Page 35 of My Deceitful Duchess
“Here,” he said, attempting to inject a note of command into his voice. “Come.” And he held out his hand.
The dog sauntered forward to snuffle at his outstretched fingers, then sat upon its haunches and let out a loud yip. Its tongue lolled out of its mouth and swiped across his open palm. This was no pedigreed pug or bloodhound, nor a sweet little terrier, but something else entirely. Probably he was only a stray, born on the streets just as he lived. Surely he was phenomenally dirty. But—there was something compelling about the face, the tilt of its head. The way the animal had come at his command, as if it had judged himfriendimmediately.
Perhaps there was someone in need of rescue this evening after all. “If you can follow along with us,” he said to the dog severely, “I shall take you home with me. Perhaps there will be less freedom than you’d find on the streets, but I’d wager it’ll be a sight more comfortable than you’re used to.” And then as Jenny arrived beside him at last, he looked up at her and said, “Youdidsay I ought to get a dog.”
“That’s not a dog. That is amongrel,” she said in exasperation. But the set of a dimple into her cheek suggested she was amused. Perhaps even pleased.
“I’m going to call him Charles,” he said.
“Charles?”
He climbed to his feet once again. “After my brother. He’ll befuriousto share his name with such a scrappy specimen.”
That light, sweet laugh drifted through the air. “Charlie,” she said. “It suits him better.” Slowly, carefully, she stretched out her hand to allow the dog to sniff her, and then gave him a good scratch right between the ears. “Do you truly think he’ll follow?”
The dog’s large brown eyes looked up at her worshipfully, and his tail thumped the ground in delight. He, like Sebastian, would have followed Jenny to the ends of the earth if she had asked it of him—only for the price of a few head scratches.
“Yes,” he said, as he collected Jenny’s hand once more. “I’m sure he will. Come, Charlie.” He patted his thigh, and they were off once again toward Ambrosia—and Charlie trotted along behind, his nails clicking out a sprightly rhythm upon the pavement.
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“He’s turned up a handsome fellow,” Jenny mused, and Charlie whined as he thrust his snout into her hand to beg for scratches.
“If byhandsome, you meanrecently dispossessed of fleas, then yes.” Sebastian spared a glance for the two of them there in his bed. Charlie had crawled in practically the moment he’d vacated it, wiggling until he’d perfectly occupied Sebastian’s space, thumping his scraggly tail impatiently until Jenny, too, had awoken at last. “In fact, the only thing he’s got to recommend him is that he’s a dreadful flirt.”
“Aflirt?” Jenny laughed. “No, he isn’t!” Her voice dropped to a crooning pitch. “You’re not aflirt, are you, my handsome boy?”
Despite himself, a smile tugged at his lips. “Flirt,” he said. “Noun; English origin. To behave in an amorous manner for the purpose of attracting someone’s attention, without serious intention.”
As if on cue, Charlie nipped his head up and swiped his tongue across Jenny’s cheek.
“Flirt,” he said again.
“I can’tbelieve you’re suggesting Charlie doesn’t trulyloveme,” she said, surreptitiously swiping her cheek clean of the trail of saliva that Charlie had left.
“Insofar and inasmuch as an animal might be said to love,” Sebastian allowed with a sigh, “I suppose he might be said to love you.”
“Oh, very charming indeed. Hopeless romantic, you are,” Jenny sniffed, and promptly turned her attention back to Charlie. “Youdolove me, don’t you, my beautiful boy?”
Sebastian choked back a snort of laughter. “I believeyouwere the one who pronounced him amongrel,” he reminded her.
“It was only that I could not see how very handsome he was beneath all that dirt,” Jenny said in an appalling coo as she rubbed Charlie’s belly until his rear leg began to kick spasmodically.
Handsomewas so far beyond belief that it was very nearly an absurd assessment. His coarse, wiry fur had turned up a sort of mottled greyish once had been given a thorough washing, but it had the strangest tendency to puff about in no discernable pattern, making him look rather like he’d been struck by lightning. His whiskers stuck out at random angles. He had a tendency to flop one ear, and his head was almost always canted at an inquisitive angle.
Jenny said they were two of a kind; he and Charlie.
“Are you quite through monopolizing my dog?” he inquired archly.
Her lower lip extended in a precious pout, and her lashes fluttered. “He’s yours every day,” she said defensively, her palm resting upon Charlie’s belly. “I only get him for a few hours at a time.” She resumed her scratching, to Charlie’s quivering delight. “I always wanted a dog,” she said softly.
“Did you?”
“Mm. ButMamansaid they were too much work, too dirty, and too expensive to feed.” A soft, regretful sigh. “So I never was never allowed to have one when I was a child.”
“In France,” he said. “When you were a child in France.”
Her fingers slowed their scratching, coming to rest once more. The silence stretched out. She said at last, “Not in France, nor in England either, when we came here.”
