In Bed with the Duke(57)

So did she.

‘Ale,’ said Gregory to the butler. ‘If this young scapegrace must start drinking at such an early hour I would rather keep him away from anything too strong. Since I have good reason to know he does not have the head for it.’

‘That was uncalled for,’ said Hugo sulkily once the butler had gone off on his errand. ‘Raking me down in front of the servants.’

‘Would you kindly pour the tea, Lady Mixby?’ said Gregory, ignoring Hugo. He’d been studiously ignoring her, too. He must know she was shocked, and felt betrayed and insecure. But he was explaining himself to the others. His family. As if he suspected them of thinking she was some terrible catastrophe that had befallen him and he needed to reassure them that he hadn’t lost his mind.

Though if he gave her an opportunity to express any opinion at all she’d prove that she was, and he had.

‘I feel sure we would all benefit from a cup.’

‘I know I certainly would,’ Lady Mixby muttered as she lifted the lid to examine the state of the brew in the teapot. ‘Milk and sugar?’

Lady Mixby plunged into the ritual of the tea tray with such determination that Prudence could only follow her lead. Though she felt rather like a marionette having her strings pulled as she responded mechanically to the familiar routine.

The one good thing to come out of it was that as Lady Mixby held out the cup of tea she’d poured, milked and sugared for her, it gave her the perfect excuse for wresting her hand from Gregory’s. Though her hand was trembling so much that the cup rattled in its saucer with a sound like chattering teeth.

‘Miss Carstairs,’ said Gregory, reaching out to take the cup and saucer from her trembling fingers. ‘I fear this has all been rather too much for you. I think you should go to a guest room and have a lie-down. A bath. A change of clothes. And something to eat and drink in peace.’

‘Oh, what a good idea,’ said Lady Mixby, leaping to her feet.

That did it. He might have said all the right things, but deep down he was ashamed of her. Just as Aunt Charity had felt shamed by having to house her, the product of a runaway match. Aunt Charity had spent years failing to make her acceptable to her congregation and the community of Stoketown. And in the end had just kept her out of sight as much as possible.

And this was how it had started. By sending Prudence to her room whenever there was company she wanted to impress.

‘If you think for one moment,’ said Prudence, snatching the teaspoon from the saucer as he took it away, so she could use it to emphasise her point, ‘that I am going to let you shuffle me out of the way so that you can explain your behaviour over the last two days to everyone else and leave me in the dark, then you have another think coming!’

Gregory reached out and confiscated the teaspoon, then tossed it to the tea tray, where it landed with a tinkle amongst the china.

‘You are overwrought,’ he said repressively.

‘Is that so surprising? I trusted you! I thought you were a decent, hard-working man. A man who’d set out to right wrongs and defend the helpless. Instead you are the kind of man who makes the kind of wagers that result in fist fights and falling into bed with strange women! I trusted you with my virtue, and with my money—’

Lady Mixby gasped and fell back to the sofa, her hands clasped to her bosom.

But Prudence was beyond caring. She’d sat there listening to him account for himself with growing resentment. She couldn’t hold it in any longer.

‘And now I find out that I don’t even know your name!’

‘Well, that at least is easily rectified. My name is Charles Gregory Jamison Willingale, Seventh Duke of Halstead. I think we can gloss over the lesser titles for now.’

‘Oh, you do, do you?’

How could he sit there and calmly reel off a list of names whilst completely sidestepping the real issue? Which was that he’d deceived her. Deliberately deceived her.

‘And as for explaining myself to everyone else...’ He glanced from Hugo to Bodkin with a sort of chilling hauteur that made him look even more like a stranger than ever. ‘I have no intention of doing any such thing.’

‘Oh, I say—that is dashed unfair!’

Gregory held up his hand to silence the outburst from his indignant young cousin. ‘No,’ he said. ‘What would be unfair would be to divulge anything to anyone before I have done so to my fiancée. She, of course, must take precedence over anything you feel I owe you, Hugo. Or indeed you, Lady Mixby.’

‘Of course, of course,’ said Lady Mixby, nodding her head whilst clasping and unclasping her hands.

‘We will all adjourn until dinner.’ He got to his feet. ‘Which will give Miss Carstairs and I a chance to bathe and change and generally refresh ourselves.’