Page 80 of How Not to Marry a Duke

A tremor unfurled through her at his closeness. She shoved it away. “This is hardly the event to cause gossip. Lady Trehorn usually manages that all on her own. It’s rumored the statue of her late husband is scantily clad.”

Warwick arched a dark eyebrow. “Fascinating.”

“Not all rumors are true, of course.” Adeline tilted her head and studied him. “Are you thinking to distract me from my question?”

A gleam of humor lit his eyes. “I’m not surprised you noticed. Wait and you shall see.”

Adeline’s breath caught. She couldn’t help herself. His mischievous expression had captured her interest and made her heartbeat quicken. What is he up to?

Just then, Lady Trehorn clapped her hands twice and gained everyone’s attention.

“I know you have all been impatient to see Lord Trehorn’s statue. I wouldn’t dream of making my guests wait until the end of my party.” With the aplomb of an experienced auctioneer, the lady tugged the cloth away from the statue. The cloth billowed in a white cloud before settling at the foot of a bronze replica of her husband. The crowd drew in a collective breath. The rumors were partly correct. The late Lord Trehorn wore an open shirt, no cravat, and his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. The muscles at his throat and chest were delineated. His thigh muscles were clearly visible beneath his breeches. His hunting dog sat at his bronzed feet.

The crowd grew silent. The artist was skilled, but the portrayal was far from the reality. Lord Trehorn had been middle-aged with a sagging middle. And he certainly never wore an open shirt. Lady Trehorn’s memory was flawed.

“Let us celebrate with champagne!” Lady Trehorn waved a hand and a group of liveried servers carrying trays of flutes of bubbly champagne marched outside in a well-orchestrated line. The guests let out an audible sigh as they availed themselves of the alcoholic refreshments.

Warwick fetched two glasses of champagne from a passing servant and handed one to Adeline. “At least she waited until her husband had passed to commission such a statue. Had she not, I think the portrayal would have caused his heart to give out.”

Adeline stifled a laugh with her free hand. The champagne bubbles teased her nose. “You are probably right.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a man wave down a server to place his empty champagne flute on a tray and snatch up a full one.

Her stomach tensed. “That’s Mr. Elder, the publisher! The one who wanted to pay only ten measly pounds for Mary’s novel.”

“Is it?” Warwick’s voice was light.

Yet something in the duke’s voice made her turn and eye him suspiciously. “Did you know Mr. Elder would be here?”

“Perhaps. Go and fetch Mary.”

Her sister was smiling and talking with the friend she’d seen earlier. Adeline shook her head. “No. It will upset Mary to see that horrible man, and I don’t want to ruin her happy mood.”

“Trust me. This time will be different.”

There was a visible harshness in the set of his chiseled jaw and the narrowing of his gaze, but a raw honesty as well. He wouldn’t go out of his way to hurt her sister. She was sure of it. She did trust him.

His nod of encouragement was all it took. Adeline hurried to her sister and tapped her on the shoulder.

Mary turned away from Miss Hart. “Is something amiss, Adeline?”

“The duke is asking for you.”

“Whatever for?”

“I’ve learned to just go along with some of his requests. They can be surprising. I believe this may be one of them.”

They returned to Warwick’s side. Adeline knew the moment Mary recognized Mr. Elder by her quick intake of breath.

Mr. Elder looked just as surprised as the trio approached. “Your Grace. Miss…”

“Lady Adeline,” Warwick said. “I believe you are already acquainted with her sister, Lady Mary.”

“Ah, yes.” Mr. Elder cleared his throat. “The writer.” Turning away from the women, he looked at Warwick, clearly uncomfortable.

“I was told you tried to steal Lady Mary’s manuscript, offering to pay her a pittance for it.” Warwick’s tone was conversational. Adeline wasn’t fooled. His green eyes were like ice.

Elder shifted his feet. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” he sputtered. “As I told them before, they are mistaken. I do not steal.”