“There’s not one lady who has tempted me to abandon my happiness.”
Roxburghe stopped just outside the kitchen doorway, his eyes traveling the length of Levi. “Hmm, you don’t seem a fool.”
Rankled, Levi twisted around, blocking the doorway. “Meaning?”
“I’m merely expressing an observation,” Roxburghe replied, the corner of his mouth pulling into a half-grin. “I’m certain you’ll figure it out.”
“I know my own mind!” Levi slammed the palm of his hand against the door frame.
“Ah, but do you know your heart?” Roxburghe asked, his calm voice further needling Levi.
Levi scowled. “I’ve never been more certain of it.”
This was an outright lie because ever since Miss Rowe came into his life, he found himself imagining her presence at the most inconvenient moments—such as right now.
Her eyes, the color of a summer sky, flashed through Levi’s consciousness, and he was instantly surrounded by the faint scent of lily of the valley as though Miss Rowe, herself, had wandered down this very hallway only a few moments before.
And would that truly be such a terrible thing?
“Roxburghe.” Mansfield exited the kitchen, carrying the mortar of ground-up ingredients and a lit candlestick. “I’ve heard of your generous sacrifice.”
The muscle in Roxburghe’s jaw twitched. “It seems my kindness has no limits.”
Snorting, Levi turned away, his gaze finding Beaufort, who hovered behind Mansfield, shaking with silent laughter.
Grisham strode around Beaufort and exited the kitchen, holding both leather-bound books. “Warwick opted to remain in the kitchen with his glass of whiskey.”
“One of us?—”
“I will,” Beaufort said, cutting off Levi. “Mr. Northcutt said he’d deal us into the game.”
Levi nodded, relieved he didn’t need to voice his concern. “Careful. Mrs. Grove is a better player than she lets on.”
Beaufort glanced over his shoulder at Mrs. Grove, who flashed him a winning smile.
“I appreciate the warning,” he said, then indicated the direction of the conservatory with his chin. “You be cautious as well.”
“Concern from the carefree Duke of Beaufort?” Levi tilted his head, his gaze sliding over Beaufort’s pale face.
“Mild worry.” Beaufort grinned. “If something happens to the four of you, I’ll be forced to make the arduous journey back to my home… or worse, Warwick’s.”
“I didn’t invite you.” Warwick’s acerbic growl whipped over Beaufort’s shoulder.
Clutching his chest, Beaufort spun around. “Do you not recall our adventure to Greece? You said I could stay with you any time.”
“That was two years ago!” Warwick’s protest reverberated down the corridor.
“I do love irritating him,” Beaufort said, winking at Levi before returning to the kitchen.
Roxburghe chuckled. “There may be another murder in your home this evening. Perhaps we should reconsider our plan. Mr. Philbert might like some companionship.”
Clenching his fists, Levi strode over to Roxburghe. “You invited Beaufort to your home, and I’m certain he’d be just as obliging in the afterlife.”
“Your Graces!” Grisham intervened before the conversation escalated to violence. “Can we focus on ridding this house of Mr. Philbert instead of coming to blows over whose lodgings Beaufort would haunt?”
“Mansfield’s!” Beaufort’s whiskey-soaked voice yelled.
“Of course.” Levi exchanged a grin with Roxburghe, bowed to Grisham, and extended his hand toward the conservatory. “After you, Your Grace.”
