Free Never Deceive a Duke by Liz Carlyle

to see that the duchess was watching him attentively, as if wondering what his answer would be. “It was a necessity which has become a passion,” he said. “Shall we leave it at that?”
    Moments later, the desserts were cleared and port was brought in. The gentlemen did not linger long. When they rejoined the ladies in the withdrawing room, it was to see Lady Ingham already being helped into her cloak.
    “I heard a little thunder,” she said almost sheepishly. “I think, Percy, we must go at once.”
    Sir Percy winked at Gareth. “The wife does not care for thunderstorms.”
    “Nor does Her Grace,” Osborne gently added.
    The duchess, who had been neatening Lady Ingham’s cloak collar, froze. She looked at no one, not even the doctor. Osborne must have realized his faux pas, and he began prattling in more general terms about the weather.
    “May we set you down in the village, Osborne?” Sir Percy interjected. “I fear my wife is right about the rain.”
    “Thank you, no,” said Osborne. “I brought an umbrella.”
    Gareth accompanied the Inghams to the front door, but the duchess held back almost deferentially. When Gareth returned to the withdrawing room moments later, however, he wondered if deference had anything to do with it. Osborne stood just inside the door, the duchess’s hands clasped lightly in his own. He was holding her gaze intently.
    “And the sleeping draught?” he murmured. “Promise me, Antonia, that you will not forget it?”
    She caught the plump swell of her lower lip between her teeth, and something in Gareth’s stomach did a flip-flop. “I dislike it immensely,” she finally said. “It makes me feel very queer afterward.”
    “Antonia, you must promise me,” he said more firmly, lifting her hands as if he might kiss them. “You need it—otherwise you know you will not do well with this storm coming in.”
    She dropped her gaze in a sweep of dark eyelashes. “Very well. I shall consider it.”
    Gareth cleared his throat sharply and stepped inside the room.
    The pair sprang apart almost conspiratorially. The duchess lowered her eyes again and drifted toward the cold hearth, rubbing her arms as if she felt chilled. Dr. Osborne began to express his thanks for the dinner.
    When Gareth returned from escorting the doctor out, he was somewhat relieved to discover that the duchess had vanished.

Chapter Five
    G abriel stood at a distance as the older boys played, kicking their ball along the swath of green. He had seen them in Finsbury Circus before. And he had seen the ball, too; an amazingly round and bouncing sphere which skittered across the grass at lightning speed, and made a satisfying “thunk!” when kicked.
    The smallest boy caught Gabriel’s eye and crooked a finger. With a glance back at his dozing grandfather, Gabriel dashed onto the grass.
    The boy held out the ball. “We need a sixth,” he said. “Can you kick?”
    Gabriel nodded. “I can kick.”
    The biggest boy elbowed past him. “Give it, Will,” he said, snatching the ball from between them. “We ain’t playin’ with Jews.”
    Gabriel let his arms drop.
    The bigger boy danced backward across the grass, sneering. “What?” he said. “You want the ball? You want it? Here—catch!” He dropped the ball and punted hard, his long leg swinging wide.
    The ball caught Gabriel in the gut. The breath burst from his lungs. He fell to the grass in a heap, the pounding of blood in his ears almost— almost —shutting out the peals of laughter. At first just the laughter of one. And then another and another, until all the boys were laughing.
    His humiliation was complete when Zayde snatched him from the grass. “A broch tsu dir!” he said, shaking his fist at the boys. “Go back to Shoreditch, you little pigs!”
    Still giggling, the boys dashed away. Zayde began to dust Gabriel off. “Oy vey, Gabriel! What were you thinking?”
    “I—I liked their ball.”
    “Eingeshpahrt!” His grandfather sighed.