Page 22 of The Duke Decides

He released her wrists. Inhaled a deep breath, drawing in the scent of her. His mind was gone already, might as well obliterate the rest of it. In an automatic gesture he raised his hands to smooth his neckcloth as he stepped back and away.

Dear God, he didn’t want to stop touching her. What madness had seized him? He was as randy as a sixteen-year-old boy around her.

He arranged his coat and tried to look ducal.

Her gaze fell on his ring, eyes narrowing. She clutched his hand and examined the seal. He tried to ignore the darts of warmth that shot up his arm and through his chest at the press of her hands around his.

“Crest of the house of Declan. Named after the Irish saint of Ardmore, Déaglán, if you’re asking. He converted the Déisí long before the mighty Patrick arrived.”

Why was he babbling? He made no effort to impress anyone. Quite the opposite, in fact. All the same he tucked the ends of his cravat back beneath his waistcoat, as Orde didn’t approve of their sticking out everywhere.

She moved away from the wall, somewhat unsteadily. He affected her, he was happy to see.

Only seemed fair, since she leveled him to his knees.

“Barkham is an English title.” She shoved the blackmail letter back into its place and slid the drawer shut.

“It is. I could bore you with that history too, if you’d like.”

“Why are you here? Alice,” she called as an afterthought, “you may enter.”

The little maid came into the room, her eyes on Gabe as if he were a wolf who might leap for her throat if she shifted her gaze for a second. “Sister Agatha asks if ye wants tea with the etiquette lessons today.”

“Etiquette lessons?” Gabe watched with interest as Louisa picked up a small hand mirror and readjusted her cap, which he’d once again disarranged. He took the carved wood handle of the mirror and held it for her.

An odd, unfamiliar warmth bloomed in his chest as he watched her smooth and repin a few curls, then pluck up the ribbons lacing her cap, which he’d crushed while holding her face to kiss her. Watching his female at her toilette was the privilege of a lover. Or a husband.

“Yes. I train the older girls in etiquette. Many of them will go into positions where they will be obliged to wait on ladies or the genteel. I want them to know how to conduct themselves in a manner that commands respect.”

“I thought this was a hospital.” He followed her out of the room, enjoying the sway of her skirts as she walked, and allowing a suspicion to grow and flower.

“It began as a shelter for needy women and orphans, and continues to be a hospital in the old sense of affording lodging. Once upon a time the Hospital hosted travelers, I believe, but since the premises were moved to Knightsbridge, we have focused on being a charitable institution that houses, tends, and trains women and girls as needed to find a secure position in the world.” She paused and threw an arch glance over her shoulder. “Alice can show you out.”

“I was promised a tour. As I might then be led to invest. Are you a workhouse?”

He followed her down a hall and past a large, airy chamber that appeared to be a schoolroom. Children sat in pairs at rows of small wooden tables, sharing an open book and scribbling on a chalk slate while a schoolmistress in a plain gown, apron, and cap walked among them, offering suggestions. Not reprimands accompanied by the slap of a ruler or a cuff along the head, which had marked most of Gabe’s schooling.

“Not the same as a workhouse. We do not make it a policy to punish people for the misfortune of being paupers. We are founded on a different philosophy, thus the Benevolent of our name.”

Louisa walked briskly past another high-ceilinged room. Gabe peeked in to see a crowd of women spinning and sewing. One sat at a handloom, patiently guiding the shuttle.

“Are you producing cloth? That is one way to secure an income.”

“We make as much as we can for our own use, including cloth. But we cannot complete with the factories, not without a spinning jenny and a power loom.”

A woman hurried up to her, dressed as Louisa was, plain but tidy. Her expression turned to surprise as her eyes lit on Gabe, and she slowed to give him an appreciative look from head to toe. He tried not to preen or hope Louisa had noticed. It was gratifying to receive female admiration, all the more so if it made his siren jealous.

She appeared not to notice. “Sister Anna?”

“The girls spotted a mouse in their dayroom, Mother. You should have heard Myra screaming! I think ‘twill be tomorrow afore we can get her down from that chair. Deathly afraid of the creeturs, she is.”

“I’ll speak to Sister Agatha about pressing more peppermint oil,” Louisa answered. “That seemed to do the trick in the storerooms.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Sister Anna nodded her head respectfully and withdrew.

“You are too young to be a Mother Superior,” Gabe remarked.

“I am honored they would trust me with the responsibility,” Louisa answered. “I have been here fifteen years. I came as a penitent, stayed to work in the bakehouse, made my way into the schoolroom, and then, after becoming assistant to the previous Matron, here I am.”