“One of the maids spotted her sneaking around the rear of the house. I think she intended to gain entry to the house but is now...” Shaw sighed and waved a hand. “Well, stuck.”
Duke shook his head and rose from his seat. This, he had to see in person. He wasn’t expecting any visitors and even if he was, none of the women he entertained needed to sneak into his house or get...stuck.
“Lead the way, Shaw. Let us see what this woman wants.”
Following the butler from the office through to the hallway, Duke stopped and motioned to the greenery piled high in wicker baskets by the door. “A little early is it not? The plants will be dead before the festive season starts.”
Shaw barely suppressed an eye roll. Duke was impressed. Maybe the butler wasn’t as stiff as he thought.
“Mrs. Wycombe enjoys the festive season, sir. Perhaps you should take it up with her.”
The idea of confronting the housekeeper who tolerated hisdalliancesas she so often muttered about why they were even bothering to decorate the house, did not appeal. Duke would be spending Christmas on his father’s estate so it seemed a waste of time, but he supposed he should leave the housekeeper to it. Shaw’s expression revealed the slightest hint of smugness as Duke debated whether it was worth facing Mrs. Wycombe’s wrath over a little greenery.
“The servants will appreciate the decorations I imagine.”
“How charitable of you, sir.”
Well, he might have wanted Shaw to mellow a little, but he hadn’t anticipated this level of insolence. He was going to miss the stiff-lipped version of his butler at this rate.
“Where is this woman anyway?”
“Through there, sir.” Shaw motioned out of the large, glass paned doors that led to the ornamental garden.
Duke had little use for the elegant gardens at this time of year. Too cold to slip out and enjoy the company of a beautiful woman amongst the hedge rows and certainly too wet and muddy for hosting garden parties. It seemed; however, one woman did not mind the cold or the mud. He eyed the woman currently tussling with her skirts, vaguely recalling her face.
The butler laced his hands behind his back and eyed the woman through the glass. “Mrs. Sutton, I believe.”
“Remind me to increase your Christmas bonus, Shaw.”
“I will not let you forget it, sir.” The butler dipped his head. “Now I do have duties of which to attend.”
Which most likely meant Shaw either wanted to avoid the embarrassment of seeing Duke have to deal with Mrs. Sutton or he wanted to join the servants in watching Duke from a window somewhere. From what Duke was learning of his butler, he would wager the latter.
Duke gave a wave of his hand and straightened his waistcoat. He’d met Mrs. Sutton at his good friend’s wedding. Older than Duke but mightily handsome, the woman paid him quite a bit of interest. In other circumstances, Duke might have paid her some back, but Mrs. Sutton’s husband had been in attendance and was clearly not a neglectful, cruel husband. Duke didn’t have that many rules when it came to dalliances, however, if he was going to bring a woman into his bed, he wasn’t going to be getting between a married couple that could well just be having a few troubles.
Mrs. Sutton, it seemed, had other ideas.
He opened the door and strode over to where she continued the battle with her dark red skirts. Her hat sat askew, and branches tangled in amongst the netting overlay of the headpiece.
“Mrs. Sutton!”
“Oh, Duke!” She gave a broad smile, reminding him just how attractive she was. If circumstances were different...
He frowned. He would what? He hadn’t brought a woman to his bed in—what? —three months. He put it down to his workload though as Roman liked to remind him, he could quit his work as a lawyer at any time. Between his father’s income and his own investments, he could live without an independent income for a lifetime. Duke couldn’t imagine such a tiresome existence, though.
“I wanted to see you, but I did not think it wise to...call on you properly.” She tugged at her skirts again and he heard an ominous rip.
“Allow me.” He dropped onto his haunches and set to work untangling her skirts from the branches. Mrs. Sutton put a hand to his shoulder and smoothed her palm over the fabric of his jacket. If he wasn’t fighting with her gown and a tree, he’d have gently removed said hand.
“You know, there are subtle ways to meet with a man.” He freed the last thread of her skirt and smoothed down the damage with a thumb before standing. “The fact that you do not know that, Mrs. Sutton, tells me you should not be here.”
“But you are the infamous Marmaduke Cameron! You sweep women off their feet and show them a wonderful time. There are even poems written about you.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Poems?”
“Surely you have heard them? Oh, that naughty Duke,” she began to recite, “he’s no trembling runt. And he will do things to your—”
“That’s a terrible poem.”