Rules to Catch a Devilish Duke by Suzanne Enoch Read Free Book Online

couldn’t afford to be naïve. He couldn’t afford to trust more than three or four people in the entire world. The trade-off for that had been to have a large circle of acquaintances, people with whom he could share a meal or a house over the holidays, but never allow close enough to learn anything that could be used against him.
    Large parties were grand for avoiding people when he wished, and finding companionship when he preferred. No guests at all meant being left to his own thoughts and devices, which he didn’t like but supposed he could tolerate. This year, however, the guests were a necessity. His father clearly hadn’t had any more faith in his ability to be a man than his mother had—which would have been amusing, considering the contempt in which he held his father, except for the damned matter of the will.
    His thirtieth birthday would fall on February first. And if he hadn’t married by then, most of his properties and a great portion of his wealth would go to twelve-year-old Jonathan Landen, Eustace’s son. That was unacceptable. If he hadn’t disliked the idea of being forced onto a particular path, he would have seen to his matrimonial state long before now. If he hadn’t stayed awake nights wondering whether he truly wished to allow another Baswich, even his own heir, to be born and roam the streets of Mayfair, he certainly hadn’t lacked for the opportunities to produce one. But now he’d very simply run out of time, and he had only this holiday to make his decision. It was ridiculous. It would be laughable, if it didn’t fall so far onto the side of tragedy.
    And then there was Eustace. She wasn’t an ally; while she did have a fanatically strong interest in preserving the Baswich family reputation, her own version of what that reputation should be was the only one that mattered to her. He did not fall between the margins of her expectations, and generally that was intentional. The price of being someone of whom she approved was one he utterly refused to pay, whatever the consequences.
    Which left his sole guest. Previous to yesterday he hadn’t known Sophia White well enough to classify her as other than pretty, good-natured, and an already obvious thorn in Eustace’s side. That had been enough to make her a welcome counter to his not-quite solitude. What he hadn’t expected was to find her interesting. And witty. And surprisingly, refreshingly forthright—with a dash of absurdity thrown in for flavor.
    “Your Grace? Adam, I mean.”
    He turned from his gaze out the window. The yellow muslin Miss White wore hadn’t improved its proportions, but she didn’t seem to note that any more than she had earlier. “Sophia.”
    “I spoke with Mrs. Beasel as you suggested, and we sent a note to her daughter. I’m still perfectly content to wear this, or to take dinner in my room if my present attire is unacceptable for the dining room.”
    “I happen to appreciate your yellow tent, but I refuse to give Eustace a reason to pick at either of us.” He sent another glance at the bleak view outside. “You don’t actually play billiards, do you?”
    “I’m better at faro and whist, but I’ve played a game or two.” She grinned, the expression lighting the room. “That isn’t at all proper to say, is it?”
    “Not in the middle of a ballroom, I suppose, or in front of the queen, but we happen to be in my billiards room. And you’re to speak your mind, if you’ll recall.”
    Her smile resumed. “Excellent. I should ask if your sense of self-worth will be flattened if I should win, then.”
    “Hm.” Striding over to the racked billiards cues, he took two down and tossed one to her, noting that she caught it without a single flutter of her pretty eyelashes. “I suppose we’ll discover that together. How about a small wager?”
    Green eyes danced. “I have three pounds, eight pence, to hand at the moment, Your Grace. And a garish hat. I’m willing to put any or all of it to the