Page 50 of Disguised Desires of a Scarred Duke
Everyone in their group raised their teacups and juice glasses. “To friends, old and new!” Eleanor chimed. Their corner of the dining hall was filled with the sounds of clinking that made others around them cheer in response.
William took a sip of his black tea and admired Eleanor’s strength as a leader for their scavenger hunt group or any other. She was much more than a lady; she was a vibrant woman with a strong personality and a big heart.
But the last thing she needed was for William to waste the day on a scavenger hunt, though she didn’t know it yet. As their party discussed the day’s hunt and their first riddle, William tuned them out to think about what was most important.
There would be many days ahead of games and frivolity if his goal for their future as the Duke and Duchess of Ashbourn became their reality.
Nevertheless, that reality could never come to be without resolving his father’s finances first.
And collecting his grandmother’s engagement ring.
How he would excuse himself today to finally visit his mother was yet to be determined, but he knew it had to be done.
The opportunity came soon enough with another interruption by none other than Cecil Phillips.
Eleanor was the keeper of their clue sheet as William and the rest of their group followed the hints provided by the riddle to find their first treasure.
Beware, treasure hunters. Try not to scream!
This summertime treat makes a chilling scene
While locked in a cottage made of stone
Go save it from wasting away alone
“A frightening summertime treat locked in a cottage? What could that possibly be?” Sarah asked. She peered around Eleanor’s arm to read the riddle again.
Edward stood beside them and scanned the vast property of the Charter estate, shielding his eyes from the late morning sun with his hand. “Lady Charter said that no private rooms are part of the scavenger hunt, so we won’t be entering any private cottages we might find.”
“It’s not necessarily a real cottage. Maybe it’s a cottage pie!” Regina said.
“A cottage pie made of stone?” Eleanor asked. “What would that mean?”
Lord Whitfield tapped his index finger against his chin. “Maybe it’s simply a small building made of stone.”
William had no ideas to add, but he was distracted. He stood close behind Eleanor and pretended not to smell her silky dark hair. With his eyes closed for a few seconds, he remembered what those beautiful strands felt like when flowing through his hands and tumbling down her bare shoulders.
He inhaled the scent of her lavender soap and quietly released a long, happy breath. The thought of enjoying this smell from her pillow every morning for the rest of their lives was enough to make a sea captain hurry to shore and abandon his ship forever more.
Another scent, and one far less pleasant, abruptly filled his nostrils. It smelled like a potent mix of lard and suet on the verge of going rancid.
A man’s pomade. And one that’s about to expire.
Before William opened his eyes again, he heard the voice he was certain the scent belonged to. The sound of it caused a new surge of anger to bubble through his bloodstream once again.
“Pardon me, I couldn’t help but overhear.” Cecil Phillips was part of another group that walked by, but he’d stopped and leaned in towards Eleanor. “I believe you’ll find the cottage you’re looking for on the other side of that patch of trees, down at the bottom of the slope.”
William nearly grabbed the man by the scruff of his neck and yanked him hard into the flowering bushes by the side of the house. It was long past time for this weasel to be taught another lesson.
He probably would have reacted in such a way had Eleanor not spoken first.
“Thank you, Mr Phillips,” Eleanor said. “But I think it’s more fun if we figure this one out for ourselves.”
“My apologies. Just wanted to help. But since I’m here, I would like to apologize to you personally, Regina, for any discomfort I may have caused you over the past few months. And to you, too, Lord Whitfield. Your cousins are wonderful people who deserved better.” Cecil bowed slowly, which sent another wave of scent from his pomade to invade William’s nostrils.
It was such an unpleasant smell that the duke couldn’t hold his tongue any longer.
“I think that’s quite enough apologizing now, Phillips. Your group will be missing you, I’m sure.”
