How to Catch a Duke, Grace Burrowes [short books to read .txt] 📗

“Sleep, Duchess.” He kissed her cheek. “You have earned your rest. A sweet and hard loving is satisfying but exhausting. I believe it’s my new favorite.”

“You are my favorite,” Abigail said, cuddling close.

He drew patterns on her back—naughty walking sticks?—while she drifted closer to sleep. Her last thought before she slipped into dreams was that no short week of pleasure with Stephen, no matter how wild, would be enough to comfort her against all the years she would endure missing him.

“I consider myself a tolerant woman,” Jane began, “but your brother has been carrying on like a stag in rut for the better part of a week.” She paced the length of the sitting room, her skirts swishing in a way that made a new father start counting days.

“Stephen is a Wentworth male in his prime,” Jane went on. “Certain allowances must be made, but Quinn…I believe his enthusiasm for Miss Abbott’s company exceeds even my devotion to you at the outset of our marriage.”

“I am in my prime,” Quinn interjected, and who was to say brothers more than a decade apart in age could not both be in their primes?

Jane speared him with a glower. “Of course you are, as the state of our nursery will attest. Try to focus, Quinn. This is important.”

Stapleton supporting the mining bill was important. The talk in the clubs was one part amazed, one part disbelieving, and all parts in awe of Quinn’s negotiating ability. The credit belonged to Stephen, of course, and Stephen would disown Quinn if he mentioned that. Stapleton was as good as his word, offering clear if terse support for Quinn’s bill. Fleming’s titled father had enjoyed a similar shift in perspective.

“Stephen has fallen in love,” Quinn said, patting the arm of his wing chair. “He’s behaving like a Wentworth male in love. This Wentworth male would enjoy a snuggle with his duchess, if she’s so inclined.” A snuggle doomed to the platonic side of the marital continuum, alas.

“But must Stephen be so passionately in love under our very roof?” Jane countered.

“Miss Abbott is under our roof, and thus Stephen is underfoot as well. He has asked if I would finance the sale of his munitions works.”

Jane’s pace slowed. “He’s selling off his gun manufactories?”

“And his foundry, which he uses mostly to make cannon and gun barrels. I know of some American investors who would love to get their hands on a British munitions works, and they have the means to acquire one too.”

“This is not good,” Jane said, coming to rest on the arm of Quinn’s chair. “Stephen loves his weaponry. Cranes for the navy and circulating saws and the like are all well and good, but he delights in the intricacy of firearms.”

Quinn took her hand and kissed her fingers. Never had a woman been more fiercely devoted to family, and never had a family benefited so greatly from a lady’s loyalty.

“Stephen loves his weaponry, but he loves Abigail Abbott more. He can now delight in the intricacy of the female mind, or one female mind in particular.”

“He seems content to delight in Miss Abbott’s body, Quinn. I heard laughter when I passed by her sitting room last night.”

Quinn tugged on Jane’s hand, and that was enough to bring her down into his lap. “Jane, what is this about? Stephen never laughs. He is ironic, sarcastic, and droll, but he doesn’t laugh. If Miss Abbott provokes him to laughter, we should rejoice. Napoleon has been reduced to a bad, soon-to-be-glorified memory, and the military has more soldiers and guns than it needs. He should be selling off his military investments. I’ve been telling him that for three years.”

Jane scooted around, which did nothing to quiet Quinn’s doomed longings. “A composer doesn’t stop hearing orchestras in his head,” she said, “just because symphonies have gone out of fashion. Stephen is selling off his firearms businesses because Miss Abbott has Quaker leanings. She isn’t above carrying defensive weapons, but the taking of human life always violates a Commandment in her theology.”

Quinn waited for Jane to settle, which she eventually did, her legs over the arm of the chair, her bottom nestled against his…lap.

“You think Stephen is selling up to placate his future duchess?”

“Stephen doubtless thinks that’s what he’s doing.”

“Jane?”

She rested her head on Quinn’s shoulder and quieted against him. “I miss you, Your Grace.”

“We can last another three weeks, Jane. We’ve managed before.” Though they would be the longest three weeks in marital history.

“I feel like a heifer. I’m suited for nothing of late but grazing and production. I will never fit into my dresses again, and that child has the appetite of a dragoon.”

Oh, how I love you. “You are beautiful to me, Jane, and you always will be. That our baby is healthy and thriving is my second greatest joy after being your husband.” As a younger man, Quinn had been too shy and backward to give his wife the words she needed. Thank heavens Jane was, indeed, a patient woman.

“It’s not fair.” Jane sighed against Quinn’s neck. “With every child, you grow more handsome and distinguished. I become fat and irritable.”

Quinn kissed her cheek. “You talk this way when you’re tired. It’s very bad of Stephen to be courting his Abigail while you are recovering from childbed. Duncan is grumbling because Stephen hasn’t spared him even a single game of chess.”

“Stephen will have time for chess again soon. I do believe I am about to steal a nap.”

“Jane, what aren’t you telling me?”

She was silent for a moment. Quinn had learned to wait for her replies.

“Ned is fond of Miss Abbott.”

“We all are.” Quinn did not understand exactly what drew Stephen and Abigail to each other, but the lady was clearly a match for Stephen’s intellect and for his heart.

“She asked Ned to procure her a ticket on the Wednesday night Northern Flyer. Ned had sense enough to make it an inside ticket. She booked two seats all the way