Page 13 of A Deal with a Rake (Wicked Widows’ League #35)

“Aye. And you’re a spoiled princess,” he responded without missing a beat.

Taking a nibble of her own toast, she ignored him, deciding to finish her breakfast in silence. His stare threatened to be her undoing, but she refused to bend.

A knock on the door interrupted the forced quiet.

“Enter,” she said, looking up expectantly.

“Your Grace, I’ve sent out missives to begin interviewing for a new valet and also sent a note to the tailor that His Grace will be arriving this afternoon,” Anderson said, looking from Florentia to the new duke.

“His Grace will not be arriving,” Tavish called over his shoulder. “My clothes are perfectly fine?—”

“Your clothes are not fine. I am personally taking you to the tailor. I’m surprised that your brother or Hughes didn’t arrange it for you.”

Hughes’s behavior really didn’t surprise her. He was her late husband’s oldest confidant, and of course, he would not offer any assistance to the new duke, especially one with the last name O’Brien.

“I told my brother to feck off,” Tavish said, wiping his mouth with his napkin before standing.

She closed her eyes briefly, ignoring Anderson’s sharp gasp at the duke’s language. “Well, then I guess you’re stuck with me.”

The smirk on his wicked lips and the twinkle in his eyes made Florentia feel that he didn’t mind at all.

Tavish looked like a nob. He supposed he was one now; after all he was the duke. A fact that still shocked him, even after being greeted repeatedly as Your Grace or Summerset .

Summerset.

Bloody hell.

“Would the duke like us to deliver his old clothing to the house along with his new wardrobe?” the overly excited tailor asked the duchess—Florentia.

She was commanding in such a way that no one could dispute her or take their eyes off her.

Tavish was finding it hard to ignore the woman.

Beautiful, confident, she held herself different than any other woman he’d ever met.

Florentia didn’t seem to really care about anyone’s feelings, and she knew her own mind.

It was an attractive trait in a woman. One he’d rarely ever seen, but now he couldn’t get enough of it.

“No, burn them, give them away, I could not care less.” She waved her fingers in the air like his clothing was rubbish. “He has no need for them.”

“The duke is right here and is capable of answering for himself, Princess,” he told her, pivoting away from the mirror.

He didn’t recognize himself. He looked more like his brother Declan than the bare-knuckle boxer he was. His da had always tried to teach him the ways of a gentleman, but Tavish would rather fight, or do anything else, rather than dress in a hot cravat.

He pulled at the cloth that felt like it was strangling him, wishing he was still wearing his simple shirt and trousers.

He was dressed rather smartly in a black coat, brown breeches, a gold waistcoat, and shiny black Hessians. Apparently, every gentleman had a pair. A new greatcoat, top hat, and cane were also waiting for him.

“What would you like, Your Grace?” Florentia asked him sweetly.

He could hear the undertone of venom in her voice.

A tone he noticed she used often whenever something or someone vexed her.

In the last two hours, that had been Tavish.

It was easy to admit to himself that he liked vexing her.

Especially when her cheeks reddened to a pretty red, those green eyes vibrant and radiant.

“Send my old clothes back to Summerset House, please,” he addressed the tailor, who looked at him in slight shock before nodding his agreement.

Tavish had noticed that Florentia never said a kind word to a servant or anyone of lesser class. His mother had always instilled in him and his siblings to always be kind to those less fortunate than yourself.

“I’ll just need your signature for the bill, Your Grace, and I’ll have everything delivered to you in a few days’ time.” The tailor handed Tavish the accounting.

Looking it over, he tried not to balk at the total. Hughes had given him a ledger full of bank accounts, investments, and property, proving that Tavish was now a very wealthy man. It still did not feel particularly right for him to spend over four hundred pounds on clothes.

Signing his name, he bid the tailor farewell, before stopping at the door to take his newly purchased hat, coat, and cane from the eager assistant.

He felt ridiculous as he followed Florentia out of the shop into the brisk April day.

Heads turned as they began walking side by side.

She slipped her arm through his, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe or think of anything but her little body next to his.

It was impossible to ignore his attraction to the demanding, yet beautiful woman who had the unfortunate fate to be married to old Summerset.

“Now you look like a proper gentleman,” she said, leading him to the waiting carriage.

