Free Rules to Catch a Devilish Duke by Suzanne Enoch Page A

old Homer would be able to find us,” he agreed. When he looked back at her, he lifted an eyebrow. “You aren’t a fugitive, are you?”
    Not yet. After all, in what her father had actually called a “generous gesture,” he’d given her until the middle of January to say her good-byes. Or rather, he’d given her until just before the nobility was set to return to London for the little Season. She knew that was what mattered to him, that she be gone before his cronies could resume carrying tales about her and The Tantalus Club.
    And so she had seven weeks. Seven weeks before she was whisked off to Cornwall and the marital clutches of the Reverend Loines. She was the one who’d decided that venturing to Yorkshire was the best way to spend her remaining time.
    The Duke of Hennessy had said that the vicar of Gulval had agreed to marry her to save her soul from the choices she’d made in life. As if she’d done poorly for herself. The difficulty was that she had a very good idea of how the vicar would save her. No dancing, no chatting with other females—much less men—no music, no reading any book but the Bible. She didn’t wish to be saved. She only wished to be left alone.
    Adam was looking at her, so she summoned a smile. “I’m only a fugitive from Milly Brooks smothering me to death with helpfulness.” Abruptly she frowned, worried that she’d just caused trouble for the head-housekeeper-turned-ladies’-maid. “Though she does it well; I’m simply not accustomed to being coddled.”
    “You’re on holiday. Enjoy yourself.”
    “Oh, I am. Definitely.” Her sigh fogged the air in front of her, and she experimented with blowing out a circle as she’d seen men do with cigar smoke. Hm. Her effort looked more like a dented cloud that dissipated before she could examine it too closely.
    “What are you doing?” the duke asked, his gaze on her rounded mouth, and his expression … intrigued.
    “I’m attempting to make a fog circle.”
    “Ah. Of course you are.”
    Bending forward, Sophia patted her mount on the side of the neck. A few random bits of snow kicked up by the pretty chestnut mare’s hooves fell back to the ground. “Whose horse is this?” she asked.
    “Copper? She’s yours.”
    Clearly he’d misunderstood. “I mean, who generally rides her? She’s very calm and gentle. You ride that beast, so who does the mare belong to?”
    “Many of my guests enjoy riding, and not all bring their own mounts. I keep twenty or more horses here.” He reached over, adjusting her right hand on the reins. “Copper likes you, and you like her. Therefore, she’s now yours.”
    Sophia scowled. “You can’t simply give me a horse.”
    “I just did.”
    Risking holding the reins with one hand, she jabbed a finger into his very solid shoulder. “That would be just as bad as purchasing me clothes. Even worse, because a horse is more expensive.”
    For a moment he gazed across the glinting white landscape. “You said you have three pounds, eight pence, with you, yes?” he commented.
    “Yes. Why?”
    “You’re purchasing Copper from me. The price is three pence, and I’m providing boarding in London because you’re such a damned fine bargainer.”
    The fact that she truly didn’t need a horse in London evidently didn’t matter. And she hadn’t yet gathered the nerve to tell him that she wouldn’t even be returning to London. She’d said her good-byes to her friends at the Tantalus. And she doubted the Duke of Greaves would care to listen to her tale when he had pressing concerns of his own, anyway. “Clearly I am a formidable negotiator, since all I said was ‘no.’”
    Adam chuckled. “Exactly.”
    “But why are you being so generous?”
    “I do very few good deeds,” he responded promptly, “so I may not be very proficient at it. I like you, and I can certainly afford it. Does there have to be an additional reason?”
    Her mind seized on the middle part of his statement. He liked her.