Page 12 of A Deal with a Rake (Wicked Widows’ League #35)
F lorentia sat at the breakfast table the following day, enjoying her chocolate. It was a treat she’d loved since childhood, the one good thing she’d had in her strict upbringing.
After her visit with the Dowager Lady Wyndam, she paid a call on Charity and the little earl.
Though she was still unsure if she’d ever want children herself, there was something positively joyous about being in the company of the three-year-old boy, playing with his blocks and smiling at his mother like she was the most important person in the world.
The image still bought joy to Florentia’s heart.
“Your Grace, the correspondence has arrived,” Anderson said, placing the silver tray piled high with letters and invitations beside her on the table.
It was strange for her to be inundated with invitations, even for the beginning of the Season. She might be a duchess, but the ton had never very much liked her, not that she’d cared.
“Thank you, Anderson.” Florentia set down her chocolate and began sifting through the pile of missives. They were all addressed to the Duke and Duchess of Summerset; no doubt society wanted to get a good look at the new duke. But for them to assume that she would attend with him, was ludicrous.
“Will His Grace be joining you?” Anderson asked, standing stoically by the table.
“I’m not sure.” She opened one of the missives and read the invitation. “Did the new duke return yesterday evening?”
When she’d arrived home last evening, Florentia had taken dinner in her old rooms. It had been nearly a year since she’d stayed in the duchess’s chambers. The duke’s rooms had much more space, the large copper tub, and a bed double the size of the one in the duchess’s chambers.
“Yes, His Grace returned late in the evening,” Anderson, said, as Thomas walked in carrying a tray laden with breakfast. “Some of the servants are nervous, Your Grace.”
Anderson wasn’t the butler when she’d first arrived at Summerset House.
The previous butler, who her husband spoke of often as a firm and faithful servant, had died before she’d become the duchess.
The complete opposite of his predecessor, Anderson was a kind man, and a stickler for professionalism.
“Nervous about what?” she asked, ignoring the way Thomas was staring at her.
“With the new duke in residence, we were wondering what is going to happen now, Your Grace? Especially with you leaving.” Anderson stood, waiting patiently for her reply.
“Who said she was leaving?” The duke entered the small breakfast room, his bright blue eyes surveying each person like he could read their thoughts.
He was as big and wild as she remembered. Unruly red hair with hints of brown glinted in the meager daylight shining through the window.
Her body heated, her sex pulsating with need just at the sight of him. Surely, she couldn’t be attracted to such a man.
No.
It was the fact that Thomas was an insufficient lover, and she was sure that Montague would be as well. Perhaps Florentia didn’t need a lover at all, especially if they were so disappointing.
“Your Grace, forgive my impertinence.” Anderson bowed as the duke walked to the small table piled high with food.
Florentia stared, horrified, as he began making his own plate, Thomas gaping from the duke to Anderson.
Dear God, he was a disaster.
“Nothing to forgive, mate.” He snapped his fingers loudly, as if he were trying to recall the butler’s name.
Florentia rolled her eyes, wondering if perhaps her late husband was right about the O’Brien family being unsuitable for the dukedom.
“Anderson, Your Grace,” the butler said, his eyes shifting slightly, lips in a straight line.
The duke—Summerset continued to pile his plate with food, as Helen, one of the maids, entered carrying a tea service. The girl’s cheeks turned bright red as she stared wide-eyed at the tall viral man making his own plate.
Deciding to ignore the new duke and his lack of manners, Florentia returned to the invitations.
“How very odd.” Florentia held up one of the invitations, still not believing that she was invited at all. “The Duke and Duchess of Karrington are throwing a ball in your honor in a fortnight.”
The new duke sat down across from her. “What’s odd about that?” he asked, cracking his egg. “He and my da are friends—were friends,” he said softly, correcting himself.
For a moment, she did not know how to react to his sudden change in behavior. His father had died a year ago, shortly after her husband. Tavish had been off fighting. Understandably, the death was still fresh to him.
Facing the butler, she cleared her throat. “Anderson, please begin interviewing valets for the duke.” She took a sip of her chocolate, trying to ignore how the new duke affected both her and the maid. Not that she cared, how Helen reacted to the brute.
“I don’t need a valet. I’ve been dressing myself for years,” he said, taking the seat across from Florentia. “Where’s the coffee?”
