Page 30 of My One and Only Duke
“I keep my word, Jane.” Quinn reserved for later the matter of Jane’s firstborn, for sad to say, birth could be fatal for both mother and infant.
She let her weight sink against his side. “Then we shall be man and wife, Mr. Wentworth, until death do us part, shouting matches and all.”
“Man and wife,” he said. “For better or for worse, and all the rest of it. I have siblings. They come under the ‘worse’ heading. Let me tell you about them.”
Chapter Nine
“You are dithering,” Joshua said. “You’ve nothing to dither about. Your family is ecstatic that you’ve been pardoned. Even Duncan was offering toasts to your continued good health when I left your house, and he’s the next thing to a Presbyterian. Now he can boast that his cousin is a duke.”
Quinn tugged at the cravat that Joshua’s valet had tied too snugly around a brutally sore and abraded neck.
“Are you ecstatic at my continued good health?” Quinn asked.
And how long did one woman need to soak in a bathtub before she’d completed her ablutions? More than an hour ago Joshua’s housekeeper had whisked Jane abovestairs, muttering about daft men and a lady’s nerves.
“What sort of question is that?” Joshua retorted, opening a desk drawer and extracting a deck of cards.
They waited in Joshua’s library, which in bachelor quarters doubled as an office and game room. Joshua pulled out a chair opposite Quinn at an ingenious little table that could be used for chess, backgammon, cards, writing, and several other tasks, depending on which hidden lever Joshua manipulated.
Joshua Penrose liked his intrigues.
“Somebody put my neck in that noose,” Quinn said. “The usual motives are greed, revenge, or passion. I haven’t inspired anybody’s passion for years, I am scrupulously fair in all my financial dealings, and you benefitted the most by my death.”
Joshua dealt cards with the smooth practice of an expert—or an expert cheat. “In your shoes, I’d ask the same question, which is why I won’t lay you out flat for your suspicions. If you’re looking for who benefitted from your death, all of your family members did, but the charities stood to gain the most and I doubt they had any inkling of their impending good fortune. How long can one woman soak in a bathtub?”
“My wife may take as long as she pleases.” Though even Quinn, desperate to wash off the stink of prison, hadn’t been able to linger more than a half hour at his bath.
He’d detoured back to Joshua’s town house with Jane because the Wentworth residence was yet mobbed with reporters. Even that menace would not prevent Quinn from spending the night in his own bed.
A desultory hand of piquet ensued, one of thousands Quinn and Joshua had played when no food was to be had and no fuel was to be burned. Soldiers did likewise, whiling away the evening before battle.
Quinn tossed down his cards twenty minutes later. Joshua was either distracted or he was letting Quinn win.
“What did you tell my family about Jane?” Quinn asked.
“That you had taken a bride and would be bringing her home to them. Shall I deal again?”
A soft tap on the door nearly startled Quinn out of his chair, though he moved not at all. Prison had brought forth the reflexes that had kept him alive as a boy.
The housekeeper, a prim article who likely regarded mud on the carpets as a sign of the end times, opened the door and stood aside so Jane could enter the room. The dress Joshua had found for her was aubergine velvet, suitable for a new widow newly remarried, also suitable for a woman in anticipation of an interesting event.
Quinn stood. “Madam.”
Joshua rose and bowed. “Ma’am.” His manners were a dig at Quinn. They did that for each other, kept one another alert and aware.
She curtsyed with unhurried grace. “Mr. Wentworth, Mr. Penrose.”
“You may be excused,” Quinn said to the housekeeper, “and please have my coach brought around.” The inevitable had been put off as long as possible, and interrogating Joshua would get Quinn nowhere.
The housekeeper remained by the door. “Mrs. Wentworth?”
Jane’s confusion was fleeting, showing mostly in her eyes. She was Mrs. Wentworth, until Quinn found a way to explain that she was Her Grace of Walden.
“You are excused, Mrs. Gaunt. My thanks for your assistance.”
Some sort of alliance had formed between the women in the space of one bath. That was good, because Jane would need allies.
“Penrose,” Quinn said, “my thanks for your assistance as well. I’ll see you at the bank tomorrow.”
