Page 62 of Never Dare a Duke
“Because not only will you see a fine competition, you’ll see the journalist who has come from London because he heard of the ghost hunt. He asked for Elizabeth’s permission.”
He put his hands very carefully on the balustrade. “A journalist.”
“I thought it curious myself. Why would theTimescare about ghost rumors? But of course, you are a duke. Is there another reason he would come?”
He glanced at her, and his faint smile was reluctantly approving. “You are too clever, Abigail. You know there is always something a duke doesn’t want publicized. Thank you for the warning. Shall we return to the other guests? I hear a fascinating game of charades is about to start.”
“Your favorite.”
“What a shame I have to retire for the evening.”
She did not know if he meant to plant the thought of his early bedtime in her mind, but it was there now, and she despaired of her weakness for him. Would he come to her again, continue her lessons?
But he did not, and she was left awake long into the night, considering her own plan for the journalist.
The writer from theTimesarrived promptly after breakfast, and although Christopher was tempted to throw him bodily out the gates, he knew better than to create even more of a scene for the man to write about. Mr. Walton was nearing middle age, yet still trim and fit, and filled with a restless energy that made him seem as if he were always looking for something.
And of course, he must be, but Christopher had no way to discover what it was. He certainly wasn’t going to talk to the man, and although he was polite, he rebuffed every attempt, claiming he was not involved in the ghost hunt.
“But it’s your family, Your Grace,” said Walton, as they stood outside and watched the guests examine the archery tournament schedule. The man had made it a point to remain near Christopher since he’d arrived just a half hour before, and he couldn’t seem to refrain from making pointed little comments, as if he were deliberately trying to arouse a response.
How soon could Christopher politely ask him to leave?
“My sister is a fanciful young woman who came up with an amusing theme for a house party,” Christopher said placidly. “I am not sure why this is news.”
Walton glanced at him briefly, with a touch of skepticism that made Christopher know at once that the ghost hunt was only an excuse. There could be any number of reasons Walton was here, for Christopher was involved in many projects in London. But when theTimeswanted information on any of those, they knew to see his secretary first. Walton had to be looking for something else.
Christopher left him, deciding to read the competition schedule himself. To his relief, he did not find his own name.
“Are you wishing you had agreed to participate?” Abigail said softly at his side.
He looked down at her. “Competitive, Miss Shaw? Is it so important that you defeat me?”
“I would like to defeat you at something, Your Grace,” she said through sweetly smiling lips.
He studied her. “I think you did that yesterday.”
She arched an eyebrow and waited with patience he couldn’t help but admire. His own patience had taken so long to cultivate, but it was threatening to rip apart at the seams.
“You successfully distracted me from reading your notebook, did you not?” he said, then lowered his voice even more. “And still, you managed to make sure I did not see you in your bath. You’ve kept me off-balance, made me desire you rather than pursuing my suspicions.”
“I’vemadeyou desire me?” she shot back, then looked about her furtively. “I did nothing of the sort.”
“So you are claiming innocence, then?”
“And who are you to talk about innocence, Your Grace?”
She spoke his title with faint sarcasm—and even that aroused him. But he saw the journalist watching them.
Abigail followed the direction of his gaze. “You let him stay?”
“Elizabeth invited him. But he will be leaving soon.”
“I do not hear him discussing the ghost much.”
Christopher frowned. “No, I noticed that.”
Elizabeth called for everyone’s attention, and the tournament began. As the warm summer sun beat down through the morning, Christopher noticed that most of the women retreated to a parasol’s shade—but not Abigail. She was focused on the competition, and to his surprise, he thought she was making private evaluations of each man in case she competed against him. When it was her turn to shoot, he saw why.
