As King descended the stairs, he wasn’t at all surprised to see Pettypeace standing in the foyer. The woman was never tardy. She was a breath of fresh air after spending a good bit of his adult life waiting on his mother whenever he accompanied her anywhere. The duchess considered the time for departure to be a mere suggestion, not a goal to be achieved. But for Pettypeace, everything was a marker to be steadfastly met and exceeded whenever possible. Fairly certain she’d already been waiting several minutes, he was enraptured by the excitement shimmering off her, an excitement he remembered experiencing himself when he was a young buck on the cusp of entering his first gentlemen’s club. As he neared, he realized he’d judged correctly how her wearing green would bring out the shade of her eyes.
But it was more than that. The shade enhanced the glow of her skin, made her hair look as though it had been spun from moonbeams. Or perhaps it was simply the way the silken strands were pulled away to dangle down her back with a few curling wisps framing her face, making her appear younger, free of cares or burdens. He had an urge to rub the tresses between his thumb and forefinger, to give them more attention than he had that morning.
“Pettypeace,” he acknowledged briskly, striving to give the impression he wasn’t finding it deuced difficult at that moment to think of her as his secretary. His butler, Keating, handed him his hat and walking stick.
“Your Grace,” she said.
“I like that frock. Green suits you.”
Pink tinged her cheeks, only the second time since their association that she’d blushed in front of him. He didn’t particularly like how much the reaction pleased him, or how much more intriguing it made her. The swath of color seemed out of place on a woman as no-nonsense as she. Another thing not in character for her was that she seemed to be without words. He’d never known her not to have an opinion and express it.
“It’s not a practical shade,” she finally managed.
“Still.” He kept his voice cool, hoping to imply it was no more than a gentlemanly compliment that carried little weight, when in truth he took far more pleasure from the sight of her in it than he should. “Shall we?”
Keating beat him to the door and opened it, leaving King to follow in Pettypeace’s wake, tugging on his gloves as they went.
“Are you certain you won’t get into trouble, having me at the gentlemen’s club?”
An image of the sort of trouble he could get into with her between the sheets—
He shut down those inappropriate thoughts. She was not for bedding. To do anything at all that might result in her resigning her post would be foolhardy on his part. He’d never find anyone as accomplished as she at handling her duties. “I should like to see them try to take issue with anything I do.”
Her chuckle was light, demure, and he had a desire to witness her laughing uproariously, full-throatedly. Did she ever lose control and allow laughter to simply spill out of her?
Once they were settled on the squabs, sitting opposite each other, and the coach was on its way, she said, “I notice your valet took shears to your hair.”
“At your behest, as I understand it. Apparently, you noted I was beginning to look a bit scraggly.”
“Only a bit.”
“Whatever would I do without you, Pettypeace?”
“I shall hope you never have to find out.”
So did he, more than was wise. What if she had a suitor? What if she married and her husband didn’t wish for her to remain employed? Was there someone she fancied? Had she worn that gown for another outing, one with another man? He couldn’t imagine she hadn’t drawn someone’s attention. “I don’t believe I’ve seen that gown before.”
“I wore it at last year’s ball.”
Had she? She was so very skilled at blending in with the woodwork, of handling matters unobtrusively, drawing little or no attention to herself. It was often easy to overlook her, especially when he was occupied with other matters. She seemed to prefer not to stand out, and yet this evening, he was unable to tear his gaze from her. “Ah, yes. We shan’t discuss that one. But how are the plans for this year’s soiree coming?” It would be held in August, during the final night of the Season.
“Swimmingly. I believe it shall be an even grander success. Will your mother be coming in from the country for it?”
“Yes, but a couple of days afterward she’ll be leaving for the Continent with some friends.”
“Your mother enjoys her traveling.”
“It makes her happy. She deserves all the happiness she can find.”
“You spoil her.”
He tried. “My father didn’t love her. I think he had no further use for her once she provided him with an heir and a spare.”
“Will the same be said of your wife?”
“Unfortunately, I inherited my father’s heart, which is to say I have no heart at all. But I shall seek to ensure she always feels appreciated.” Something his father had never done for his wife.
“With flowers, trinkets, and baubles?”
“With expensive trinkets, diamonds, and pearls.”
She glanced out the window, and he was left with the impression he’d said something wrong. He had a strange sort of honest relationship with his secretary. Had never hesitated to tell her anything. “You disapprove.”
Her attention shifted back to him. “I think she will be very fortunate to have you, but being fortunate does not always guarantee happiness.”
A sad pall seemed to fall over her. “Are you happy, Pettypeace?”
“I have no reason not to be.”
“That is hardly an answer.”
“Certainly, there are times when I long for more . . . but I do not believe I am destined to acquire those things.”
“I believe you can obtain anything to which you set your mind.”
She gave him a small, tentative smile. “I appreciate your faith in me.”
“It is well deserved. I would be a poorer man if I’d not hired you.” And damn if he wasn’t referring to the coins in his coffers but rather an aspect to his life that was impossible to measure, which included her. When he returned from a trip, she was always there to reassure him that matters were well in hand. His burdens and worries were less with her at the helm, leaving him free to pursue his obsession of rebuilding what his father had fairly destroyed. He’d long ago surpassed his goals but had continued the pursuit because the achievement had not seemed enough.
Then they were both glancing out the window as though they’d suddenly stepped on a path they’d not before, and neither was quite certain of where it might lead or if it should even be traveled.
Chapter 3
Penelope had always enjoyed being in the company of the Chessmen. Kingsland sat to her left, at the head of the table. Across from her was Rook. Knight had taken up position at the foot of the table, and Bishop sat beside her. They were a handsome lot, but it was the beauty of their minds that she truly appreciated, the manner in which they strategized, the ease with which they shared information with each other, the mystery of them. Other than King, she had no idea where their monikers had come from or their true names. In every encounter she’d had with them, they only referred to themselves as the particular chess piece they each represented. It didn’t strike her as an odd thing. Rather, it seemed to suit them.