Those hypnotic eyes landed on her, and suddenly she didn’t think giving in to the sensations he caused in her would be such a terrible idea. She had a feeling that Tavish O’Brien was not a mediocre lover at all.
But she was not in need of another lover, not even one with mesmerizing blue eyes.
“There’s no coffee,” Thomas said, with a bit of bite in his voice.
The new duke, turned to the footman, examining him closely, menacingly, before he spoke in a cool voice. “Then get some.”
A command shouldn’t really stir lust in her, but that was exactly what happened, as she sat there watching the new duke put the footman in his place.
“Thomas, inform Cook to send someone to buy coffee beans for His Grace’s for his breakfast in the mornings,” Florentia said, finding it best to intervene before the new duke harmed the footman.
“Right away, Your Grace.” Thomas gave Florentia one last longing look before he rushed out of the breakfast room.
“Anderson, begin interviewing valets, please,” she instructed again, ignoring the duke’s look of annoyance.
“Also, please arrange for the grooms to ready another carriage and send word to the best tailor on Bond Street that His Grace will require a new wardrobe,” Florentia prattled on, her gaze raking over the new duke.
He looked absolutely atrocious—still devilishly handsome—but atrocious, nonetheless. There was no way he could go out in society looking like that.
“My clothes are fine, and I won’t be needing a carriage. I can walk wherever I need to go or take a hackney.” He placed his elbows on the table, revealing muscled forearms with prominent veins.
“You’re now one of the richest dukes in the ton; you can’t walk everywhere.” She shook her head, then opened another invitation, this one to a charity musicale. “Anderson, also arrange a meeting with the household staff, after lunch.”
“I don’t need to meet with the staff.” Tavish pointed his fork at her.
She took a deep breath, trying to find the strength to deal with him. “Leave us,” she said simply, waiting for Anderson and the maid to leave.
The maid, Helen, was a terrible gossip, something Florentia really didn’t care about, but it wouldn’t help for her and the new duke to quarrel in front of the servants.
“You fecked the footman?” he asked, before taking a bite of his toast. “Ended it to from the sad looks he’s giving you,” he said with a mouthful of bread.
Flabbergasted, Florentia opened and closed her mouth several times, not believing that he had the audacity to say such a thing to her.
Rage filled her, and she stood and leaned over the table. “How dare you speak to me in such a manner!”
“My da always said, never shite where ya sleep.” He took a bite of sausage, chewing slowly. His chiseled jaw was freshly shaven, those decadent lips teasing her.
“Am I supposed to know what that even means?” She sat back down, deciding that ignoring him would be the best course of action. Perhaps she should consider Lady Wyndam’s offer to allow her to stay at Matron Manor, then she wouldn’t have to deal with such impertinence.
“What it means, princess, is that you don’t sleep with the help.” He took another bite of toast. “Is there anyone else you’ve fecked? Anderson perhaps?” He raised a red eyebrow at her, as if that was a possibility.
Having heard enough, she threw her napkin in his face. “You’re disgusting!” She stood and was marching toward the door when he took her by the arm.
His touch burned down to her very bones. She could feel him everywhere.
A knowing smile teased at the corner of his mouth. “Sit down, Florentia.”
Damn him, her name sounded like heaven on his lips. Such a man should not spark a fire in her core, but he did, and she hated him for it.
“I don’t take orders from you. You’re not my husband or my father, and I didn’t take orders from them either.”
“You’re right, Princess, I’m not your father, and I’m damn sure not that old bastard Summerset, nor am I that young footman that is fawning over you like a simpering idiot.” He released her, and suddenly she felt cold. “Now sit down, please.”
She stood momentarily still before she walked back to her seat. “Since you said please.” Florentia sipped her chocolate, allowing the rich smooth taste to calm her nerves. “Who I allow in my bed is no concern of yours.”
“It’s my concern when it’s my house and the footman is staring at me like he wants to knock my bloody head off.” He slapped his hand on the table, a menacing glower on his face.
She met his gaze with her own, refusing to allow the brute to intimidate her. Her mother did not even intimidate her, and she had tried for twenty-two years. There was a gleam in his eyes that she didn’t recognize. Was that jealousy? Surely not, as they had just met.
“If it makes you feel better, I want to knock your bloody head off,” she said, rolling her eyes, a habit of hers that her mother despised.
“You can try, Princess.” He winked at her.
Winked!
“You’re an infuriating brute,” was Florentia witty reply to his insufferable behavior.