Page 36 of Dukes for Dessert

Beyond the walls, green hills stretched toward a river valley that marked the Welsh border.

“Amazingly peaceful,” said a voice at her shoulder.

Sophie somehow had known he’d come, that he’d been there, admiring the beauty of the landscape with her.

“I loved it as a girl.” Sophie rested her hand on an arch. “I pretended it was my castle, put here for me and Uncle. No one else could come.”

“Then I’m intruding.” David made no move to leave, relaxing against the bricks beside him.

“Of course not. You’re a guest.”

David frowned. “Don’t sound so damned formal. A princess condescending to allow a peasant to bask in her company for a few moments.”

“At a monastery? I’d be a nun, not a princess.”

“You wouldn’t be here at all. Except as a lady bountiful bestowing largess on the men who slaved away here day after day, copying books and brewing beer.” He trailed off to a mutter. “As you do with Gaspar.”

Sophie stared at him. “I beg your pardon? I am being polite, hardly bestowing largess. You, on the other hand, are appallingly rude to him. What the devil is the matter with you?”

“Rude?” David blinked. “When have I been rude? I thought I was being disgustingly unctuous.”

“Rubbing his nose in the fact that you are a landed gentleman with a vast estate, when he can barely pay for a meal. Dr. Gaspar’s father and mother ailed for a long time, eating up any money they had, leaving him destitute when they finally passed on. Uncle had to help him find work with a professor leaving for Constantinople. Dr. Gaspar has a brilliant mind, but he’s paid only in room and board—a gentleman doesn’t work for wages, does he? The sponsors of the digs have no intention of keeping him in luxury.”

David’s expression went stiff. “I hadn’t realized that.”

“And calling archaeology a hobby. How could you?” Sophie warmed to the topic. “You know how Uncle feels about his digs. As though you are not a dilettante in your ridiculous suit …” She waved her hands at it.

David glanced down in surprise. “What is wrong with my suit? Shall I scramble about looking for Roman villas in evening dress?”

“Of course not. Don’t be silly.”

“My usual clothes are meant for clubs and meetings with other indolent gentlemen. I thought I’d purchase things I could ruin.”

A Bond Street tailor had made his suit and made it well, Sophie recognized. Even Laurie, who spent money in great spews, would have taken good care of clothes like that.

“Whose approval do you seek?” Sophie asked, unable to halt her tongue. “Uncle’s? Or Lady Eleanor’s?”

David gave her an odd look. He began to answer, then checked himself. “Why should I seek their approval?”

Not what he’d meant to say. The question lacked conviction.

Sophie cast about for biting answers, but all she could manage was a lofty, “I am certain I have no idea.”

David turned and folded his arms as he gazed out over the fields below. After a time, his face smoothed, lines of anger vanishing.

“I could stay here forever,” he said softly.

“But we can’t.” Sophie heard the regret in her voice. “The world marches on, and we must march with it.”

“Why should we? The world has done its best to hound us until we retreated from it.”

“Because I must await my fate, and you, I believe, must attend a trial to clear yourself of attempted murder.”

“Ah, yes, mustn’t forget Griffin.” David stared at the distant hills without changing expression.

“You don’t seem worried.”

“Griffin has been determined to pot me one for years. Ever since I destroyed one of his proposals to increase a man’s control over all monies his wife possesses, even those left to her in carefully worded trusts for her lifetime. He wanted to get his hands on the part of his wife’s fortune he can’t touch, is all. I remember being quite blatant in my ridicule. He’s never forgiven me.”

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