one would consider twenty-eight ancient—but it must seem far more ducal than twenty-one.
Drew could powder his hair like Nigel and most gentlemen did. That would make him look older—but hair powder made him sneeze.
“Our plans changed,” Drew said, “Mrs ….?”
The woman’s eyes darted to meet his. “Edgemoor, sir.” She was almost breathless with anxiety.
It sounded odd to be addressed as “sir” rather than “your grace.” Odd, but not unpleasant. Ever since he was thirteen and had had the title thrust on him, he’d had the recurring fantasy he would wake up one morning himself again: just Drew, not Greycliffe.
Why not now?
“Please don’t be distressed, Mrs. Edgemoor,” he said. “The duke knows we came without warning.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Nigel’s other brow shoot up. “Take your time. Is there a place we can wait and not be in your way?”
“Oh, yes, thank you, sir.” She turned to bob a curtsy in Nigel’s direction. “Your grace. It won’t take long, truly. I’ve already aired your rooms. If you’ll just step into the study,” she said as she led them to a pleasant chamber at the back of the house, “I’ll have Cook send up some refreshments.” She wrung her hands again. “And if you’d like your baggage, when it arrives—”
“That will not be a problem, Mrs. Edgemoor,” Drew said. “We don’t expect to be here more than a week or so, so we traveled light. All we have are the two bags we brought in.”
The housekeeper looked as though she would collapse with relief. “Very good, sir. I’ll have Williams, the footman, take them upstairs. Your rooms will be ready as quick as can be.”
“Splendid. Thank you, but please don’t feel the need to hurry.”
Drew smiled at the housekeeper as she curtsied again and almost ran from the room.
Nigel cleared his throat. “Since when have you taken to referring to yourself in the third person, your grace?”
“Shh.” Drew glanced over his shoulder. The hall appeared deserted, but it was always best to take precautions. He closed the heavy door and moved toward the windows to look out over the formal gardens and the broad, green lawns that ended at some woods. “I have a plan.”
“A plan?” Nigel pulled out his snuffbox and took a pinch. “What kind of a plan?”
“I thought you could be the duke while we are here.”
Nigel made an odd, strangled sound and sneezed violently. “Damn it, you need to warn a fellow before you say something so preposterous.”
A servant scratched at the door and entered, carrying a tray with bread and cheese and a jug of ale. He looked almost as nervous as the housekeeper and fled as soon as he’d deposited his burden.
Nigel poured a mug and offered it to Drew. “You must be thirsty from the ride. You aren’t thinking clearly.”
Perhaps he wasn’t, but the notion of getting out from under his title, even for only a few days, was damn appealing. “It shouldn’t be difficult to manage.”
“Difficult? It’s impossible. I won’t do it.” Nigel drained the mug he’d offered Drew.
Nigel didn’t understand. He’d likely never wished to escape his life. “But I might never get this opportunity again.”
“I said no.”
Nigel’s face didn’t yet look as unyielding as the cliffs of Dover, so perhaps Drew could wheedle him into agreeing. “It wouldn’t be for long.”
“No!” Nigel scowled at him. “I don’t know why you would want to do something so ridiculous.”
To get a brief taste of freedom. “At least think about it, will you?”
Nigel grunted. “Oh, all right.”
Drew laughed. “Splendid. I’m off for a stroll. Do you want to come exploring with me?”
“Good God, no. I’ve just ridden two days to get to this godforsaken place. I intend to rest—and see if the house has something more sustaining than ale in its cellars. But you go ahead. Youth is full of energy.” He tossed him some bread. “Here. We can’t have you expiring in the fields somewhere.”
Drew caught the bread in one hand. “Thanks. I’ll see you later.”
Nigel snorted. “Hopefully you’ll be thinking more rationally then.”
Drew grinned and let himself out onto the terrace, taking the stairs down to the gardens. He followed one of the manicured paths away from the house. It was hot in the sun; he’d left his hat on the table in the entry. He should go back.
But it felt good to stretch his legs. He’d walk as far as the woods. He popped the rest of the bread into his mouth and lengthened his stride.
Nigel was likely right—pretending he wasn’t the duke was a dunderheaded idea, but damn, he wished he could do it. It might be different if he’d been born to the title, but he’d become Greycliffe courtesy of an early morning fire at one of London’s most exclusive gambling hells. His uncle—the fourth duke—his uncle’s two sons, and his father had all died in the flames.
He frowned. He’d never forget when word of his sudden elevation spread through Eton. Boys who’d looked straight through him the day before suddenly fawned all over him. Bah. At least it was practice for when he got older and went up to Town. The toadying there was beyond nauseating, and the London women were worse than the men. Whores, actresses, widows, debutantes—they all wanted to get their hands on his purse and, if they could manage it, their name with his on a marriage license.
He was almost at the trees now. Was that barking he heard? And splashing? He grinned. He was hot and sticky. He’d wade into the water and wash the dirt of the road off. He started untying his neck cloth as he followed a narrow path down through the dense pine trees.
Ah, there was a large rock to the side of the path. He sat down to jerk off his boots as likely many men before him had. He could just see the pond through the tree branches; he didn’t yet see the dog, but it sounded as if it was having a wonderful time. He couldn’t wait to join it.
He shed his coat, shirt, breeches, and drawers quickly and stepped to the edge of the woods. Now he saw the dog, a brown and white mix that was obviously part water spaniel, running back and forth on the bank, barking up at—
He jumped back behind a tree trunk.
The girl hadn’t seen him. She was standing on a large rock on the other side of the pond, looking down at the water about ten feet below her, clad in only her shift. Her long chestnut brown hair fell in waves to her waist, hiding her face.
She’d best take care or she would fall.
Concern tightened his gut. She didn’t intend to jump, did she? He should stop her, but catching sight of a strange, naked man coming out of the woods might well frighten her into losing her balance. What should—
Bloody hell.
