Chapter 3

“Welcome home, Your Grace.” Dowding greeted Sunny with solemn flourish the moment the duke strode into the front hall of Sunderford House after his return from Cornwall. “I trust your journey met with success.”

Sunny peeled off his damp greatcoat, which the butler promptly handed off to the waiting footman. “Less success than I had hoped for.” He grumbled the words, his mood dark. A cold, wet rain had dogged him for most of the interminable journey, and his backside felt tender and sore thanks to the infernal, endless bumps along the road. And it was all for naught. He was still stuck with the two imps and their ornery nursemaid.

He looked around absently for his animal. The hound usually made a nuisance of itself, greeting his master’s arrival with high-pitched barks and lots of prancing around, but at the moment Pan was nowhere in evidence.

“Most regrettable, Your Grace.” Dowding was too proper to ask the hanging question.

“My uncle doesn’t intend to take them back,” Sunny informed the butler as he made his way toward the staircase. “We must make do for the time being.”

Dowding hurried up the stairs after him. “I see, Your Grace. For the time being.”

“Until I can find an appropriate home for them, which this,” he added pointedly when he reached the landing, “is most definitely not.”

“There is one thing, Your Grace—”

“Whatever it is, let’s discuss it later, shall we?” He proceeded down the corridor, anxious to discard his travel clothes, scrub off, and settle in with a nice, warmed brandy. “I’m in dire need of a bath and a toddy.”

“Yes, Your Grace, it’s just that—”

High-pitched screeching sounded from the opposite end of the hall. Sunny halted. “What the devil is that?”

Sounds of laughter and general children’s merriment drifted toward them. “Why do I hear the brats?” Sunny pivoted, his menacing gaze landing on Dowding. “The nursery is above stairs, is it not?”

Dowding visibly swallowed. “It is, Your Grace.”

“Then why the bloody hell can I hear them?” He moved toward the sounds, picking up speed as he neared the closed door and the unmistakable sounds of children’s play emanating from within.

“It’s what I was trying to tell you, Your Grace—”

Incredulous, Sunny rounded on the butler. “In my playroom?” He all but roared the words. Dowding seemed to visibly shrink in the face of his wrath. “Tell me you haven’t put those striplings in my private pleasure salon.”

The butler darted a glance in the direction of Sunny’s playroom. “I most certainly did not put them there, Your Grace.”

Sunny struggled to contain his temper. “But that’s where they are, is it not?”

Dowding looked miserable. “Unfortunately, Your Grace. We discovered their whereabouts just a short while ago.”

“What are they doing in there? You are the butler, are you not?” It was all he could do not to shout. “You are supposed to be in charge of ensuring this household runs smoothly. And this”—he gestured wildly toward the closed door—“is anything but smooth.”

“Your Grace, there was a miscommunication.”

Before he could ask what in Hades Dowding meant by that, the door opened and Sunny found himself staring down into the wide silver eyes of one of the interlopers.

“Hullo, Your Grace,” Prudence or Patience piped up. “May we call you Uncle Adam?”

“What?” He grimaced. “No, absolutely not. I am Your Grace to you. You may also call me Duke or simply Sunderford.” Until he found them a suitable home, the less familiarity between them, the better. Besides, he’d always addressed his own father as Your Grace, and the brats could certainly do the same.

“Sunderford?” She sucked three fingers into her mouth. “That’s an awfully long name. Uncle Abel lets us call him uncle.”

“Yes, well bug—” Catching himself, he let the remainder of the expletive die on his tongue. “Where is your sister?”

She grinned, baring a large gap in her upper row of teeth that made her look like a Seven Dials beggar. “Prudie is on your swing.”

“She’s what?” He suppressed a groan and stepped past the urchin. Her sister, in a snow white dress, clutched the ropes with her pudgy hands while pumping her little legs to and fro, trying to propel the swing higher.

Behind him, Patience clapped her hands with delight. “Higher, Prudie,” she urged. “Higher!” Pan dashed around the swing barking as if it was all such good fun.

