Page 14 of One Day for a Valet

“Why not? It’s easy enough to say, rolls right off the tongue.”

“No.”

“And I would like to call you Sofia. It’s such a pretty name and saying so doesn’t count as flirting since I am not complimenting you. Technically, I am complimenting your mother, who I assume named you. ‘Miss Lioni’ is cumbersome, and if I only have sixty minutes of friendship, I don’t want to waste time stumbling over formalities.”

“Uomo fastidioso,” Sofia grumbled.

“I’m going to pretend you just said something nice to me.”

Sofia bit back her response when the duke’s imposing figure filled the doorway.

“Miss Lioni, I presume? It is a pleasure to meet you. My duchess speaks very highly of you.”

Sofia dipped into a curtsy. “The pleasure is mine, Your Grace. Your children are delightful.” She slid back into the corner, suddenly feeling rather small and shabby. Despite his relaxed manner and amiable smile, the duke’s every syllable and movement exuded an air of crisp command. It was difficult to picture this paragon of aristocratic bearing being married to the chicken-cuddling duchess.

“Looking for someone?” Keene asked, shifting his attention to His Grace.

“Violet.”

“She doesn’t generally take her meals with me.” Gabriel lowered his chin and frowned. Most of the other servants, apparently long accustomed to the unorthodox relationship, paid the conversation no mind. Bennett, however, scowled.

“But I may know where she is,” Keene added.

“You may know?” the duke repeated.

Bennett quit the room with a parting look of disgust at Keene, who appeared amused by the old man’s ruffled feathers.

“He would fire me in an instant if you would allow it … gleefully,” Keene said.

“Yes, well, I may let him if you don’t tell me where my wife has gone.”

A footman coughed out a laugh, then buried his amusement behind his hand.

“I feel like the information you want is jostling around in my brain, but it lacks the proper glucose required to break free. There is a treacle tart, you see, but Mrs Simmons smacked my hand when I went to take a slice. Hurt like the devil! That woman is feistier than a wildcat.” Christopher winced dramatically and rubbed at the back of his hand, then glanced at Sofia, who maintained her neutral expression.

“She informed me that there’s only enough to serve the family for the evening meal. But it’s a treacle tart, Gabriel. My favourite.” Christopher’s gaze floated wistfully towards the dessert, then towards Mrs Simmons, who guarded it with a dour expression.

“Oh, give him the damn tart, Mrs Simmons,” Gabriel said.

She huffed like a schoolgirl who had been asked to surrender a favourite toy before she cut a slice and plopped it in front of Christopher with a shake of her head. “You should fire him, Your Grace. Troublesome little pest, he is.” But there was no malice in her voice, and she tucked a napkin into his hand.

Christopher beamed at the prize before him for a long moment before he stood, carrying the plate tightly clutched in both hands. He stopped before Sofia. Christopher looked between the proffered tart and Sofia, a smile tipping at the corners of his mouth.

“No presents,” she hissed under her breath. And with a quick curtsy to the duke, she left the room.

Six

Christopher arrived to wake Gabriel at the usual hour. His first knock was met with silence. His second by a gravelly, “Go away, Keene,” followed by the duchess’s apology for the inconvenience.

“I can feel you grinning through the door,” Gabriel said with a chuckle before adding, “Now go away.”

Christopher was smiling. His friend deserved every ounce of happiness he could squeeze from life. It meant adjusting the shape of their friendship to make space for Violet, but their friendship was sturdy enough to manipulate and adapt as the situation required. God knew they had adapted often over the years.

When Gabriel hadn’t shown up the previous night for their usual after-dinner scotch, Christopher had curled up in bed early with a novel recommended by one of the house maids, and the hours had passed pleasurably enough. In the book, the heroine, dressed as a cabin boy to escape her villainous relatives, fled on a pirate ship, and fell in love with the swashbuckling captain. Naturally, he remained attractive even after months at sea.

So far, the crew of fifty men and their preternaturally sweet-smelling captain had remained oblivious to her feminine curves, but Christopher suspected that she would be wounded soon enough, requiring the captain to remove some of her pertinent bits of clothing. Christopher hoped the author wouldn’t skip all the good parts in that particular scene …

Alas, reading about a beautiful woman dressed in lad’s clothes had brought to mind Christopher’s earlier conversation with Sofia. And from there, his imagination wasted no time in conjuring a rather salacious scene wherein he expertly played the part of her valet.