Chapter Sixteen
“You’re whistling,” Renardaccused from across the poker table.
Percy glanced at the two men playing cards from his seat by the window. Having found himself a hot cup of tea, a plate of biscuits, and a soft cushion, he’d been lost in his thoughts while he waited for them to finish their game. Thoughts of a dark-haired woman who came with his name on her lips and his finger between her thighs. A woman who kissed like a wild nymph in the dark embrace of the woods and stole topiaries from unsuspecting gardeners like a pro.
“Am I?”
Hamish placed his cards on the table. “Been doing it since you walked in.”
Renard cursed and threw his losing straight down before leaning back in his chair and eyeing Percy. “A bit peculiar.”
Hamish shook his head. “Downright unpleasant.”
“And smiling. Do you see that smile?” Renard said.
Hamish looked alarmed. His won pot forgotten, he too turned to study Percy, brows drawn. “Is that what that was? I thought he was holding in a bodily complaint.”
They were like nattering magpies. “Did you summon me here for a reason,” Percy said, “or merely for your ill-witted sport?”
“Sport, I should think.” Renard glanced at Hamish. “Was there something we needed?”
“Not I,” Hamish said.
“You didn’t summon me?”
Hamish shook his head.
“Perhaps Charlotte sent the missive?” Renard offered.
Percy inclined his head to the garden out the drawing room doors, eager to finish this errand so he might make other, far more agreeable, calls to a neighboring estate. “Is the duchess outside?”
Renard nodded. “Camille is with her and my daughter.” The last word he said with male pride.
Percy would enjoy reminding the smug man how two days ago, he’d paced the floors of his country estate so long, he’d left a permanent line in the carpet, while his duchess had lain upstairs, screaming bloody murder the entire twenty hours of labor.
Starting for the door, Percy found a good place to set his cup and saucer as he bid the two adieus.
Hamish thumped the table. “Good gracious! He’s gone and found her.”
Renard stretched his arms over his head before picking up his own cup of tea. “Found whom?”
“His duchess.”
Percy froze.
Renard startled. “What makes you say that?”
“His attendance at the ball, willingly going off to the firing squad. The whistling, the smiling, what does that make you think of?”
Renard set down his cup, rattling the china in his surprise. “I hadn’t thought of that. You think it’s a woman?”
Percy gritted his teeth, his reply too quick. “No.”
“That’s a yes,” Renard said. “Who do you think it is?”
“Some barmaid, perhaps?” Hamish said.
Renard wrinkled his nose. “Too common. What about a governess?”
