Deceiving The Duke (Scandals and Spies Book 2) (14 page)

Granted, he hadn’t looked very hard.

He changed the subject. “The birds seem to be getting along well.”

His tactic worked. Lucy preened. “It’s a shame you missed it! They’re such good friends. He flew in and called her his Pickle. She said he made her giddy. It was love at first sight.”

Morgan and Phil exchanged an amused glance. Her mouth curved in that alluring, mischievous smile that never failed to get under his skin.

When he returned his gaze to his relatives, Mother regarded them with a sly expression. Not this again.

Antonia called, “Lucy, shut your gob.”

Lucy balled her fists. “Shut
your
gob, you rude bird.”

Gideon snorted. She rounded on him.

“Giddy, this is all your fault!”

Antonia swiveled her head, repeating, “Giddy. Giddy, giddy, giddy.”

Pickle took up the cry, too.

Gideon wiped tears from the corners of his eyes as he laughed. “I have never been more proud of any decision that I’ve ever made.”

“I am going to get you back for this.”

Pickle got bored and started preening Antonia. Startled, Antonia examined her suitor. When she cocked her head, she looked like she was smiling.

She burst, “Let’s take a walk.”

Lucy’s mouth dropped open. “Who taught her
that?
”

Laughter rumbled in his chest. Before he gave in, he said quickly, “That sounds like a splendid idea. We should go at once.”

He dragged Phil out of the room with him. He didn’t care if anyone followed. The moment they reached the front door, she clapped her hand over her mouth to suppress her giggles. He leaned against the door as he lost the battle with his amusement. He hadn’t laughed like that in a long time.

In fact, his chest felt lighter because Phil was there, sharing it with him.

P
hil felt
light enough to fly. She grabbed Morgan by the hand and towed him through the door before the others caught up to them. The sun beamed down at them, infusing her with energy as they stumbled onto the street.

He laughed. “Shouldn’t we wait for the others?”

She grinned, leaning closer. “Do we always do what we
should
do?”

His gray eyes darkened. His gaze dropped to her mouth. A tingle swept through her as she wondered if he would kiss her, right there on the street. She ran her tongue across her lower lip in anticipation.

The front door burst open. “Phil, wait! Don’t you want your bonnet?” Lucy leaned out the door, waving her arm to get Phil’s attention. Curiously, she didn’t scamper down the steps to catch up to them.

Reluctantly, Phil stepped away from Morgan. “Thank you, but I like the sun. I’ll be fine without one.”

Lucy ducked back into the house. Didn’t she intend to come with them? The door gaped wide, showing the shadowed entryway and the harried Mr. O’Neill as he fussed after the guests. The irritable squawk inside the house didn’t bode well. Phil exchanged a look with Morgan, who shrugged.

A moment later, Lucy returned to the doorway and lobbed a hat in his direction. It spun through the air and whacked him in the shoulder, narrowly missing Phil’s head. Morgan fumbled to catch it before it toppled to the ground. He mashed it onto his head.

Somehow, the end result was just as sinfully sexy as he was without a hat. There was something debonair and forbidden about him in full formal dress. Something—dare she say it—ducal. The black topper cast shadows onto his chiseled cheeks. As his sister stepped through the doorway, a sigh escaped his lips.

The blue macaw perched on her glove. The area around her eyes and beak was a blazing yellow grin.

“Not the bird,” Morgan muttered under his breath.

Phil shrugged. “It could be worse. She might have brought mine. Lucy’s parrot at least seems willing to endure a leash.” A thin cord, tied to the bird’s ankle, ended at a bracelet around Lucy’s wrist.

On her heels, Lady Graylocke, Lord Gideon, and Jared exited the house. Phil’s brother didn’t look happy about joining the expedition, but to his credit, he smoothed the expression upon reaching the bottom of the stairs.

He offered his arm to Lady Graylocke. “May I have the honor of escorting you, my lady?”

With a smile, the dowager duchess waved him off. “Thank you, but you don’t want to be stuck with an old lady like me. Why don’t you escort my daughter?” There was a twinkle in her gray eyes, a darker shade than Morgan’s. Was she hoping that Lucy and Jared would make a good match?

Lucy would drive him out of his mind. He was a quiet sort of young man, the kind who observed more than he spoke and made friends with difficulty. Then again, maybe Lucy would be the perfect wife for him. Phil didn’t know enough about matchmaking and marriage to make an informed decision. She resolved to stay out of it.

Jared didn’t seem particularly thrilled at the idea. He eyed Lucy warily, then offered, “She seems to be busy escorting her bird.”

Lucy nodded. “Quite right. I’m afraid I need both hands in case Antonia decides to take flight.”

