Free Somerville Farce by Kasey Michaels Page B

duke’s
mind.
    Willie and Andy, obviously believing
themselves to have personally contrived this happy resolution of
their latest idiocy, had immediately washed their hands and
consciences of the entire project, and were now returned to their
previous all-absorbing pursuits—most of them having to do with
causing as much trouble as possible, all in the name of fun.
    Miss Trixy Stourbridge, the duke recalled,
suppressing a shiver, appeared to have taken her defeat with a
graciousness that stunned as well as worried him. She had kept
almost completely out of sight these past four days, closeting
herself with the twins and his aunt, making preparations for their
removal to London.
    It was only at dinner that Harry saw her,
and then she was seated below the salt, so that he could not engage
her in conversation without yelling down the table at her, a thing
he wasn’t about to do, and they hadn’t exchanged more than polite
greetings since their last uncomfortable meeting in his study.
    Guiding his horse along the ice-rimmed path
through the home wood, Harry mentally berated himself for looking
for demons where none existed, but he knew he couldn’t help
himself. Everything was going well—too well. With any luck, he
should be shed of the twins within the next few months, his good
family name intact, while at the same time providing his aunt with
a well-deserved diversion in the city.
    Ridding himself of the twins could likewise
remove Trixy Stourbridge from his world, an event to be anticipated
with the same eagerness with which he would view ridding his fields
of a plague of grasshoppers.
    Glynde grumbled and pulled his wool muffler
up over his mouth and nose to block the icy wind that was the only
remnant of the late-winter storm that had struck the area two days
previously. He did want Trixy out of his life as soon as possible,
didn’t he? What a silly question! Of course he did. She was a
scheming, blackmailing, nasty-tongued troublemaker, and the sooner
he was shed of her, the better!
    Turning his horse toward the house, Harry
sighed, knowing what was bothering him. He had to face it, confront
this demon, and stare it down. There was no getting around it.
Trixy—terrible, common name!—Stourbridge was a fascinating
woman.
    She had a mind, for one thing, which was a
singular accomplishment for a female, or at least for females of
his acquaintance. She also had an air of competence about her—she
gave off a certain indefinable impression of common sense. And she
was brave. A person had to be brave to take on two male intruders
in her household. A person had to be even more brave to take on the
Duke of Glynde in his own household.
    Of course, a person might also dare those
two things if that person were brick stupid or had no sense of
self-preservation, but the duke did not believe that to be the case
with Trixy. She had known just what she was about, even if she
couldn’t have foreseen how he—her superior in every way— would
neatly checkmate her move.
    She was a worthy adversary, and she took
defeat well, without tears, recriminations, or threats of revenge.
She took defeat, to be plain about the thing, like a man! Harry
admired that.
    He also admired her warm auburn hair that
shone with golden lights when the candlelight caught it, her smooth
pale skin, her deep emerald eyes, and her straight, trim figure. He
hadn’t seen many redheads, and the ones he had met were usually
short, prone to chubbiness, and got spots all over them when they
went out in the sun. Trixy’s skin leaned more toward ivory, and was
flawless.
    “Her figure is flawless as well, and curves
in all the right places,” Harry muttered from behind his muffler,
immediately cursing himself for his lascivious thoughts.
    He had better get Trixy Stourbridge out of
his head until he could get her out of his house. She was
dangerous.
    Glynde was about to turn his mount for home
when he heard a female scream, followed by a high, childish giggle.
The