Sunny winced at the sight of the child on his swing. The last time he’d laid eyes on the contraption, two naked strumpets had been perched upon it. “No,” he snapped. “Do not go higher. Come down off there at once.”

Prudence’s eyes rounded and her lower lip trembled. “Beg your pardon, Your Grace. I thought we could play in here.”

Horror gripped him. Was she about to weep? He hadn’t the first clue about how to deal with a sniveling female child. He turned to the footman and muttered under his breath, “John, what in Hades are these imps doing in my den of iniquity?”

“Why can’t we play in here?” Patience tugged on the hem of his tailcoat to draw his attention. “It’s a playroom, isn’t it?”

Sunny resisted the urge to swat her hands away. Had no one taught the child to keep her grasping little fingers to herself? “Who told you that?” he asked her. “Who told you this is a…erm…playroom?”

Patience pointed at John. “He did.”

Sunny’s head swung around toward the footman. Red suffused the man’s face. “Not exactly, Your Grace,” John stammered. “She overheard one of the maids telling me she needed to dust and air out your playroom in anticipation of your return.”

“Of all the—” Sunny closed his eyes and took a deep breath to bring his temper under control. “Where is their nursemaid? Why isn’t she watching over them?”

“The governess?” Dowding asked. “Miss Finch is out walking.”

“Out walking?” It vaguely occurred to him that ladies of quality went out walking with gentlemen who wished to court them. Was it the same with governesses? “With whom?”

“Why can’t we play in your playroom?” Patience, the imp who’d tugged on his coat, wanted to know. She stared up at him with barely banked defiance in her eyes. “Why do you have a playroom if children cannot play in it?”

He gritted his teeth. “It is not that kind of playroom.”

Prudence, the urchin on his swing, chose that moment to find her tongue. “What kind of playroom is it then?”

He swung around to look at her. “Why are you still on that contraption?” he snapped. “Did I not tell you to get off that thing?” He immediately regretted his harsh tone because the child’s round eyes watered and her hopeful smile turned downward.

“What kind of playing do you do in here?” the child at his side pressed, picking up where her sister had left off.

He exhaled loudly through his nostrils. “Why must you ask so many infernal questions?” These little upstarts did not know their place. Clearly the nursemaid wasn’t doing her job when it came to teaching them matters of decorum. He was a duke. He was the one who asked any questions that needed answering.

Besides, he could hardly tell her the truth. That this was the place he used for cavorting with tarts, where they all engaged in scandalously pleasurable activities that little girls should know nothing about.

“Patience? Prudence?” The governess’s assertive voice rang out from where she stood on the threshold, a plain straw bonnet partially obscuring her face. “What are you doing in here?”

Relief poured through Sunny. The harridan would take the little terrors in hand. He rounded on her. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

Her cool gaze went to him, her marked nose tilted upward, as if sniffing for something malodorous. “I see you have returned. From your less-than-pleasant countenance, may I assume your trip did not yield the results you’d hoped for?”

He stiffened. By God, the dragon grated on his nerves. “You may assume anything you like as long as you enlighten me as to why your charges have trespassed into my private rooms.”

Finch untied her bonnet. She wore another of her drab, uninspired gowns. “Girls, why are you not in the nursery?”

“It’s boring there,” Patience said. “And when I heard the duke had a playroom, I thought it was for Prudie and me.”

“Look,” Prudence added, “it even has a swing.”

The governess blinked and looked around, as if truly taking in the chamber and all of its accoutrements for the first time. Her eyes widened. “What is this place?”

---

Isabel had never visited anything quite like the duke’s private room. She’d never seen so much red velvet and golden tasseling in one place. And the chamber’s many mirrors amplified the garish decoration. The looking glasses were everywhere, lining the walls and even the ceiling.

She resisted the impulse to roll her eyes. The dilettante duke was clearly so vain that he needed to constantly stare at his own reflection from every conceivable angle. Her gaze moved past the billiards table, a common enough sight in any gentleman’s home, but the half dozen or so plush chaises that could easily accommodate two reclining people were an unusual sight.

