Deceiving The Duke (Scandals and Spies Book 2) (12 page)

“
Y
ou’re remarkably cheerful
this morning,” Mother remarked, seated across from Morgan with her back turned toward the carriage driver.

Lucy, seated beside him, leaned closer, staring at him as if he was a specimen in a museum. “Are you humming?”

The large, blue bird squawked from her perch on Lucy’s arm, tethered to her wrist by a cord to keep her from flying out of the open carriage. “Giddy!”

Lucy nodded. “Quite right, Antonia. I think he is a bit giddy this morning.”

Squashed in the corner with his knees drawn up to his chest, Gideon rolled his eyes. By now, they’d all prayed for the bird to learn another word. Any other word. Personally, Morgan was trying to teach the parrot to say, ‘Let’s go for a walk.’ At least that way, he could buy himself a few moments of peace and quiet.

Lucy leaned closer once more, as did the bird. The yellow streak around Antonia’s beak made her look as though she smiled mischievously. He raised a hand to ward her away, in case she decided to peck out his eye or something equally sinister.

The parrot canted her head this way and that as she examined him. She made an odd, purring coo. “Giddy,” she pronounced. She made it sound as if he was on his deathbed.

Lucy sat back, taking the blasted bird with her. Why had he ever bought the parrot for her? Antonia had been nothing but a headache from the moment he’d brought her into the house.

His sister added, “It’s odd for you to be so cheerful after such a late night. I think I heard you come home around three of the morning.”

Morgan raised his eyebrows. “And what were you doing awake at that hour?”

She gave him a dazzling smile, the kind even brighter than her sunny yellow dress. “I had an idea for a story. I had to write it down, of course.”

“Of course.”

He leaned back against the leather squabs.

Unfortunately, Lucy didn’t drop the topic. “You never offer to join Mother and I when we visit Phil.”

“Neither does Gideon.”

Giddy raised his hands. “Don’t bring me into this.”

Lucy ignored them both. With a sly smile, she asked, “After such a late night yesterday, should we hope that today is an especially happy occasion? The kind with a proposal, perhaps?”

Morgan choked on his own tongue. “I beg your pardon?” he spluttered.

Diagonal from him, Gideon grinned. “Yes, Morgan, is there a proposal in your future?”

He glared at them both. Although Mother said nothing, he noticed that she attended to the conversation a little too closely for his liking. “Don’t be daft. I’m only joining you as a courtesy, to thank her for joining us at Vauxhall Gardens the other day.”

“That was nearly a week ago, dear,” Mother pointed out helpfully.

Lucy added, “And you were off with her on your own for a particularly long stretch then, as well.”

Do not blush. Whatever you do, do not blush.
He felt the heat plague his cheeks nonetheless.

Thankfully, the carriage pulled to a stop in front of the lofty St. Gobain townhouse. He jumped out the moment the driver laid down the steps. Unfortunately, it would be the height of rudeness if he tried to escape their company. He stepped to the side and offered his hand to help his mother out of the carriage.

She held the bonnet to her head with one hand as she grasped his with the other. On the top step, she was only a touch taller than him. She leaned closer. “I think Phil will make you a splendid wife.”

He stifled a groan. “Miss St. Gobain will not make me a splendid wife. She will not make me any wife at all. And please, by Jove, don’t suggest any such thing to her.”

Mother brightened. “You don’t think she needs encouragement in order to settle her preference on you? That’s a tad arrogant, wouldn’t you say, dear? For all that you are a duke, women like to be wooed, you know.”

“I will not be wooing Miss St. Gobain. There is nothing between us.”

He handed Mother to the cobblestones and reached up to accept Lucy’s hand—the hand not currently occupied as a perch for Antonia. Lucy said, “You might as well stop lying to us. We can see that there is a great deal going on between you and Phil. We have eyes, you know.”

Morgan glanced to Giddy for help.

His brother grinned impishly. “I think we should have a proper wedding this time, not that rushed affair that Tristan and Freddie insisted on.”

Morgan gritted his teeth.
I am going to skin you in your sleep.

Gideon’s eyes danced. He was taking revenge for Morgan’s lack of help at the lewd soiree last night.

Clearly and concisely, Morgan bit out, “There will be no wedding between me and Miss St. Gobain. Perhaps I ought not to visit her, if I will be raising false hopes.”

