A Duke of Her Own(42)

Tobias hesitated.

"I know... you wish to inform me that Oyster is not the brightest canine," Eleanor said, sighing.

Tobias almost smiled.

"The third thing he's very proud of is his pizzle," she said.

He grinned outright at that. "I thought ladies never mentioned such things."

Actually they didn't, generally speaking. "You also thought you could beat any woman simply because you have a pizzle," she pointed out. "Not to mention the fact that you thought a lady wouldn't cheat, so you didn't count the bones."

"I'm horrified," Villiers said with a drawl. "Horrified." He turned to his son, his eyes so serious that Eleanor wondered if Tobias would get the joke. "She's no lady, son. I'll have to find another duchess."

"Oyster has the smallest pizzle you can imagine," Eleanor said, glancing at Villiers just to make it clear that she might be able to imagine one smaller. "More like a radish than anything to be proud of."

Tobias giggled, sounding like any other child.

"But when he starts waving it around," she said, taking another sip of her rum punch, "you'd think that it was a royal pizzle."

"What does he do with it?" Tobias asked. He sounded about five years younger than he had on entering the room.

"Well, I hate to tell you this, because it's going to reduce your opinion of him," Eleanor said, "but he is uncommonly fond of Peter, one of our footmen. Or perhaps it is more accurate to admit that his object of passion is Peter's leg."



Who would have thought it? Father and son laughed in exactly the same way.

Eleanor finished up her drink, thinking about how utterly predictable the male sense of humor was.

Tobias reacted precisely as her own brother would have, at the same age. It seemed that men never really got past that age, in fact.

The Duke of Villiers. Age thirteen, going on...forty.

Typical.





Chapter Twelve


By the time Squire Thestle and his family finally appeared, Tobias had been dispatched to the nursery, and the entire company had consumed three glasses of rum punch each. Villiers showed no signs of intoxication, but Anne was weaving a little as she walked.

Eleanor prided herself on being able to manage several glasses of wine, but she was slowly coming to realize that rum punch was not like wine. Her head was swimming and she had to curb the impulse to beam.

Luckily, her mother had reappeared and taken over the role of hostess, since Lisette didn't even bother to rise to greet the squire. Lisette, seated on a couch beside Eleanor, had been talking, almost without breathing, for twenty minutes. Really, Eleanor thought sentimentally, Lisette was greatly misunderstood by the ton. She almost always made sense.

"Lisette," she said, interrupting, "Don't you wish to marry someday?" "Of course I plan to do so. I'm engaged; did you know that?" Eleanor sat up. "You're betrothed? To whom?"

"Roland's older brother," Lisette said, waving her hand at the squire and his son. "My father and his arranged it eons ago. His name is Lancelot."

It must have been arranged when the betrothed couple were in their respective cradles, given the edgy politeness with which the squire nodded in the direction of Lisette. "Roland and Lancelot...No wonder Roland became a poet. Where is Lancelot?"

"He went on a tour some years ago," Lisette said with complete unconcern. "When he comes back, I suppose we'll marry. I'm quite comfortable as I am. Or if I meet someone I like better than Lancelot, I'll just marry him instead. The squire wouldn't mind."

"What would you think of marrying Villiers, for example?"

"Villiers?" Lisette seemed to have forgotten who he was, so Eleanor waved her hand toward the duke. He was standing with his back to them, talking to Anne. She didn't know why Anne was so taken by his shoulders. She preferred his thighs. His muscles were positively immoral, the way they strained the silk of his pantaloons.

"Oh, Leopold," Lisette said. "I thought you had decided to marry him, Eleanor. I'm sure you told him so earlier."

"He did ask me," Eleanor said defensively.



"Really? He looked so surprised." There wasn't an ounce of condemnation in Lisette's tone. Clearly, if she wanted to marry someone, she would simply go ahead and announce the impending nuptials.

"No, I don't wish to marry Leopold."

Eleanor felt quite relieved. Well, of course she was relieved, because she had lost her head and announced her intention to marry Villiers, though she would have backed down if Lisette had strong feelings for the duke. Possibly.

"He does have lovely hair," Lisette said. "I never really thought of him as a husband." She bent her head to the side and peered at him.