“This place”—the duke came up behind her, his voice a low, deep rumble, and stood so close that she could detect notes of rain-scented man—“is private and no one has ever entered before without an invitation.”

She stepped away—his proximity made her uncomfortable—before turning to face him. His dark hair was askew, no doubt from the poor weather that had cut her own outing short, and lines fanned his silvery gaze. The man was the very devil. Despite the dark shadows under his eyes and other obvious signs of self-indulgence, the scapegrace remained an appealing man.

“Uncle Abel never had a playroom,” Patience said.

“Nor a swing,” her sister interjected.

“Watch me.” Patience demanded as she performed an impromptu cartwheel. “I love the mirrors! They let me see every move when I am tumbling and from every angle.” She cartwheeled over toward the duke. “Is that why you have so many mirrors? So you can watch yourself when you are performing certain physical tasks?”

The duke stared at the child, seeming at a loss for words. The servants also reacted oddly. The butler blushed a bright red, and the footman clamped his lips together and averted his face.

“Miss Finch.” The butler’s strained voice filled the awkward silence hanging in the room. “Perhaps it is best if you remove the children now. This is no place for them.”

“Do you?” Patience tugged on the hem of the duke’s chocolate tailcoat. “What exercise do you do in here? Do you tumble, too?”

“No.” A pained expression contorted the duke’s aristocratic features. “I most certainly do not.”

Prudence, who had climbed back up on the swing when she thought no one was watching, piped in. “Then why do you have so many looking glasses?”

“No doubt so His Grace can stare at himself all day long in all manner of activity.” The tart words were out of Isabel’s mouth before she could think to censor them. She castigated herself for her lack of tact. Her inability to curb her tongue was why she was now a governess, despite having grown up in luxury with a bevy of servants at hand.

The butler stared at her, his shock apparent, and made a choking sound. And she could have sworn John, the footman, suppressed a muffled laugh.

The duke’s hooded gaze searched hers out, his voice low and silky. “And what do you know of my private activities?”

Her stomach twisted at the unexpected change in the duke’s countenance; his expression became inviting, his tone insinuating. That was when comprehension finally slammed into Isabel. Suddenly she saw the bed-like chaises, wall-to-ceiling mirrors, and ceiling swing in an entirely new, and repugnant, light.

Revulsion rippled through her. Surely, he didn’t watch himself while…in the act…with his light skirts. And why were there so many chaises? The legend of his scandalous parties had reached Cornwall, but she’d never fathomed his routs could be so wanton that attendees engaged in certain intimacies in full view of their fellow guests. She inhaled a shocked breath. Everyone knew Sinful Sunny was depraved, but this was well beyond anything she’d ever imagined.

“Putting it all together, are you?” murmured the duke. Instead of being ashamed, the man actually had the cheek to sound amused. “Perhaps you’d care to join us one evening.”

“Absolutely not!” She eyed the loathsome man with disgust. “Even the swing is not for innocent play, is it?”

“Nothing about me is innocent.” One corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Would you like to see how the swing is best used? It is a demonstration that requires two people.” His disgusting gaze slid down the length of her body, filling Isabel with the urge to jump into the closest tub of steaming water to cleanse herself of that insinuating look.

She swung away from him, nausea churning in her stomach. “Prudence!” She practically screamed at the girl. “Get off that swing this instant. Now! Now!” She dashed over to pull the child off the contraption. She couldn’t get the children away from this abhorrent chamber quickly enough.

“But why?” Prudence stumbled as Isabel shepherded both children toward the door. “Sunderford hasn’t told us yet what he does in this chamber.”

“It is none of our concern.” She placed a firm hand on the girl’s shoulder to steady her while still keeping both children marching for the exit. “Out we go.”

“And make sure they stay out,” the duke called from behind her. “We wouldn’t want them wandering in whilst I am entertaining.”

Outrage fired in her belly. He planned to continue his debauched routs? Even with his young, innocent charges in residence? She paused only long enough to shoot him another appalled look, then followed the children out of the room and slammed the door hard behind her.