Mother latched onto his arm, preventing him from climbing into the carriage once more. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re already here. If she’s seen you from one of the windows, it will be the worst insult for you to leave without saying hello.”

Not to mention, if he left he wouldn’t have any chance to search the manor for whatever she had intended to pass along to the French last night.

Clenching his teeth, he inclined his head. “Very well. Let’s get this over with.”

He escorted Mother to the front door, where they were greeted by a staid butler no older than Mother. He stepped aside to let them in. To his credit, he didn’t mention the fact that Lucy had brought her pet. Giddy, the last in the line, inclined his head and offered the man his hat. Morgan did the same and passed along Mother’s bonnet.

As he took it from her, she whispered, “Do you prefer someone else?”

Lud, would he never put an end to this conversation?

“No. I don’t intend to marry this Season.”

There. Perhaps that would mollify her. He hadn’t turned down the possibility of marrying entirely, just not this year.

She whispered, “You aren’t getting any younger, my dear. If you want to be fit enough to run after your children as they play, the way your father—”

“Mother.” He refused to have this conversation in Phil’s house, with her servants looking on in curiosity. “Can we speak of this later?”

“I still think Phil—”

He coughed into his fist, drowning out her words.

The butler hung back, looking from one to another as if he hoped the conversation would continue. With a broad smile, Lucy stepped forward.

“Your hair looks a fright, Morgan. Phil won’t be impressed with that.” She reached up with her free hand to comb his fringe into place.

His groan was cut off by Antonia’s shriek.

“Lucy, shut your gob!”

Lucy gasped. “Antonia! What did you say?”

Giddy pumped his fist in the air. “Aha! My hard work paid off.”

With a glower that could have peeled paint, Lucy rounded on him. “
You
taught her to say that?”

“Shut your gob, shut your gob.”

Morgan bit the inside of his cheek to contain a smile. He should have thought of trying that. He winked at Giddy behind Lucy’s back.

Mother turned to the butler. “Our apologies. Antonia is usually a much more polite bird.”

The man shook his head ruefully. “Think nothing of it, Your Grace. We’re used to it around here. Why don’t you and Lady Lucy settle into the sitting room? I’ll send Lady Philomena down in a moment.” He bowed to Morgan. “Gentlemen, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the study.”

“Wait,” Mother said. She reached out to snag Morgan’s arm, but he sidestepped her. “Wouldn’t you rather all be together?”

“The study sounds like just the thing,” Morgan answered the butler. He turned his back, pretending not to notice his mother’s glare. Anything for a few moments’ respite.

The butler led him and Giddy to the second floor and ensconced them into a sparse room. It was clear from the lack of decorations and clutter that the study was rarely used, if ever. The chestnut-brown drapes were secured to one side with a faded gold tie. The wide, masculine desk was bare. The sideboard, where one might usually find decanters of brandy or whiskey, was bereft. The bookshelves lining the wall opposite the sideboard was the only part of the room that showed signs of use. Books crammed the space, stacked on top of one another in haphazard fashion, volumes put back out of order, even a couple books left open to a particular page and nestled on top. Seeing them, Morgan couldn’t help but smile. He was willing to bet that all of these books were Phil’s.

“Can I offer you some refreshment?” the butler asked.

Giddy answered. “Yes, thank you. Will the master of the house be long?”

Morgan shot his brother a quizzical look.

The butler bowed. “I will send him along shortly.”

The moment the man vacated the doorway, Morgan turned to his brother. Gideon shrugged. “I wanted to know how long we have to search.”

Search. Right. He hadn’t come here to learn what sort of books Phil enjoyed reading, or what she found so important that she couldn’t possibly shut the book. They had to find the French secrets.

“I’ll start here,” Gideon volunteered. “You check the floor above.”

Morgan nodded. “Right. We don’t have much time.”

As he stepped out the door, Giddy called after him, “If you’re found out, just say you were looking to say hello to your ladylove.”

Pity Morgan didn’t carry anything he could throw at him. He shut the door decisively instead, muting his brother’s chuckle.

True to his word, he loped up the steps to the next floor. With his luck, he expected to find the bedchamber. Instead, he found two freckle-faced toddlers, a boy and a girl judging by the length of their hair and their clothing.

