Page 52 of The English Duke
The question was: did it include her virginity? If she was a virgin, no doubt she guarded her virtue, knowing it was worth something in the marriage mart. Or perhaps he was wrong. She was one of those females who would always look innocent, but she’d be a whore in the bedroom.
Reese thought his mission was going to be a failure until the York women arrived. So far he’d not discovered anything he could take back to the War Office, but things could change. Martha York might help Jordan get his torpedo ship to work.
In the meantime, the younger sister might turn out to be a momentary—and pleasant—distraction.
Before retiring for the night, she and Josephine went to check on Gran who was playing cards with Amy and looking hale and hearty. They took turns kissing their grandmother on the cheek before saying good-night.
As Amy was closing the door behind her, she whispered to Martha, “Could I talk to you, Miss Martha?” She glanced behind her, then added, “It’s something I can’t mention to your grandmother.”
“Of course, Amy.”
“I’ll come to see you as soon as I get her settled for the night.”
She nodded, concerned and curious, then caught up with Josephine before her sister could enter her room.
“You will be going to bed right away, won’t you?” Martha asked. “You don’t have plans to do anything else?”
“Of course. I don’t understand what you think I’d do.”
Josephine was the picture of innocence, but she’d witnessed her sister lying straight-faced before and wasn’t fooled.
“So you’ve given up the notion of causing a scandal?”
“Oh, Martha, don’t be foolish. I was only jesting. I have no intention of doing anything shocking.”
Josephine’s laughter wasn’t the least bit reassuring. Neither was her sister’s quick smile as she shut the door.
Was she a terrible person for believing her sister capable of such behavior? Possibly, but she couldn’t trust Josephine. Last night the duke had been with his valet. Tonight she suspected Josephine was going to do something foolish.
She also knew she was the only person who could stop her sister.
For a moment she toyed with the idea of going to Gran and telling her about Josephine’s plans. If she did, her sister would probably lie and pretend innocence. Besides, she might be wrong. Not about Josephine, but about Gran. Her grandmother might truly be ill and the last thing she wanted to do was make her condition worse and delay her recuperation.
No, she was going to have to handle this herself, even if she had to stand outside Josephine’s room and stop her physically from doing something shocking.
Chapter 15
Jordan had already subjected himself to Henry’s punishing session of exercise. The man had stretched his damaged leg until he wanted to scream. He hadn’t, by sheer willpower and something else—his damnable pride.
It wouldn’t do for his guests to hear shouts of agony emerging from his suite.
He’d overdone it today. First, he’d sat for too long on the stool in the boathouse. The position had caused the muscles in his leg to bunch. Second, he’d refused to take the elixir the night before, which meant that the pain had only grown in the intervening hours.
It wasn’t coming in waves as it normally did. No, this time the pain was centered in his hip, arcs of cold traveling down the outside of his leg and remaining there as if he’d packed snow against his limb.
He’d excused himself from the Crystal Parlor because he was unable to mask his discomfort any longer. Slowly, he made his way to his library, closing the door behind him.
This room had never been a refuge for him. Ever since he was a child he’d chosen the boathouse as his sanctuary. Both his father and brother had left the imprint of their personalities here to the point that the staff felt an almost superstitious kind of hallowed reverence for the library.
No one would bother him here. Not one servant, from Frederick to Mrs. Browning, would dare to knock on the door.
He sat on the enormous desk chair behind the equally massive desk, leaning his head back and staring up at the fresco his brother had painted there.
A young and attractive satyr was summoning a bevy of male and female angels to him, stretching out one hand as if commanding by a single gesture. From the rapturous expressions on the faces of the angels, he needed even less persuasion than that.
As he did every time he saw the fresco, Jordan couldn’t help but wonder if Simon had modeled the satyr on someone of his acquaintance. Had the man been as cleverly wicked as his brother had portrayed him?
The satyr reminded him vaguely of Reese, especially in the role he’d assumed for this visit, the ears and eyes of the War Office, but willing to be distracted by a beautiful woman.