Which, at some point, the bird undoubtedly would. Phil had tried to take Pickle for a walk a time or two. Open spaces only encouraged him to wander and terrorize young ladies. Within the first week, he’d managed to become an expert at chewing off his leash.

Lady Graylocke looked disappointed, but she accepted Jared’s arm nonetheless. She started speaking to him in a quiet voice that didn’t carry. A look of alarm crossed his face.

Phil exchanged a glance with Morgan. Should she interfere? He didn’t seem concerned.

Adjusting his hat, Gideon stepped up next to her. He offered his arm. “May I offer you my escort, Miss St. Gobain?”

“Oh.” She’d expected to find herself on Morgan’s arm. Judging by the twin glares his mother and sister were leveling at him, everyone else had expected that as well. If Gideon noticed the murderous looks, he ignored them.

Seeing no other choice, Phil slid her hand onto his arm. “Thank you.”

She gave Morgan an apologetic look. His face was impassive. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought that he didn’t care who escorted her.

Wait.
Did
she know better? He’d kissed her. They’d shared her enthusiasm for her inventions. He’d even given back the prism. But did that mean as much to him as it did to her?

“To Hyde Park?” Gideon asked, his voice light.

Phil shrugged. “Why not? It isn’t terribly far a walk.”

Gideon needed no further encouragement. He set off at a loping pace down the street, lined with townhouses five or six stories tall, each with a neatly-groomed lawn and enough space between the buildings to walk two abreast into a larger space out back. Phil scrambled to keep up with his long-legged stride. She fisted her skirt in one hand and drew it up over her ankles.

“Would you mind slowing down? Unlike you, I don’t have legs like a stork.”

He grinned, but slowed his pace. “Forgive me, Miss St. Gobain.”

She glared at him. “Call me Phil. You’ve done so before.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t believe, at the time, I knew you were female.”

“And now seems like the perfect moment for you to stand on ceremony?”

“You and my brother seem to be getting close.”

We are.

We aren’t.

Truth warred with instinct. She bit the inside of her cheek. She didn’t know what answer to give him. Were she and Morgan getting close? If so, she didn’t know whether to welcome it or discourage him.

She still had to save her brother from his predicament with Lady Whitewood, and she couldn’t have Morgan looking at her too closely until she did so.

Gideon bent nearly double to mutter near her ear. “Or is it all an act to fool him, Lady Spy?”

Phil bit back a groan. She counted ten steps before she hissed back, “I am
not
a spy.”

“Of course you would say that.”

“I thought Morgan was the only spy in the family.”

Gideon laughed. “You’re joking, right? Did he tell you that?”

Phil chanced a glance over her shoulder. Lucy battled to restrain her parrot, who wanted nothing more than to fly into a sky several shades lighter than she was. In the rear, Lady Graylocke still engaged in an awkward conversation with Jared, given the look on his face. Morgan was the closest, mere paces behind, his eyes narrowed as he stared at Phil and Gideon.

She faced forward once more. “He didn’t tell me a thing. I deduced it from his behavior.”

Gideon straightened. “Well, think of it as a family business.”

Phil raised her eyebrows. “Are Lucy and Lady Graylocke in on the business as well?”

His face blanched. “Lawks, no! And I trust you won’t tell them, or I’ll have to expose you as well.”

Phil rolled her eyes. “I told you, I’m not a spy for anyone.”

Though Jared was, however unwillingly. She clamped her lips shut, refusing to say another word.

Fortunately, they soon reached the looming gates of Hyde Park. The tall, wrought iron bars were pushed wide to admit visitors. Gideon and Phil strode in without encumbrance. They paused on the soft grass next to the gate to wait for the others.

Within moments, Phil found herself snagged out of Gideon’s grasp by Lucy. She demanded to know more about Phil’s inventions and picked her mind on the art of parrot training at the same time. Phil wished that she had more pearls of wisdom to offer, but Pickle was, for the most part, ungovernable. If he behaved, it was because he wanted to, not because she told him to.

Lucy squawked rather reminiscent of her parrot as Antonia leaped from her arm to perch on a tree branch above them. Still attached, Lucy’s arm was wrenched up over her head. She glared at Antonia’s iridescent blue tail-feathers. “If you decorate me with your droppings, I’ll put you in Giddy’s room. Don’t think I won’t.”

Phil wasn’t entirely sure how this would be a punishment for the bird, but Lucy seemed convinced that it was something to be avoided. For Gideon to avoid, perhaps.

With her hand still dangling in the air, Lucy turned to Phil. She leaned in closer. About a hand taller than Phil, she had to crouch a bit to put their faces on an equal level.

“Tell me the truth. Do you have any feelings for Morgan?”

