The Duke I'm Going to Marry(17)

He rose as Eloise entered and greeted her warmly. She was Gabriel’s grandmother and neighbor to the Farthingales on Chipping Way. He truly liked the old dowager. She was helpful, perfectly agreeable, and a genuine delight.

Not so delightful was Eloise’s tiny companion, Lady Phoebe Withnall, the ton’s most notorious gossip. Hell. This could be bad. In truth, he liked Phoebe as well, and despite her ruthless reputation, she’d often gone easy on him. Often, but not always. The woman had ears planted in everyone’s walls, or so it seemed, for she had a way of digging up secrets that were meant to be shrouded in darkness for eternity.

Had the old bloodhound picked up the scent of his injury? And his recovery in Dillie’s bed? Dillie had assured him that she and George hadn’t mentioned the incident to anyone. He hoped it was true.

Phoebe’s beady-eyed gaze homed in on him, and her pointed nose began to twitch as she inspected him from head to elegantly booted toe. She was like a hound on the hunt, sniffing him out. “You’ve been quiet these past few months, Your Grace.”

He’d spent years fighting Napoleon’s ablest soldiers and spies, been captured a couple of times, and survived torture. He wasn’t about to make a slip under the heat of Phoebe’s questioning gaze.

Dillie would, though.

Fortunately, Phoebe’s attention was still trained on him. Her nose twitched again, a sign she was contemplating her strategy. “Where did you spend your holidays?”

He shrugged. “Quietly at Edgeware.”

“I heard you stayed in town longer than expected last season. Any reason?”

Dillie had been about to lift her teacup to her lips, but let out a soft gasp instead. “Too hot,” she hastily muttered, easing her hand off the cup, no doubt afraid she’d draw further attention to herself by spilling her tea if the conversation suddenly turned alarming.

Ian was good at hiding his thoughts. Dillie hadn’t any such talent. She’d be eeping like a demented bird the moment the old woman trained her gaze on her.

In truth, he liked those throaty little sounds Dillie made. Proof that he unsettled her. Not that he would ever act upon that proof. Still, it mattered to him that Dillie was not quite as resistant to him as she would like to believe.

Phoebe asked him several more questions, to which he purposely gave empty responses. Finding little gossip fodder from him, she turned her attention to Dillie. “Drink up, girl. Why aren’t you touching your tea?”

“Daisy and I finished a pot before you arrived, Lady Withnall,” she answered, smoothly managing her lie. “A lovely oriental blend with a hint of orange peel. Delicious.”

“I see.” She remained staring at Dillie. Hell. This was going to be bad. Dillie wasn’t used to this sort of scrutiny. Having been raised in a large family, she’d probably had to fight for every scrap of attention. He wasn’t certain how long she could maintain her unaffected manner. The eep was on the tip of her tongue. It would take nothing for her to blurt it out. “Heard you also remained in town after the season.”

“Yes, with Uncle George. I stayed behind with him to close up the house. He’s also been training me to assist him in his medical matters.” She clasped her hands together, no doubt to keep them from shaking. She smiled and stopped talking. Good. She was a smart girl and knew to keep her responses short and sweet. She wouldn’t offer conversation that could be turned against her.

Ian shot her a sympathetic glance, as though to say, “You can do this.”

She swallowed hard. She wasn’t a practiced liar.

Phoebe took a bite of her treacle scone and slowly chewed, her gaze still intently fixed on Dillie. “Have you done it yet?”

“It?” Her frantic gaze shot to him, saved by the fortunate fact that Eloise was now seated beside him and Phoebe might believe she’d turned to Eloise for guidance. He knew what was racing through Dillie’s mind. She was thinking of their kiss. She was thinking of his naked body. “Forgive me, I didn’t understand the question. What is it that I’m supposed to have done?”

“Tended to any of your uncle’s patients, of course. What did you think I was talking about?”

Ian could see that Dillie’s mind had frozen at the very moment she needed to think fast. Had Phoebe already spoken to George? What had he answered? “I’m sure whatever Miss Farthingale did was under her uncle’s supervision. Of course, I can’t imagine he’d ever leave her alone with any of his patients, or admit it to you if he had. She’s merely in training. Not trained yet.”

Dillie shot him a smile of gratitude. Obviously relieved, she raised her cup to her lips and drank.