“Put the paper down, will you?”
With a long-suffering sigh, he lowered the paper and met her gaze. “What is it? You have my undivided attention. But be quick about it, will you? I have a dying man upstairs and an article on the rising cost of corn to read.”
Gabriella’s heart seized. “A man is dying upstairs?”
“Well, perhaps dying is a bit strong.” He sighed. “There was a duel, a guest was shot in the shoulder, and he is going to live. Or so the surgeon says. I’m not entirely convinced, what with the way he’s moaning like a fatally wounded walrus. It’s positively dreadful. I may kill him myself, just to get some peace around here.”
Gabriella made a disparaging sound. “You are dreadful,” she said. Thank goodness the gentleman was going to be all right. “Now tell me, how well do you know the Duke of Somerset?”
James’s gaze turned suspicious. “Well enough. We attended Cambridge together, for a time. Why do you ask?”
Yes, why did she ask? Oh, heavens, how to word it…
“I need to…lure him, and I was hoping that perhaps you could help me.”
“Lure him,” James laughed. “Like a rat to a trap.”
“I mean only to kiss him.”
“What woman means only to kiss a duke? You plan to ensnare him, admit it.”
Gabriella waved him off. “I’m not marrying him. I’m simply having a little fun. Mary says I can’t win a kiss from him.” She shrugged. “I say I can.”
James let out a breath and shook his head. “God save us from bored, unattached women.”
“James, please,” she pleaded. When all else failed, resort to flattery. “You could seduce the shroud off a saint, for goodness’ sake. Who else better to advise me than you, the king of seduction himself?” Gabriella grimaced as the words king of seduction slipped past her lips.
As far as she knew, his only successful seduction, if one could call it that, was of Margaret, his wife. And even then, it was his fortune, not his charm, that had ensnared her. It certainly wasn’t his sparkling character. The man had absolutely no etiquette and considered drinking spirits a legitimate sport.
But the fact was, she didn’t know any other man well enough to ask. James was the closest thing to a brother she had, which also made him the most qualified to answer delicate, unladylike questions—like, how does one seduce a duke? Surely as a man, he could give her a few morsels of tried-and-true advice.
He sighed again and leaned back in his chair, which meant she’d successfully nagged him into submission.
“Excellent.” Gabriella clapped her hands together. “Now, tell me what you know of Somerset.”
“A great deal more than you care to hear, I can assure you.”
“Tell me.”
“Well, for one, he enjoys his women trussed up—”
Gabriella held her hand up, stopping him. “You’re right, I don’t want to know.”
Never mind that the idea of Somerset trussing her up sent heat rushing through her limbs, pooling in the more intimate parts of her body. She forcibly pushed the thought from her mind. No one was trussing anyone up. He would kiss her, and that would be that. “Tell me something useful that will help me attract him.”
James seemed to consider that for a moment. “There is one thing that is sure to get a gentleman’s attention.” James winked and took a sip of his coffee. “But I’m afraid you might be too delicate for the task.”
“Tell me.”
“Slap him hard across the face.”
Gabriella blinked. Had she just heard him correctly?
“You are suggesting I assault the Duke of Somerset,” she said flatly. “A touch extreme, wouldn’t you say? And illegal, let’s not forget that.”
“I’m not a man for subtlety. Few men are, I find.”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m getting that sense.”
Gabriella deflated a little. If slapping the Duke of Somerset was James’s only advice, then she was doomed.
“You don’t think slapping the duke won’t, I don’t know, anger him profusely?”
The whole idea was preposterous. Worse, she was actually considering his suggestion as a legitimate option. This was the trouble with sheer desperation. It made even the most horrid ideas seem brilliant.
“A French woman slapped me once.” His gaze turned distant and nostalgic. “There is nothing more alluring than a scornful, slightly insane woman wearing nothing but silk stockings and a top hat.”
“I…haven’t the faintest idea how to respond to that.”
He glanced at the timepiece on the mantel. “Oh, dear God, is that the time? I’m late for brandy in the study with…well, it’s no matter.” He pushed back his chair and stood, throwing his crisp white napkin on the table. “Slap the man, and he’s yours for the taking, mark my words. I am never wrong about such things.”