Page 20 of A Deal for the Duke’s Virgin

That was probably for the best. No doubt Mrs. Murman had plenty of other gentlemen friends who might keep her company.

He set aside his whiskey glass with a clink and stood over it, weighing the pros and cons of getting another tipple.

Probably not.

With a sigh, he turned away from the drawing room window. It was the window that overlooked the drive, and he had hoped to see the carriage trundling up it. Slouching down onto a chair before the fire, he propped his boots up on the hearth, staring into the flickering flames.

I was foolish to think she would come. I daresay I will see her again, but if she won’t come here to review the papers… well, I can’t imagine what possible use we might have for each other.

He had not meant to doze off. The hour was not particularly late. For some gentlemen of the rakish set, midnight was the equivalent of early evening. The night had barely begun.

However, the combination of the warm fire, comfortable chair, and the whiskey sitting pointedly in his stomach was more overpowering than he could have imagined.

One moment, he was staring pensively into the fire, wishing that he had learned German; the next, a gloved hand squeezed his shoulder.

“Your Grace?” the butler whispered anxiously, leaning over him.

Christian startled awake. He imagined that the resulting snort was comical, but of course, his butler was far too well-trained to display even a flicker of a smile.

“Good heavens, Hooves! Are you trying to give me apoplexy!”

Hooves reddened. “Forgive me, Your Grace.”

Hooves was rather young for a butler, not quite having reached the auspicious age of forty. He was short, round, and more than a little plump with small and delicate hands and feet. However, any misbehaving maid or naughty footman who believed they could outrun or outwit the mild-mannered butler would find themselves very mistaken. When he trotted along at full speed, he could easily keep up with even Christian’s long-legged strides.

“I do apologize for waking you, Your Grace,” Hooves murmured. “It’s just that there is a lady in your study.”

Christian stiffened. “If Mrs. Murman has called⁠—”

“No, no, Your Grace, not her. No, the carriage returned a few minutes ago. The lady you mentioned was inside it. I was not sure where to take her, and I thought that privacy might be the order of the day. She is in your study now.”

Christian blinked, absorbing the words. “A lady, you say?”

He had not used her name when explaining to Hooves that he might receive a late-night caller. Like all butlers, Hooves had a preternatural sense of discretion and knew in a trice what secrets ought to be guarded with his life.

The other servants, however, had no such scruples. All it would take was one scullery maid glimpsing Lady Thalia in his parlor for the news to travel all over town, and then they would both be ruined.

No, that wasn’t entirely true. Gentlemen’s reputations were like soft down cushions. They could become a little thin and worse for wear over time, but a good shaking and a change of scenery generally perked them right up.

Ladies’ reputations were like glass panes. One nick, trip, or slip, and they were shattered, ruined, forever beyond repair. It was the reason that Mrs. Murman danced on a knife’s edge with the company she kept, whereas her gentlemen callers faced only embarrassment and perhaps angry wives.

Of course, this double standard was deeply unfair. Railing against Society would do very little to change it. But that did not mean that he wished to be the cause of a woman’s downfall.

“Quite right, Hooves, quite right. You haven’t done anything rash like send a maid in to attend her, have you?”

Hooves pursed his lips. “No, Your Grace.”

“Naturally. Good man. This lady, can you describe her to me? I want to be sure it’s the right one.”

I want to be sure she hasn’t sent a maid in her place. Nobody else can know about the letters, not yet.

“It’s hard to describe her, Your Grace,” Hooves sighed. “You will see what I mean. She was not keen to speak to me and refused tea. She said that she would speak to you immediately and that she would not appreciate being kept waiting when you had forced her out of her warm home at such an unsociable hour of the night.”

“It certainly sounds like her,” Christian mumbled, biting back a smile. “Thank you, Hooves. I shall take it from here. And please keep the carriage ready to take her back home when she wishes.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Shall I send up a tea tray?”

“No, thank you.”