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

“Wish me luck,” she said, giving a sleeve one last fluff and heading out of her bedchamber.
    “I fear you’ll need it, my dear.”
    Squaring her shoulders, Sophia descended the main staircase and made her way to the so-called small dining room. The duke had said seven o’clock, and so she walked through the open doorway at one minute before the hour. And found the room occupied only by a single footman who was bent over the table with a ruler and moving the silver utensils by minuscule amounts. “Does anyone ever check the measurements?” she asked, grinning.
    The bony-cheeked young man straightened with a smothered yelp. “I beg your pardon, miss,” he gasped.
    “I apologize. I didn’t mean to startle you.” She took another step forward. “I simply had no idea there was such precision involved at the dinner table.”
    “I— Excuse me.” Grabbing up the ruler, he fled the room.
    Well, that was rude. But at the same time it wasn’t difficult to imagine that the servants here had very limited conversation with the guests of the house. At The Tantalus Club the employees ate at four large tables in the attic common room. Since they all had varying duties and schedules, the food was set out on a sideboard and everyone served him or herself for every meal. Dealers, hostesses, servers, the Helpful Men who saw to it that none of the male membership took liberties they shouldn’t—rank and salary didn’t matter at the Tantalus. Each of them was a misfit, which made all of them a very odd family.
    Clearly none of the diners at Greaves Park would be serving themselves this evening. She would have known that even without a man measuring how far each spoon was from the edge of the table. The room—the entire house that she’d spent nearly four hours exploring, in fact—spoke of formality and rules and … nobility, she supposed it was. And despite the generous fire in the hearth, that left the room feeling very cold, indeed.
    Yes, she’d become accustomed to making the best of whatever situation in which she found herself, and yes, what she needed from this holiday was an adventure. But as she looked at the immaculate settings and the blemish-free soup tureen and the curtains hemmed with gold thread, it was difficult to believe that she wouldn’t have been better off remaining in London.
    She’d originally accepted the duke’s invitation because she missed her friend. Well, Camille Pryce—no, Blackwood—wasn’t here. But all staying in London would have given her was a last holiday at the Tantalus, because one way or the other she wouldn’t be able to return. Stupid arrogant dukes and their overblown pride . With a sigh Sophia nudged a knife with her fingertip, setting it just slightly askew. There. That felt better.
    “So you’re the sort of female who enjoys destroying other peoples’ nice things. I’m hardly surprised.”
    Jumping, Sophia spun to face the doorway. Damnation. “Lady Wallace, I presume.”
    She wouldn’t have described the marchioness as simply a female version of her brother, but there were definite similarities. The very dark hair, the gray eyes, the attractive features, and the distinct air of confidence. Without a doubt Lady Wallace was someone who’d never had to go without, or even ask twice for anything.
    Her face was rounder and softer than Adam’s, her build much more delicate, her stature much more petite. Like her brother, though, she was lovely. Not quite as compelling, perhaps, but Sophia reflected that that might have been because the Duke of Greaves was very, very male. Lip-wetting, fingers-tinglingly male.
    “I debated whether to sit down to dinner with you or not,” Lady Wallace continued, strolling into the room. Her soft blue silk gown sparkled at the waist and shoulders as she moved in the candlelight. “My brother insists that I be civil to you, but that task would be much easier if I simply kept my distance.”
    Facing the table again, Sophia straightened