Phil’s breath seized. Her chest ached as she risked a glance over her shoulder. Morgan and Gideon, several inches apart in height, were ensconced in conversation with their mother and Jared. Jared had dropped Lady Graylocke’s arm and now stood a bit to the side, on the edge of the circle. Every now and again, he cast an uncomfortable glance around him and fiddled with the ties on his shirt. He’d already managed to lose his cravat.

Morgan glanced in Phil’s direction. Ten or more feet separated them, but as he settled his gaze on her, her breath caught as if he was pressed up against her again. His gray eyes pierced her, as if he searched her mind for their topic of conversation.

I doubt you’d approve.

Phil turned her gaze back to Lucy, who looked smug. Considering her arm still hung above her head, it looked comical.

“I feel that Morgan needs to learn to live life rather than think about it.”

Come to think about it, he’d already started to take her advice on that front. His impulsive kiss earlier in her invention room had proven that. Most lords—hell, most
men—
would have laughed in her face and continued to live their upright, prudish lives. Deep down, Morgan must battle against the same sensation she did. The rigid confines of Society pressed too tight sometimes, demanded too much. She didn’t want to conform. She much preferred to be herself.

Lucy smiled. “You’re just the woman to teach him about life.”

Phil cocked her eyebrow. She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “Perhaps. But please don’t entertain any hopes that I’ll marry him.”

Lucy’s expression fell. “Why not? Don’t you think he’ll make a good husband? He’s kind and considerate, if a bit of a boor about some of my more reckless activities. But I’m sure you could bring him around. He seems smitten with you.”

Shaking her head, Phil muttered, “Whatever Morgan is, he isn’t smitten with me.” Bent on uncovering her French connections, perhaps. Eager to keep an eye on her. Perhaps even consumed by lust when they found themselves alone. But certainly not smitten.

“I beg your pardon?”

Phil forced a smile. “I said he’ll make some woman a fine husband, I’m sure. But that woman won’t be me.”

“Why not?”

She fought the urge to rub her temple, where a throb had started in time to her pulse. “I don’t intend to marry, Lucy.”

Her dark brown eyes grew as wide as saucepans. “Ever?”

“Ever. I like my life the way it is.”

She didn’t want a man to stop her from inventing, or from doing anything else she pleased.
Morgan didn’t stop you earlier.
In fact, he’d encouraged her efforts. He’d seemed disappointed when his contribution to her LEGs hadn’t resulted in a working prototype.
Could
she consider marrying him?

No. It would be mad.

Lucy looked a bit sad as she whispered, “Maybe you should consider living life instead of thinking about it, too.”

Phil glanced at Morgan again. He stared at her with an unreadable expression in his eyes. For all that he was a spy, and likely only staying close to her in order to catch her in an act of treason, he couldn’t be a blackguard. He’d given back her prism, after all. He’d genuinely wanted it to work.

Wait. Maybe she could make something else out of the prism. A sketch already formed in her mind’s eye. She turned to Lucy, determined to jot it down before it slipped away.

“You carry a pocket book, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Lucy said, her voice wary. “In my reticule. Why?”

“Drat.” That reticule dangled from the wrist currently suspended in the air. “I just got struck by inspiration. I have to write it down. I’ll have to go home.”

She turned away as Lucy called, “Wait a moment! I’ll go with you. Come here, Antonia.” The parrot squawked. Given the vigorous wing flapping and repetition of, “Giddy, giddy, giddy,” Antonia didn’t plan on emerging from the tree any time soon.

“No time,” Phil called over her shoulder. “I can’t let this idea slip away. I have to jot it down now!” She hiked her skirts to her knees and bolted from the park.

If anyone followed, she didn’t notice. Her mind was already ensconced on the second floor of her townhouse, in the invention room. She breezed into her house, panting for breath.

“Miss Phil—”

She waved at Mr. O’Neill and dashed for the stairs, taking them two at time. Mutters pooled like eddies in her wake as she passed other servants. She slid to a stop in front of her invention room and yanked on the bracket, pushing aside the door with impatience. The lantern still burned. Her hands shook as she found a scrap of paper. It had a blueprint for a musical instrument that played itself on one side. She flipped it over, found a pencil, and scribbled down her idea, tracing the lines in her mind’s eye.

Feverishly, she hunted for the parts she would need to complete the device. It was simple, similar to one or two mechanical toys that she’d made before. It shouldn’t take her long. Once it was complete, she would send it to Morgan and he could delight in the knowledge that he
had
helped to build something, after all. Her body hummed as she considered the way he would smile when he saw it.

She hunched over her desk, frantic to complete the project. If anyone came to interrupt her, she didn’t notice for a long, long time.