes!” She grabbed his hands and danced around him in an excited circle. “I could kiss you for this! It’s a dream come—”

His heart thumped.

Her cheeks went scarlet, as if just realizing what she’d said. “I didn’t mean…”

He wished she had meant it. There was suddenly nothing he wanted more than to pull her forward into his arms and lose himself in the taste of her lips.

“Well, then.” He forced himself to let go of her soft hands. “Let’s get to work. I’ll only be here for another month.”

“A month?” Her voice cracked “To tear out your old library, put in a billiard room, search for, interview, and employ fast, capable construction personnel, turn a haphazard sketch into actual, beautiful cabinetry, commission balls and cues and maces, somehow squeeze into the schedule of the most sought-after billiard table artisan in England… This will take several months.”

“Nothing to it.” Adam had faced far tougher deadlines in the House of Lords. He could succeed. They could succeed. “Billiards party in four weeks.”

8

Carole hopped across her bedchamber rug as she tied her final boot. Every person in her household had needed her help this morning, and now she was running late to Azureford’s.

True to his word, the indomitable man had summoned draftsmen and journeymen out of the ether. Over the past week, a flurry of artists and experts had paraded in and out of his cottage, and Carole had been right by Azureford’s side through all of it. They’d spent long hours deliberating over designs and materials and proposals.

Today was the day the actual renovation was set to begin. Carole didn’t want to miss a single moment.

She skidded out her bedchamber into the corridor and nearly crashed into a maid carrying her father’s breakfast tray.

“Shall I take this to Mr. Quincy, miss?” Rhoda asked.

Every other morning, Carole’s answer to this question had always been, No, I’ll do it. Even though her father barely glanced up from his desk, at least he would know his daughter never stopped caring about him. The who-takes-the-tray dance was part of the ritual.

“Please do.” She curled her fingers about her reticule. “I must hurry.”

“You said… yes?” the maid stammered in obvious surprise. “That is, of course, miss. I’m happy to.”

Carole was always happy to, too. This uncharacteristic deviation was temporary. Soon enough, Azureford’s holiday would end and the Quincy household would resume its predictable patterns.

“Thank you, Rhoda.” Carole swept out the door before the maid’s shocked eyes could ask any more questions.

When all of this was over, she’d dedicate even more time to Father to make up for her absence. If it weren’t for Carole, he’d never come out of his study. Perhaps if she did more for him, he’d have free time… and spend some of it with her.

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