Free Fool Me Twice by Meredith Duran Page A

of the tongue conveyed his disgust. “You will see that Salisbury has filled His Grace’s post. It was only a matter of time, of course, but it does pain one, to see it.”
    She scanned the first paragraph. Why, Bertram had been appointed to the prime minister’s cabinet. And had shown a ‘laudable degree of Christian humility’ in his acceptance of the post. That hypocritical snake. No wonder he wanted her dead: her very existence put the lie to his entire façade.
    She stuck the newspaper beneath her arm. “At the very least, Mr. Jones, the news makes wonderful kindling.”
    *  *  *
    Under Olivia’s supervision, Bradley and Fenton carried the bookcases one by one to the top of the stairs. But as soon as they realized their next destination was the duke’s chambers, they stopped dead and began to bray like quarrelsome mules.
    Olivia was tempted to swat them on their hindquarters with the newspaper. “Have you no pride? Bawling like children in the dark. What do you imagine he’ll do to you?”
    She regretted the question as soon as it left her mouth. “Don’t answer that,” she said hastily, and left them squawking in the hall while she proceeded onward.
    A very small part of her was nervous about this plan. The rest of her was furiously, even self-righteously resolved. There was nobody but her to look out for the sacred treasures lying abandoned, defenseless, on Marwick’s floor. Forget his punches and bottle throwing; of all unforgivable debaucheries, she could think of none more depraved than tossing Newton onto the carpet.
    The door to the duke’s bedroom stood shut. She tried the handle and found he had locked it. Coward.
    She put her face to the crack. “Listen,” she said. “I do not like to use threats, but for the sake of those books, I shall.”
    Silence.
    She took a deep breath. He left her no choice. “If you refuse to let me place your books on proper shelves, Ishall slip laudanum into your food so you have no choice but to let me do it.” She paused, expectant. It was a very foul proposal; surely it merited another sacking at least.
    But he did not reply.
    “Very well,” she said. “A man can go without food. But can you go without water? I will drug that as well. You are hoarding a good portion of mankind’s priceless heritage, and I shall not let you destroy it.”
    The dead bolt scraped. She skipped backward, positioning herself by the exit to the hallway, poised to flee.
    He stepped into the doorway, staring at her. His hair stood up every which way, but at least he had buttoned his shirt. “You are insane,” he said flatly.
    “Coming from you, Your Grace, the diagnosis is very persuasive.”
    His eyes narrowed. He seemed curiously unfazed by her roundabout accusation that he was the household authority on lunacy. “Didn’t I sack you? Why are you still here?”
    She had been wondering that, too. “Likely because you haven’t told your butler of it yet.”
    “I will remedy that.” The door started to close. “Go pack your bags.”
    She crept forward. “And who will answer you when you ring? Everyone else is too terrified to come to your door.”
    The door paused. But he stood somewhere behind it, so she continued. “Indeed, you’re lucky there’s a dumbwaiter, or you would have starved by now. Say, you could send your notes down with your dinner tray.”
    The door opened again. He looked bored. “Eager to be sacked, aren’t you?”
    “No. But for those books, I will gladly take the risk.”
    “Ridiculous,” he said mildly. “Are you sure you weren’t an actress in your past, Miss Johnson? A very poor one, I might add—no doubt you were sacked from there as well. But you were well suited for farces, I don’t doubt.”
    “ Principia is not a joke! That book—”
    “Is mine,” he said. “To do with as I please.”
    She resented his reasoning, chiefly because she could not think of a convincing way to refute it.
    Instead, she put her hands on her hips and