Page 40 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke

“Asalways, Wilkins. I have no more of your marvelous elixir left,” Damien replied, sitting back.

“I shall brew another batch at the earliest opportunity. Of course, the best remedy for recurring nightmares is to get a good night's sleep after a calm and restful day.”

There was the hint of reproach in his voice. Wilkins knew that he could speak his mind around his employer.

“My days are invariably calm and restful. My nights are the problem,” Damien muttered, wincing as he flexed bruised knuckles.

“I shall prepare a fresh poultice to reduce the swelling, Your Grace. An encounter with a nightwatchman?”

“Two,” Damien corrected, “and very keen to do their jobs. I should be grateful that there are such men so dedicated to their employer, except that it is so damned inconvenient.”

“I'm afraid your garments from last night have been destroyed. They were not salvageable,” Wilkins added, “fire damage never is.”

“I have many more coats.”

“So, should I cross the Wapping Docks off the list of properties?” Wilkins asked.

“You should.”

The spilled ink had been mopped up, though there was no hiding the stains on the rug. Wilkins held the sopping blotting paper fastidiously between the fingers of one, gloved hand.

“I suppose that I should grant my cousins their audience now,” Damien sighed. “Has the modiste arrived at Manchester Square yet?”

“She was scheduled to arrive at noon and it is now fifteen minutes thereof. I will send a boy to check that the appointment has been kept, Your Grace.”

“The Montrose girls will be in their element with an Oxford Street modiste to wait on them.”

“And much goodwill banked from his Lordship the Earl of Eastwick,” Wilkins added.

Damien nodded. “Which may be valuable in fending off the twins and their ambitions. I do not want to be distracted.”

Wilkins turned away but now hesitated. “Some distraction is needed, Your Grace. It will not be enough to simply marry well and comply with the terms of the will. Ultimately, the Regent must be assured of your respectability.”

Damien grimaced. “I do not enjoy being beholden to such a decadent wastrel. And that is a description of most of my peers, not just the Regent.”

“A decadent wastrel of most royal blood and the ultimate giver and taker away of privilege,” Wilkins replied.

“Yes, yes, I do not need reminding. Nor do I need reminding of the role my blasted father gave to that jackanapes in deciding who should hold the Dukedom of Redmane,” Damien rose, straightening his coat, and turning to the window.

Portman Square lay outside, and beyond it, the bustle of new buildings being erected. A great deal of traffic passed the square heading north. The so-called New Road was being constructed to connect the Edgeware and Tottenham Court Roads. Beyond it, fields were becoming the Regent's Park, rivaling Hyde in scale and grandeur. It was a symbol of the Regent's power and wealth.

Damien's lip curled. He could not think of his sovereign without thoughts of his father intruding, so highly regarded in court hadGeoffrey Fitzgeraldbeen.

“Do you dream, Wilkins?” he asked suddenly.

They both knew of what.

“Yes, Your Grace,” came the plain answer. “Usually, you are not there to save me. And I burn.”

“As do I,” Damien sighed. “Will this work end the dreams do you suppose?”

“I hope so, Your Grace,” Wilkins said fervently.

It was the first emotion that Damien had heard from his manservant in years, a rare display. Damien turned to him.

“Show them in,” he uttered.

Wilkins left the room and Damien resumed his seat. He opened a drawer and took out a box ofLucifers, placing them before him.