The girl brandished a feather duster. “The big bad giant is coming to steal Aunt Phil. Get him!”

With a shrieking war cry, the children launched themselves at Morgan. He caught them, one arm each, though he nearly got a feather in the eye for his troubles. He grinned. There was something charming about children. They couldn’t give a fart whether he was a duke or a beggar. From the moment he’d stepped onto the landing, he’d become a part of their game. He held them high as they shrieked with glee.

“The giant has us!” The girl writhed, trying to stick him with her feather duster. It knocked him in the head a couple times. He readjusted his hold so he didn’t accidently drop her.

“Stop that, tiny knight,” he told her. “I’ve got you so I’ve won. I can have my prize.”

The boy giggled. “Aunt Phil! He’s come for Aunt Phil!”

“Exactly,” Morgan boomed. He bounced the two children on either hip. “Now that I’ve defeated her brave knights, what other obstacles will I face in the perilous journey ahead?”

“You’ll have to climb a really tall tower,” the boy said. He spoke so fast, with a bit of a slur, that Morgan took a moment to puzzle out his words.

Once he did, he answered in mock surprise, “But I’m a giant! I can step to the top.”

The girl shrieked happily and kicked him in the side. “Then you have to kiss the princess.”

“If the princess is Phil, that won’t be any trouble.”

“Of course it’s Phil. You’re going to keep her, aren’t you?”

The children stared up at him with wide, guileless blue eyes.

“Of course I am,” he said. The words stuck in his throat. Was this still a game?

The children grinned. The girl wiggled to be put down. “Come, come, I’ll lead you to her.”

The moment he set her on the ground, she took him by the hand and tugged him along. The boy helped, pushing Morgan to a greater speed.

They were intercepted in the hall not by Phil, but by a thin wisp of a young woman, a year or two younger than Giddy. She had light brown hair and freckles to match the children. Her complexion was milk-white.

“Your Grace! I’m terribly sorry. This is my niece and nephew. They didn’t mean anything.”

His smile slipped. Game time was over, it seemed. He was back to being the Duke of Tenwick. He’d enjoyed the respite.

“It’s fine. They were no trouble.”

The young woman didn’t appear to be listening to him. She held out her hand to each of the children. “Bonny, Brandon. Phil has guests. What do we do when Phil has guests?”

Glumly, Bonny answered, “We play in the attic.”

“Or in the kitchen, if you’d like. I hear Grandmam is making tarts.”

The boy perked up at this. Even Morgan cocked half an ear. What kind of tarts?

The girl couldn’t be bribed with food. “Aunt Meg, can I play with Pickle?”

Meg, who had begun to regain some of her color, turned almost transparent as she blanched. “No,” she croaked. “He’s napping.”

“Oh.” The girl looked glum. It tugged at Morgan’s heart.

“There’s another bird down in the sitting room. If you tell my mother and sister that I gave permission, I’m sure they’d let you play with her.”

The children tugged on Meg’s arms with repeals of, “Can I? Can I?”

“Heaven help me, don’t say there’s two of them now.” Her voice was so muffled, he couldn’t be sure he’d heard correctly.

She mustered a wan smile. “Thank you, Your Grace. That’s a very generous offer.” She whisked the children past him, though she didn’t look enthused. When she reached the stairs, she called, “Phil is in the invention room. Just pull on the bracket on the wall in front of you.”

He wasn’t looking for Phil. In fact, he should be looking to avoid her. But when he stepped abreast of the bracket on the wall, a decorative metal protrusion that might comfortably seat a candle, he couldn’t help himself. He tugged on it.

A section of the wall separated next to the bracket and pushed inward. When Morgan splayed his hand against it, it rolled easily to the right.

Inside, the steady glow of a lantern lit a square room that stunk of mineral oil. The occupants didn’t appear to notice the stench. Along the wall to the right was a thick work table littered with papers, odds and ends, and half-finished devices that Morgan couldn’t begin to imagine the use for. The walls, lined with shelves upon shelves, were stuffed with yet more strange devices. In the center of the room, seated atop a perch with a wide basin beneath to catch his droppings, the green-winged macaw ruffled his feathers.

He stopped preening himself and twisted his neck to stare at Morgan with one eye. “You’re in a pickle.”