Page 51 of His Sinful Touch

Mr. Dearborn cleared his throat and tried to take charge. “Miss Blair is my ward, sir,” he said to the duke.

“Is she, now?” The duke smiled. “How nice. Well, I must get back to my work. Sorry to run, but I have a good deal of cataloging to do.”

“But, sir, Miss Blair—”

“Miss Blair isn’t here,” Alex said firmly.

“That’s perfectly all right. I didn’t come here to see my ward. I came to talk to the Duke of Broughton. Your Grace, I don’t know if you are aware that Miss Blair is married to my son, Peter.”

Sabrina thought of her vision a few minutes earlier. What had the other man been saying? A thought teased at the edge of her consciousness, elusive and uncomfortable.

The duke frowned. “My dear fellow, I think you must have that wrong. How can Miss Blair be married?”

“She’s no longer Miss Blair, of course,” Dearborn said hastily, a faint flush starting on his cheeks. “She’s now—”

“But you just said Sabrina was Miss Blair,” the duke pointed out mildly. “I confess, I am a trifle confused. Whether Miss Blair is married or not, I don’t understand why you wish to speak to me about it. And I really must get back to my work now. Pray excuse me, gentlemen.”

“It is your concern, sir, because your son is holding Miss...Mrs. Dearborn here.”

“No, no, I’m sure you must have that wrong. I’m sure Miss Blair is quite free to come and go.” He turned toward his eldest son. “Theo, perhaps you should talk to these gentlemen.”

“I believe this is Alex’s concern.”

“Is it? Excellent. There, you see, Alex will take care of you.” Looking pleased he had discharged his duty, the duke turned toward the door. His gaze fell on his wife as she entered the room, and his face lit up. “Emmeline! My dear. I’m so happy to see you.” He walked over to her, beaming.

Behind the screen, Sabrina couldn’t keep from smiling fondly. The duke always acted as if he had received a wonderful gift whenever Emmeline appeared, no matter how recently he had seen the duchess—in this case a few hours ago at breakfast.

“Henry,” the duchess replied, looping her arm through Broughton’s. And if her expression was less surprised than her husband’s, her gaze was equally warm when it rested on him. “Alex told me we had guests whom I should meet.”

“Oh. I see. Allow me to introduce you to...” He looked toward their visitors. “Mr., um...”

“Dearborn, Your Grace.” The man stepped forward and bowed. “And my son, Peter. We are here regarding my son’s wife, Sabrina.”

“His wife?” The duchess raised her eyebrows expressively. “I didn’t realize Sabrina was married.”

“We don’t know that she is,” Alex said quickly. “Unless, of course, you gentlemen have brought some sort of proof?”

“Proof? I give you my word as a gentleman, sir,” Dearborn responded indignantly.

“Yes, well...”

“Didn’t I tell you about the men who accosted Sabrina at the gala last night, Duchess?” Megan asked.

“We did not—” Dearborn said hotly.

Megan plowed on over him. “Peter Dearborn claimed to be Sabrina’s husband. He told us that Sabrina belonged to him.”

“Did he, indeed?” The duchess turned her sharp blue gaze on Peter. “You view a wife as chattel, sir? Subject to your whims and orders?”

“I, um, I meant to say that she belongs with me,” Peter said carefully, obviously having learned his lesson the night before. “Where I can take care of her.”

“I would say that Sabrina belongs wherever she chooses to be,” Emmeline retorted.

“She is my wife.”

“But not your slave,” the duchess shot back.

“Peter...ma’am...please, let us not exchange hot words that we will all later regret,” Mr. Dearborn said in a conciliatory manner. “Please, let’s sit down and discuss this civilly.”