He scoffed at her. “I’m never going to be proper, but I think you like that about me,” he whispered the last part, enjoying the color that formed on her cheeks.

Tavish was glad he wasn’t the only one affected by this strange chaotic attraction they shared. He shamelessly flirted with her the entire carriage ride to the tailor’s, just so he could watch that delicious blush trail down her long neck.

“I don’t like you at all.” Her gaze flicked down his body, before she discreetly licked her bottom lip, or so she thought, but Tavish had seen her.

He would question his sanity if he didn’t enjoy it so damn much. After he’d returned home from a night with his family, all he could think about was her naked body dripping wet in front of him. An inconvenience since they were staying in the same house, breathing the same air.

“Sure, you don’t?” he teased, enjoying the way she rolled those pretty green eyes of hers. “Would you like to stop to purchase something for yourself?” he asked as they reached the carriage, the coachman waiting patiently for them to return.

“What?” She stopped in front of the coach, nearly stumbling forward.

This beautiful, young, vibrant woman had never been cared for by anyone. Something broke inside of Tavish at her reaction. It was like no one had ever asked her if she wanted anything. She had to demand respect, a mask to hide behind her shield of indifference.

His hand touched her lower back, pressing firmly. He wanted her to know that he’d take care of her, that he would always take care of her.

“Would you like to stop at the modiste’s?” He lowered his voice, bending slightly so that she could hear him through the noise surrounding them.

Around them, members of society passed by their eyes on the two of them, their hushed whispers difficult to hear through the pounding of his own heart.

Her scent was sharp and refreshing, just like her. Oranges and a hint of lemon. He wanted to explore every single part of her body.

“You could have a gown made the color of my new red waistcoat.” It was a deep maroon-looking color, perhaps the only thing in his new wardrobe that he actually liked.

“I can admit that I am in need of a new gown.” Her arm tightened around his. “Though I had access to the Summerset fortune, Hughes greatly monitored every farthing.”

He turned them away from the gleaming carriage, the Summerset arms shining brightly in gold.

Tavish gritted his teeth, wanting to snap Hughes’s neck for not allowing her the freedom to purchase whatever she wanted.

If anyone was deserving of the fortune, it was her.

He didn’t know his da’s cousin personally, but Tavish had heard stories about old Summerset.

He could only imagine what a disagreeable ass he was.

“Lead the way then, Princess.” Tavish tilted his head at her, not knowing where the blasted modiste’s shop was.

She began walking, and like the faithful dog he was becoming, he followed her down the paved walk.

“You’re being kind,” she said suddenly as she led him through a throng of shoppers.

He chuckled. “You’ve only just met me. How do you know that I’m not always kind?” he asked, knowing that perhaps he hadn’t behaved in a way that would let her know who he really was underneath it all.

Tavish may be a fighter, but he was kind to those he cared about.

His own life hadn’t been hard. His parents had always cared for him and his siblings and his cousin. They’d never gone hungry, but there were times they were close.

“No one’s kind, not really. Everyone pretends to be of course.” Florentia led them to a bustling street filled with carriages.

Women of all shapes and sizes strolled along the shops, peering into windows and speaking to each other, more than one pair of eyes flitting their way. Florentia was greeted by mumbled greetings of “Your Grace” as they passed.

“You’re not kind?” he asked her. “I already know you have no manners?—”

“No manners?” She halted in front of an elaborate shop, her green eyes digging into him. “I have no manners?” She pressed a gloved hand to her chest. “Says the man who eats with his fingers.”

“You don’t say please or thank you. That’s just as rude as eating with your fingers.” Tavish pulled her closer, his lips brushing her ear. She trembled, and he couldn’t stop the delight that ran through him. “Besides, I’d wager you’d like my fingers.”

It was a crude remark to say to a lady, but he wanted to see that fire in her eyes that threatened to burn him whole and leave him in a pile at her feet.

She pretended to ignore him, peering at something in the shop window, her teeth biting at the corner of her plump bottom lip.

“You’re vile,” she said, her cheeks rosy. “Even if I did.” Her gaze darted to him as she leaned forward, the move bringing them closer together in broad daylight. “There’s nothing to be done about it.”

“Aye, there is.” He replied, his gaze never leaving hers.

He wanted her wrapped around him from the moment she’d stood in front of him bold and bare.

This was utter fecking madness.