His Duchess (His and Hers 1)

Halston stood before her with his hands clasped behind his back. Amazingly, sympathy etched his face. “None of the staff have reported finding a cat. How do you propose we find him? I will assist you in any way I can, but please be aware the family are still abed.”

Keeping her voice as low as possible, she replied, “I understand. That is why I arrived so early. I don’t wish to disturb them with this ridiculous matter at all. If it’s not too much trouble, could you ask the staff if they’ve seen Arthur?” As one of Halston’s bushy eyebrows rose, she clarified, “My cat.”

“Yes, of course, miss. Might I show you to the morning room to wait?”

“Oh, no thank you.” Above all, she needed to remain close to the door for a quick escape. She could not be seen by the duke or any of his family. If Louisa ever found out about this... “I’ll wait here.”

Halston nodded and disappeared down the hallway.

Victoria now took in her surroundings. The ceiling soared two stories high, an extravagance here in Town. The staircase to the first floor hugged the wall to the right and curved in front of her, leaving the corridors of that next floor open to her view. Beneath her feet, the entry’s marbled floor gave way to a rich meadow green carpet that climbed up the white staircase. Bright yellow and white flowers decorated the console table to her right. The wealth on display here was intimidating, to say the least.

She had noted in her quick scan of Debrett’s that the duke had not yet married. She wasn’t surprised. He was handsome enough, but his manner left much to be desired. However, Halston had mentioned “the family,” so clearly someone else lived here with the duke.

Victoria shifted her feet, impatient for Halston to return. Every minute she spent here could spell disaster.

“Arthur, come, you silly beast,” she whispered in desperation. “Let us not wake the slumbering bear... er, duke.”

A loud roar, which sounded suspiciously like an irate man, punctuated her plea.

Blast it, Arthur.

Chapter Four

Taviston hadn’t opened his eyes yet, but he knew two things were wrong: it was far too early to be awake and he was having trouble breathing. His chest felt terribly heavy.

Popping an eyelid up, he found two intense greenish-yellow eyes staring back at him, not three inches from his face.

He leapt off the bed, flinging the creature to his left and roared, “What the devil!”

The grey-furred animal landed on the far corner of the mattress, then jumpe

d to the floor. As it walked around the end of the bed, Taviston recognized it as a cat. What kind of household was Halston running that a stray cat ended up in his master’s bed?

Grabbing his banyan, Taviston hastily donned it and threw open his bedchamber door.

“Halston!”

The cat brushed past his leg, strolled a few feet, and then was startled by something. It leapt straight in the air and then streaked down the corridor.

Hell and damnation. He couldn’t let it get lost in the house. It needed to go. He took off after the blasted creature, attempting to secure his banyan as he went. The feline turned the corner and raced down the stairs to the first floor. Taviston followed, trying not to break his neck going down.

Despite its girth, the cat was fast. It landed with a thud on the next floor and bolted pell-mell down the corridor. Taviston spared a breath to yell his butler’s name one more time and then sprinted after his quarry. The grey blur was heading down the next staircase toward the entry hall. He continued the chase, determined to capture the intruder.

He flew down the last turn of the stairs in time to see the cat jump into the arms of one Victoria Forster. Of course. The damned feline belonged to her.

What in God’s name were she and that ridiculous creature doing here? Had Halston lost complete control of the household?

Taviston brought his hands to his hips, ready to demand answers from Miss Forster. Instantly a cool rush of air whispered past his nether regions. The lady’s eyes widened and an odd yelp escaped her lips.

The cat meowed and startled her into action. She shoved the animal into the basket she carried and slammed the lid down on its head. Turning, she yanked open the front door, flung the words “I’m terribly sorry” back at Taviston, and escaped before he could muster a word.

Taviston cinched his banyan tightly around his waist and heaved a sigh.

Halston rounded the corner at that moment. As calmly as a monk, he asked, “Yes, Your Grace?”

Exhausted and resigned, Taviston checked the impulse to rage at his butler. He did, however, fix a glare on Halston. “I am returning to bed. I do not want to be disturbed for another three hours and I most certainly do not want to awaken to a large grey cat sitting on my chest. Do I make myself clear?”

Halston’s upper lip twitched for a brief moment, after which he replied with his usual efficiency, “Certainly, Your Grace. Rest well.”