Page 75 of The Duke of Desire
“Well then, I suppose you’re free, then,” Dartford said. “Beware Cupid, however. Your views on marriage might change.”
“If you meet the right woman.” Sutton chuckled. “Lord knows it took me long enough.”
Dartford snorted. “You made an absolute art of it. Just as Clare here does with women. Who are you shagging now?”
“No one.” West knew they were just making idle conversation, but his reputation had begun to annoy him. Which wasn’t their fault, so he wouldn’t take it out on them. No, if he wanted to take it out on someone, he would have to blame himself, of course. Still, he had no regrets.
Sutton and Dartford exchanged a furtive glance, and West’s neck tingled. “Is there something you want to know?”
Dartford sat forward in his chair and leaned his arms on the table. “I’ll just come out and say it. Our wives wanted us to talk to you. About Miss Breckenridge.”
“We were supposed to be discreet, mind you,” Sutton added. “But we’re not very adept at gossip. Or whatever this is.”
“Information gathering,” West said. “You’d be terrible spies.”
“Probably,” Dartford agreed. “It’s a good thing the kingdom isn’t relying on us.”
West couldn’t help but laugh at their self-deprecation. “I hate to send you home empty-handed, but there really isn’t anything to tell.”
“I told them there wouldn’t be,” Sutton said. “But I’m afraid my wife was adamant. She said she knew Miss Breckenridge, and she’d behaved strangely at the assembly.”
“Only because she was ill.” And probably frightened after seeing Bothwick. West still longed to find a way to exact some sort of vengeance on her behalf.
“Very good.” Dartford drank from his ale. “Sorry to have troubled you with that nonsense. Now we can move on to more amusing topics.”
West didn’t like that people had noticed something between him and Ivy, even if it was just her friends. Should he really be surprised? He hadn’t exactly been covert with his attention. He’d asked her to dance at an assembly and then carted her from the ballroom in his arms. Then he’d called on her and followed her to a public garden, where he’d taken her for a promenade. Hell, he looked like a bloody suitor and couldn’t fault anyone for suspecting that.
Did he want to be a suitor?
Yes.
She was a lady’s companion with a questionable past. She wasn’t the sort of lady he should court. Why the hell not? What good was it being a duke if he couldn’t do whatever he damn well pleased?
A moot question, since she didn’t want him. He ought to return to Stour’s Edge. Staying here was only torture, and he’d taken care of the repairs at Walcot. He planned to send more funds for further repairs and would put his secretary in contact with Alves to work out the details.
The conversation turned, thankfully, to horses and then ballooning, which had caught Dartford’s fancy. West was happy to think of something other than Ivy for a while, but by the time he left the alehouse, he was back to feeling unsettled. Uncertain about his future.
The butler opened the door to the town house and greeted his arrival. “Her Grace is in the drawing room.”
West froze. “My mother?”
“I believe so, Your Grace.”
Bloody goddamn hell.West hadn’t seen her in, what, a dozen years? No, more than that. He’d lost count. What on earth was she doing in Bath? How had she even known he was here?
He tossed his hat and gloves toward the butler, who managed to catch them without blinking.
“Shall I have tea sent up?”
“No,” West barked as he strode up the stairs two at a time. He couldn’t wait to toss her out.
He crossed over the threshold and stopped. She stood near the windows and turned, her now-gray hair covered with a simple bonnet. Her clothing was dark gray like her hair. In fact, she presented a rather monochromatic picture, which fit her personality to perfection.
“What are you doing here?” he said without preamble as he stalked into the room.
She clasped her reticule more tightly, drawing her hands up to her waist. “I heard you were in town, and I wanted to see you.”
“You live a hundred and fifty miles away.”
