Desperate Duchesses

“Those are harsh words.”



“I am sure that you will be able to dismiss my criticism of your private life. It caused you no distress in the past.”



“If you will forgive me,” he said, “I have many appointments tomorrow morning.”



She fell into a deep curtsy. “Good night, Your Grace.”



He bowed, and was gone.



Jemma stood for a moment, chest heaving with rage, and then pulled on the cord. Brigitte appeared a few minutes later, correctly interpreting that angry peal as commanding haste.



“Tell Fowle that you will deliver the chess moves to him every night,” Jemma said. She scribbled on a piece of paper. “Here are the moves so far. There are perhaps four days left in each game, possibly longer in Beaumont’s case. I don’t suppose that Villiers is still in the house?”



Brigitte dropped a curtsy. “If you please, my lady, he has been partnering Miss Charlotte in a game of whist with the marquess and Lord Corbin, and they are just leaving now.”



Charlotte Tatlock? Why not? Why shouldn’t the woman play with both Beaumont and Villiers? It made sense in a queer sort of way.



“Ask him to step upstairs, if you would,” she said.



Brigitte was far too wise to ask any questions. She dropped into a curtsy and left the room before Jemma could say another word.



Jemma swept the chessboard clean and sat down to wait for Villiers.



Chapter 29



I n the end, they settled in a small sitting room, the same one to which Jemma had first brought Roberta. Damon rang the bell while Roberta wandered over to say hello to Judith’s foolish, tipsy face, but she had been removed.



“If we’re going to drink,” Damon said, “and since it’s an essential part of dollymop dominoes, we are, you should eat something. You didn’t touch your food at supper.”



“I’m not fond of ornate food,” Roberta said. “I would grow very thin living with a French cook.”



“You prefer apples and hard-boiled eggs?”



“Not that, but our cook at home is gifted at simple dishes.”



“Beaumont’s cook is definitely French, with the temperament of a devil, or so Ransom tells me.”



“Isn’t it odd that your school friend would end up secretary to the duke?” she asked.



“Not at all. I recommended him for the post.” The door opened. “Ah, Fowle,” Damon said. “May we please have a small repast and a bottle or two of champagne?”



“I do not like champagne,” Roberta said. “Some other drink perhaps?”



“Do you like wine?”



“If it’s sweet.”



Damon shuddered. “Intolerable. We have nothing of the sort in the house, and if we did, you’d have a terrible headache in a couple of hours.”



“Ratafia?” Fowle suggested.



“Absolutely not. I don’t want our guest casting up her accounts tomorrow morning.”



“In that case, I would suggest a gentle concoction of champagne and strawberries, my lord. Strawberries just arrived from the country, and I believe it will make the champagne tolerable to Lady Roberta.”



“Champagne with fruit doused in it,” Damon said morosely.



But Fowle was right. It was delicious.



“I shall ring if we need anything further,” Damon told Fowle and then, turning back to Roberta, “There’s no better way to nurture gossip among the servants.”



Roberta shrugged. “The servants in this household have so much to occupy them; I’m sure we’re at the bottom of the list.”



“It is true that your engagement should keep them talking for the evening,” Damon said, cautiously sipping his drink. “It’s pink,” he said with disgust, “and there’s sugar in it.”



“I like it,” Roberta said. “Champagne always bites the back of my nose, but this is lovely.”



Damon brought over a small table and placed it between them. “Do you know how to play dominoes?”



“You asked me that before,” Roberta said, giggling. She had finished her glass and the world seemed a much more cheerful place. “In fact, I always beat my governess.”



“Superior skill at matching sixes?”



“I have very good luck,” she said smugly. “I often draw doubles.”



“I shall prepare to disrobe,” Damon said, loosening his cuffs.



Roberta froze for a moment. Then she picked up her pieces. Her mind was a little fuzzy but she was quite certain of the important things. Her fiancé had said that chastity was tiresome. That same fiancé was playing a game of chess whose outcome had everything to do with loss of clothing.



“Let’s just see what happens, shall we?” she said, smiling at Damon.



He sat opposite her, looking a little perplexed. That was because he was a man. She turned all the pieces face down and prepared to draw.



“Wait a minute!” he said, and the wicked gleam was in his eye. “I’ll bet you were cheating your poor old governess by memorizing where the doubles were.” He shuffled the pieces.



She managed to keep a pitying smile off her face because when a man is about to lose all his clothing, he needs his composure.



She drew the highest piece, a six, so she pulled all her bones first. She didn’t draw a double in her original three, which was a wee bit disappointing.



She played and sipped her drink.



Damon handed her a tiny square of iced cake. “You should try this, Buttercup. It’s just as sugary as the champagne.”



It was lovely, so she ate it while she drew her next piece, a double three. She didn’t tell him, though, until two moves later when she put it down crosswise as a spinner.



“Wait a second,” he said startled. “You’re supposed to tell me when you draw a double. You have to drink.”



“I have been drinking,” she pointed out. His glass was still full, but she threw back the last drops of her second glass and fished out the slice of strawberry with her tongue. He seemed to enjoy watching her do that, so she licked the edge of the glass.



He wrenched his eyes away. “Well, so you put down a spinner—”



“Which means that you have to take off a piece of your clothing.”



“No need to be quite so eager. I’m wearing a great deal of clothing.”



“I’m not eager,” she said loftily. “Just curious.”



He pulled off his jacket and threw it to the side. Underneath he wore an embroidered waistcoat and a linen shirt.



“That waistcoat doesn’t quite match your jacket,” she pointed out.



“My valet made the same comment, but it was too late. I already had it buttoned.” He selected a new piece. “Oh, no. A double. That means I have to drink.” He took a large swallow and shuddered visibly.



“How could you not like it?” Roberta said. “It’s absolutely delicious. I feel quite swimmy.”



Damon put down a piece but it wasn’t his double. “There’s no place for my spinner, but you should beware.”



Meanwhile Roberta drew another double and put it down directly as a spinner.



“I can see there are benefits to your sort of luck,” he said. His waistcoat followed his jacket.



She glanced at him from under her lashes. His shirt was so fine it was almost transparent. He had beautifully cut muscles in his shoulders. As she watched he rolled up his sleeves. “Though why I bother,” he muttered. “I don’t suppose I’ll have this shirt on my back much longer.”