Page 70 of My One and Only Duke
Quinn hauled the child up by the elbows and held him at eye level, the boy’s feet dangling. “I desire privacy with my wife. Get ye gone.”
“I’m gone,” Ned said, tossing the orange in the air and catching it. “Ned Gone, that’s me.”
Jane stood holding Quinn’s greatcoat, her expression puzzled. “The housekeeper taught you to read?”
“And write.” Thank God. “Shall we go upstairs?” Where Quinn would not take a bath until he’d found a way to do so in solitude.
Jane hung the coat on a hook and joined him on the stairs. “Duncan had the miniature of my mother copied. The likeness is lovely.”
“Has the reverend realized it’s missing?”
“I had the original returned to him, and he’s not paid another call.” They reached the top of the steps, and Jane sent Quinn a measuring glance. She was doubtless gauging whether to inform him of some domestic disaster. Kristoff serving breakfast with gin on his breath, Constance wearing her nightgown to the supper table…
“I missed you,” Jane said, kissing Quinn—on the mouth. “The bed is much larger without you in it.”
Bloody hell, he’d missed her too. In one coaching inn after another, in the narrow bed under Mrs. Dougherty’s eaves, along hundreds of miles of rutted roads, Quinn had missed his wife.
He let her wrap him in an embrace that felt all too right. “If you want to see the Minster, I’ll take you there someday. It’s impressive.” That much, he could honestly say.
“Any edifice that has stood against vandals, neglect, Norse raiders, marching armies, more neglect, more marching armies, fire, reform, pillaging, and time itself has to be impressive—rather like you.”
“My wife has grown fanciful in my absence.”
“Your bath awaits,” Jane said, twining her arm through his. “Come along and tell me if your business was successful.”
Let the lying begin—again. “All went smoothly. My initial financial ventures were undertaken in York, and I keep some investments in the first bank to do business with me.” Quinn had stopped to visit that bank for all of twenty minutes as an afterthought intended to give Ned an honest itinerary to boast of.
In other regards, the trip had been frustrating. Robert Pike was apparently in France, where Quinn could not easily follow him. Determining that much had taken tampering with the confidence of the posting inn’s proprietor, dropping a few threatening hints, and listening to gossip at the pub frequented by Pike’s brother—nothing illegal, fortunately.
“I’ll likely need to travel again soon, Jane. A month-long stay at Newgate has left much to do, and a journey to France isn’t out of the question.”
In the middle of the corridor, Jane wrapped Quinn in a fierce hug. “I wish I could travel with you. Women do, you know, despite the approach of motherhood. I’ve always wanted to see Paris.”
A knot gathered in Quinn’s belly to go with the ache in his heart. “I can’t speak French, Jane. Can’t read or write it, and would not regard time on French soil as a holiday. I’ll go if I must. I’d rather not.” His siblings had all learned French, because Quinn had insisted they be educated properly, but he couldn’t put them at risk of harm.
Jane opened the sitting room door. The tub sat by the hearth in the bedroom, with towels, soaps, and shaving kit, all arranged in anticipation of Quinn’s ablutions.
“I’m fluent in French,” she said. “My maternal grandmother was French and spent her last five years with us. She and Mama and I frequently resorted to French when we wanted to spare Papa our opinions. We can travel…”
Jane dropped Quinn’s arm as four footmen, Susan, and Penny all trooped by carrying steaming buckets of water. They filed right back out again, leaving Quinn alone with his wife.
There was lying, and then there was deceiving. “Until this other situation is settled, Jane, you’ll be safer here among my family.”
“What other situation is there to settle?” she asked. “You’ve been pardoned, we’re married, I’m expecting a child, and life goes on.”
She jerked the bow free on his shaving kit and unrolled the length of flannel. His razor gleamed silver in the firelight, as Jane tossed a handful of bath salts into hot water.
“Somebody tried to see me dead and disgraced, Jane. How can you expect me to ignore such a crime?”
The signature Wentworth scent rose from the bathwater, while Jane’s aura of cheerful welcome faltered.
“I don’t expect you to forget your ordeal, but vengeance solves nothing. You are a duke now, and anybody seeking to harm you should know that the peerage protects its own.”
The peerage would rejoice to see Quinn Wentworth fail. “I’d rather not quarrel with you, Jane. We simply view the matter from different perspectives.”
More to the point, Quinn didn’t want to lose her. Didn’t want to see that light of welcome permanently extinguished, didn’t want to weather Jane’s disappointment. She’d been disappointed by Gordie and the reverend, when both men ought to have been devoted to her happiness.
“Let’s get you soaking while the water’s hot,” she said, “and you can tell me about your career in service. Here I’ve been thinking your household wants a guiding hand, while you know exactly how a staff ought to function, because you’ve seen the whole business from belowstairs.”
