Page 17 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

The ink matched the thin, barely noticeable, black rings that outlined Marce’s crystal blue eyes, so light in hue many would mistake them for clear, holding no pigment at all if they did not look closely—and often.

The Devil take him…straight to the depths of hell the woman thought he’d crawled from.

The door closed with nary a sound, and a familiar voice of reason asked, “What is all this?”

Rowan brought his eyes from the now empty surface of his desk to see Tobias, Lord Cresthaven, standing just inside the study door, surveying the mess—papers strewn across the floor from where Rowan had pushed them away, his quill lying at Tobias’ feet, and the ink splatter here and there about the room.

Yes, Rowan was in serious need of Tobias’ words of wisdom; yet he knew they’d never speak of Marce or Rowan’s part in deceiving his mother.

Those topics were off-limits, even to Rowan’s closest friend.

Tobias leaned down and plucked the quill from the rug at his feet, sending it flying back toward Rowan. He made no move to catch it as it skidded across his desk and fell once more to the floor.

“Pelton will have your hide when he sees the disorder you’ve made for him,” Tobias said with a chuckle. “Should I assist you with straightening up, or allow you to face your butler’s wrath?”

Tobias’ brown brow rose in question when Rowan only sent a frown his way before collecting the quill.

“Ah, things are far more dire than I suspected.” Tobias made his way to the sideboard and retrieved two tumblers. “Scotch?” He didn’t bother waiting for Rowan’s reply before pouring two healthy portions from a decanter and turning to hand one to his friend.

They drank in silence, and Tobias moved to refill the glasses.

“No, thank you,” Rowan said, covering his tumbler with his hand. “Dinner with Mother and Marce…I must have my wits about me if I am to survive.”

Tobias shrugged before filling his own glass once more and throwing himself into the ink-stained wingback chair across from Rowan, his scotch splashing over the edge of his tumbler and threatening to drip down the chair. Tobias wiped at the liquid before it could make its way down the side of the glass. “Suit yourself; however, I will endeavor to enjoy my evening.”

Rowan ran his fingers through his hair, likely mussing it more than it already was. “Enjoy an evening at Hadlow? Dining with both my mother and Marce…at the same time?” He shook his head, fearing Tobias had at some point jarred his head so severely he’d forgotten how difficult it was to monitor one’s words when in the company of Lady Harwich—both Lady Harwichs, as it were.

“Whatever are you so concerned about?” Tobias took a long sip before continuing, “Leona is a—”

“Lady Harwich or the duchess,” Rowan corrected with another scowl.

“Lady Harwich, though you know I was given liberty to address her by her given name years ago—“

“I did not agree to such.”

Tobias shrugged again, obviously unconcerned with his own well-being. “As you wish, Your Majesty. Lady Harwich is a delight, and Mar—err, Lady Harwich part deux is captivating, even though she cannot take her stare from you most days. However”—Tobias raised his hand to stop Rowan’s protest—“I have it on good authority that she favors—”

“Stop!” Rowan’s deep voice thundered, fairly rattling the windowpanes, yet Tobias was undeterred by his friend’s outburst.

“Okay, I will share who my source is, but you must agree never to reveal their name to anyone,” Tobias joked; however, Rowan sensed that somewhere behind his words and jest, there was more than a morsel of truth. “It was Constance, the milliner’s daughter’s husband’s third cousin…once removed. From over in Swanscombe.”

“What in the bloody hell does some chit from Swanscombe know of any of this?” Rowan massaged his neck as his left eye began to twitch.

“Obviously more than you and I, Your Grace.” Tobias shot up straight in his seat, his empty tumbler forgotten by his side. “I am certain I can gather her directions for you if you need further evidence. Though you cannot, under any circumstances, tell her that you heard the information from me. Swear to it, Ro!”

“Enough, Tobias.” Rowan narrowed his eyes at his friend, wondering what had drawn the two men together all these years and continued their friendship despite the distance that normally separated them. “I do not give a bloody damned whit if my mother allows you to call her Leona, nor does it interest me if Marce favors you over me.”

The continued twitch in his eye spoke to the contrary, and Rowan only prayed Tobias hadn’t noticed the tell.

“But she favors me,” Tobias sighed as if mortally wounded by Rowan’s lack of interest in the topic. “Either way, I am greatly looking forward to our meal. When news arrived you’d be at Hadlow and the duchess was requesting my presence for a dinner party—”

“It is not a party.” Rowan was done trying to hide his exasperation.

“Come now, allow us lowly Kent simpletons the delight of an intimate dinner party now and again,” Tobias said, standing to refill his tumbler for a third time. “It is not often that fine London dwellers such as you grace us lowly country folk with your presence…”

“Lowly country folk?” Rowan scoffed. “Did you not just recently return from across the Channel?”

“That is neither here nor there.”