Free Duchess Decadence by Wendy LaCapra Page B

are not alone, Your Grace.”
    Thea’s friend Lady Randolph spoke from a perched position on the bench. He was suddenly glad of the gray darkness—it hid the depth of his feeling.
    “A duke is never alone, is he?” he mused. …and yet he is always so.
    She made a sound he identified as feminine sympathy. “I imagine not—not a duke who employs a staff the size of yours, anyway. Is this where you come to escape?”
    “An absurd question,” he said. “A duke is never away from his duties.”
    “Master of ducal behavior, are you?” A smile thread through her voice.
    He sensed a verbal quagmire. “I had better leave you to your reflections.”
    “You need not go. I”—Lady Randolph paused—“I would enjoy a moment more of your company.”
    The idea their meeting had been no accident took hold in his mind, and he had the fleeting sensation Lord and Lady Randolph were playing nursemaid to both himself and the duchess this evening—but why ever would that be?
    “Com-pan-y,” she enunciated, “you do know the word, do you not? It refers to the pleasure of another’s conversation.”
    Her silk skirts made the sound of leaves in a wind-gust as she stood. Her personal rose-scent joined that of the flowers as she stepped by his side.
    “Forgive me, Your Grace,” she continued, “let us begin again.”
    He eyed her at an angle. Moonlight lit a mischievous grin. “You would like the pleasure of my company.” He snorted. “No one has ever desired the pleasure of my company. An audience, yes. My company, no.”
    “Perhaps if you worked on your conversational skill…?”
    He turned away and ran his gloved fingers over the petals of a rose. Polite pleasantries he had mastered. In leadership, he thrived. But conversation ? “Conversation is not this duke’s strength.”
    “You are not without hope,” she said brightly. “Let us practice together.”
    “You just said you found me tedious.”
    “I said nothing of the sort.”
    “Not in so many words…”
    She made a frustrated sound through her teeth. He hid his smile.
    “My,” she said, “you are stubborn. Then again, you are a Worthington. And every Worthington back to the Doomsday Book is known to have been a goat.”
    “You wound me.” He raised his brow. “You’ve been speaking to my wife, yes?”
    “No. Thea has words other than goat for you.” The impish grin. “I have, however, spoken to your stepmother. Now there is a woman who knows how to hold an entertaining conversation.”
    The muscles in his neck tightened—a habitual response to the mention of the dowager duchess.
    “I have said something wrong, I see,” Lady Randolph said quickly. “Emma is a friend and a fine woman, but perhaps we should seek a more amenable topic.”
    He nearly gaped. Her Grace, Dowager Duchess was Emma to Lady Randolph? Of course, the Furies had lived for a time with the woman. A permission he’d granted while his head still swam with the after-effects of his duchess’s lips.
    “Simplicity,” Lady Randolph continued, oblivious, “is best for practice. Why don’t we attempt the most tried-and-true of topics?” She angled herself away from the bush and touched his arm. When she spoke again her voice had the lacquered polish of a practiced flirt, “Good evening, Your Grace. The night is rather fine, don’t you agree?”
    The duke glanced upward. “There’s a bit of a chill.”
    She continued in the same shellacked manner. “You’ve a lovely garden.”
    “I pay dearly for the privilege.”
    Her shoulders dropped and she gave him a hard look. “What brings you joy, Wynchester?”
    He gave her a frown that would have frightened most men. “You’ve overstepped, Lady Randolph.”
    “Good gracious” she said in her own natural voice, shaking her head in admonishment. “I hope, for your sake, you never glower at Thea in such a way.” Her shawl fluttered in the night breeze as she placed a hand on her hip. “Soothe your hackles, grand duke. I was