Page 15 of A Virgin to Tempt the Duke

“I mainly stick to needlepoint, but enjoy painting from time to time when the mood strikes. I always use too much paint though.”

“You always use too much of everything,” the Duke said.

“I haveboldinstincts,” Rachel teased, and the evening righted itself and moved on.

The tavern was three villages over, which was precisely the right distance. He was far enough to be anonymous, close enough to be worth the ride.

Frederick came here when the Rathbourne Hall’s silence grew, not oppressive exactly, but present, the way it did some evenings. The fireplace was large, the ale was reasonable, and no one looked at him with anything beyond the mild acknowledgment owed to a man who tipped well and didn’t cause trouble.

Thomas was already there. This was either coincidence or his best friend, the Marquess of Larthby, had heard about the move to the Hall and had come out of curiosity. His own estate wasnearby. Knowing Thomas, as he had since Eton, it was the former dressed as the latter.

“You look extremely unsurprised to see me,” Frederick said, sitting beside him and motioning to the barkeep for a tankard of ale.

“I heard you’d run from London.” Thomas had the face of a man who found almost everything at least mildly entertaining, and he was wearing it now.

“I only run when exercising?—”

“Rather suddenly, and with Rachel in tow, which is unusual. I thought I’d investigate for myself, since I was already in the area…”

“You thought you’d make it my problem.”

“Same thing, from where I sit.” Thomas signaled for another glass for himself. “So. What’s happened? Estate emergency? You look… Well…” He tilted his head. “Not worried… Something else.”

Frederick drank because he knew Thomas would get it out of him one way or another, and the direct route was faster. With the lubrication of ale, he laid out the facts: the morning visit, Anna in the wedding dress, Birchall and Edgeware at the door, the move to the Hall last night. He kept it brief, and left out the bruises on Anna’s wrist.

Thomas listened without interrupting, which he could do when it was called for. When Frederick had finished, Thomas exhaled slowly, as he did when he was assessing facts. “Lord. Birchall.” He turned his glass, swirling the amber liquid, which made Frederick think of the dress Anna had worn that evening. “I’ve heard things about him.”

“So has everyone.”

“Yes, but I’ve heard… specifics.” He didn’t elaborate, and Frederick didn’t ask, which meant they had heard the same specifics. “Well. Interestingly, no word has come out in London of a runaway bride. Not a peep. I was at the Harringtons’ this evening for dinner, and if a bride ran from her wedding this week, they would know it.”

“Seems clear enough to me,” Frederick said. “Birchall needs to find her quietly. A runaway wife is not the story a man like that wants circulating.”

“So, he’s covering it up. No one can do that for long…”

“I’m sure he’s doing everything he can to find her—which will be fruitless, of course.”

“So, how is she now?” Thomas asked, his gaze locked on Frederick.

“She is…” Frederick took a sip of his ale. “She is adjusting. Sensibly, in the circumstances.”

“Sensibly.” Thomas repeated the word with mild enjoyment. “That’s how you’d describe her? Is she sensible? Because something in your countenance appears to be frazzled at the mention of her name?—”

“That’s how I’d describe her situation. Her name does not matter.”

“I asked howsheis.” Thomas looked at him for a moment. “I’ve seen her, you know. Once. At a musicale, last spring. And the Pendleton ball before that, come to think of it.” He paused, pointedly. “She’s quite attractive.”

“She’s under my protection, and more importantly, married.”

“For the moment,” Thomas said pleasantly. “If your attorney is as good as you say he is, and he must be because you pay him handsomely, she won’t be for much longer. And then what?”

“She’s a woman in my care,” Frederick said as he motioned for a new drink. “In a difficult position. Who came to my house because she had no other option.” He looked at Thomas directly, trying to close the door on further questioning. “Whatever she is or is not, she is not that. She is not anything, in that regard. I don’t touch women in the ton. I never have. I am not about to make Miss Anna Cartwell the exception. A rake I may be, but a careful one.”

Thomas held up a hand. “All right, all right. A rake with a moral compass? Making us all look bad.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you mean it,” Thomas said, which was not quite the same thing, but he said it without the smile, and Frederick accepted it as the concession it was.