Page 13 of The Duke Says I Do
Granville grunted with amusement. “Among other things.” He stepped out of the coach and extended a gloved hand to assist her. “Lady Portia, you’re the expert. What do you think?”
What she thought was that she was in serious trouble. When Granville took her hand, she struggled against the urge to clutch at him so he never let her go. It might be worth braving her father’s wrath and taking Jupiter home. But since the trouble with Juliet, Papa had been temperamental and despotic. She’d never doubted his ultimatum about her menagerie.
Once she stood beside Granville in the huge, airy stables, she realized that she still held his hand. It shouldn’t be a wrench to disentangle her fingers, but it was.
And he’d asked her a question, too. She was almost used to Granville deferring to her expertise. Almost. The arrogant prig she’d assumed him to be would never take advice from a mere woman.
She fought to keep her voice even, which was harder than it should be when her heart raced like a greyhound in pursuit of a rabbit. “The wedge head is bull terrier, but the black and white coloring is more fox terrier. There’s some lurcher, too. I suspecthe can run like the clappers. So please don’t let him go, Mr. Phipps. We’ll never catch him.”
Jupiter didn’t show any signs of wanting to run away. Instead, he strained at the lead to get closer to his idol. His bark attracted a frown from His Grace. “Sit!”
From a dozen stalls, thoroughbred horses poked their heads out in alarm. To Portia’s surprise, Jupiter immediately obeyed, which confirmed her suspicion that he’d once lived in a household. He wasn’t born one of the thousands of feral dogs that infested London.
“Let’s get him clean.”
“Should we feed him first?” Granville asked her, taking off his gloves and shoving them in his pocket.
“Bath, then we can give him something to eat.” She cast an expert eye over him. “He’s not starving. I suspect Jim wanted him in top condition for the fight.”
“Very well.” Granville removed his beautifully cut dark green coat – a green that matched his eyes, Portia noticed, although she wished that she hadn’t. His elegant cream waistcoat followed. He laid them over the gate to an empty stall.
Portia had grown up in the country. She’d seen countless workmen in their shirts and sometimes less than that. Her heart had never shifted a beat at the sight of any of them.
But upper-class men didn’t strip down to their linen in a lady’s presence. She told herself that she was breathless with outrage because the duke undressed in front of her.
But something powerfully feminine inside her melted as she took in the powerful male body revealed under the white cambric of his loose shirt. The arbiters of fashion admired Granville’s broad shoulders and firm chest. Now she had vivid confirmation that he didn’t require padding to achieve the desired silhouette.
Luckily, the object of her obsessive, if unwilling interest spoke to Phipps and wasn’t paying attention to Portia. She worried that she must look like she wanted to lick him all over.
To hide her flaming cheeks, she began to unbutton her pelisse. It was the height of fashion which meant a tight fit across the shoulders. If she helped with Jupiter, it would restrict her movements. She placed it over the duke’s coat.
“Will you fetch Sheriff, please?” Granville said. “We’ll need him to join our conspiracy if we’re to get Lady Portia out of this undetected. I’d also like him to make Jupiter’s acquaintance. While you do that, we’ll start making our new friend fit for civilized company.”
Phipps looked shocked. “Your Grace, surely you’re not really going to get your hands dirty.”
Granville shrugged with a casualness that Portia had never seen him display in a ballroom. “Given Jupiter’s state, it’s inevitable.”
She’d always considered herself a good judge of character. Mortifying to recognize how wrong she’d been about the Duke of Granville. Good heavens, she’d once told Juliet that her suitor was the most boring man in Britain! Nobody who had spent the last couple of hours with him would ever say that.
“Your Grace, I’m more than happy to wash the dog.” Phipps remained aghast, while Portia battled to ignore how appealing Granville looked with a self-mocking smile curling his lips. When Jupiter whined at the fraught tone, the duke’s elegant hand dropped to stroke the decidedly inelegant head.
“It’s all right, boy.” That deep velvety voice had all sorts of odd effects on Portia’s innards. He turned back to Phipps. “It’s going to need more than one person. I doubt this fellow will take to the tub like a duck to water.”
“Very good, sir.” Phipps must realize that he verged on insubordination, although the duke’s tone remained steady andheld no reproach. The coachman straightened and did his best to pretend that his noble employer preparing to wash a filthy mixed-breed dog was perfectly normal. He didn’t quite succeed, but Portia commended the attempt.
“Phipps, can you please send someone with a message for my coachman? Our house is just across the square.” She suspected that Phipps knew that. Servants always knew the gossip before anyone else did. Not only that, she was sure that Phipps and Rankin had shared more than one drink at the King’s Head, where right now Granville’s grooms caroused at their employer’s expense.
“As you wish, my lady.” He glanced at Granville. “I’ll take it myself, if that meets with Your Grace’s approval.”
“Good idea. The fewer people involved in our plans, the better.”
“Could you please tell Rankin I’m occupied with the dog? He’ll understand.”
“Meaning he’s your companion in crime,” Granville said drily.
“He’s another animal lover. Without him, I wouldn’t have a hope of doing what I must.”
“Very good, my lady.” Phipps bowed his head in acknowledgment.
