Page 20 of A Duke Never Tells

CHAPTER NINETEEN

JAMES CLAY

Her mouth tasted like tea and sunshine and promises. It was an absurd thing to notice, and an even more absurd thing to think, but think it James did. He’d surprised her, but her mouth hadn’t stiffened, nor had she made any attempt to put distance between them. Instead she’d leaned up to him, and she’d wanted more.

So that was what a genuine kiss, free of cynicism or ulterior motive, tasted like. Joy. And something else warm and cozy that he refused to consider too closely, or even to name. But he felt it dig deep into his chest, where it remained, wanting more. Craving her. The sensation of it, of her, stayed with him all the way to Remiton, all the way inside the bakery where she asked him to purchase three biscuits, gave him one, and ate the other two herself, and all the way back to Earnhurst Castle as he carried her up the stairs to her temporary, borrowed bedchamber.

The things she said were never the things he expected, and while he could partly put that to her being from a different background than himself, he had the growing suspicion that mostly she was simply… unique, and in a rather delightful way. But he, how ever reluctant he was to recall it, was an engaged member of the aristocracy who’d already set a date and a time and a place for his wedding.

If he ever meant to become a proper sort of man, this was either the best or the worst moment to begin it. The best because as he’d been telling himself for several days now, all he could give Mabel was ruin and a loss of her current and future employment prospects. The worst because he was tempted, and he was so very bad at ignoring temptation, especially when it had a quick wit and eyes the color of the sky at midday. And he wasn’t a married man yet, damn it all.

“I could get myself up the stairs,” she said. “It would have to be sitting and going up one step at a time, but I could do it if you have something else to do. I have kept you away from your duties all morning, I know.”

His duties. Ha. He’d kept himself away from them for years, as if ignoring them would make them go away. “Nonsense. Aside from the fact that I couldn’t stand there and watch you drag yourself about the house like a seal, people would continue to trip over you, and then I’d have to find them all beds and carry them about.”

She snorted. “At least you sound like a proper butler now.”

“Mm-hmm.” They topped the stairs, and he refused to pause to catch his breath. He was being manly, for the devil’s sake. “Why are you so insistent on being independent, anyway? Women enjoy being coddled and pampered, I thought.”

“It’s more about having a say in where I’m going, I think, than it is about being carried. Because I’m not a box of candles. I have my own opinions, you know,” Meg answered without hesitation.

James lifted both his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Who in the world encouraged you to voice an opinion? Women are supposed to be full of compliments and otherwise silent. I’m certain of that.”

“Is that what you heard in your gaming hells?” she asked, naming his supposed previous place—or places, rather—of employment. “Because I don’t imagine many women of quality were welcomed at those places.”

Ah, so he supposedly didn’t know many proper ladies. Next, she would be accusing him of not knowing any women at all. “I recall one lady visiting, once. But she was dressed as a man and won three straight games of faro, so I don’t imagine that counts.” She’d also been his guest, and it had happened at Boodles’ Club, but he couldn’t very well admit that.

Wrinkling her nose, she looked up at him. “You have made my point, you know.”

James continued up the long hallway. “Are you one of those bluestocking suffragettes who think women should have the vote?” he asked, nodding at Randall as they passed by him. Evidently he did care about propriety and Mabel’s reputation because the presence of the old footman was the reason he wasn’t kissing her scrunched-up nose. The only reason.

“What if I am?”

“If you are, I suggest you not tell Lady Sophronia about your proclivities, lest she be linked with you. Suffragettes do not get invited to soirees, and if they do attend, they do not get asked to dance. It’s well known that they have two left feet and poor eyesight.”

She snorted. “Men don’t even ask the wealthy ones to dance?”

“Well, I imagine rich chits may be asked, but likely only by men who need their money.”

“Oh.”

“Well, now you’ve gone quiet, and I don’t like that.” He’d been trying to make her laugh because he enjoyed the sound of her amusement, but a lady’s companion didn’t even get the chance to be a wallflower at a ball. If she attended at all, it would be to carry her lady’s shawl or fetch her drinks. No one asked a companion to dance. And Mabel Gooster would no doubt enjoy dancing. Even with only one good ankle. James shook himself. Completely aside from all his useless imaginings, he wasn’t supposed to know much about high-born nonsense.

“I—”

A loud female laugh sounded from one of the rooms off the hallway. It interrupted her comment and stopped James in his tracks. “What the…” he muttered, shifting his hold on her as he edged closer to a half-open door.

Glancing down at her, he nudged it open with his elbow. Inside, Lady Sophronia leaned over a billiards table, a stick in her hands as she lined up a shot. A half-empty glass sat on the edge of the table next to her, and the room smelled faintly of spirits. On the far side, Riniken lifted another glass, his billiards cue set against the wall. At least they had the maid, Hannah, sitting in one corner, though from the soft sound of snoring coming from there, she wasn’t paying much attention.

“—they said he’d best put a lock on the trunk and hope he hadn’t packed away any biscuits,” Riniken stated, grinning.

As the lady laughed again, a hearty laugh that James liked and one that didn’t sound the least bit dainty, Mabel turned her gaze on the fake Earnhurst, her expression far more intense than James expected. Or liked. He and she had just kissed, for God’s sake, and Riniken was at least twenty years her senior. And the man was only pretending to be a duke.

The man of business was smiling, odd as that looked, and James supposed it did somewhat improve his stern countenance. It also shouted that Riniken, along with the woman, was drunk. Mr. Riniken seemed to be fitting into his new, temporary position quite well—not that he was doing either of their reputations any favors.

“That is—”

“Shh,” he interrupted before Mabel could begin shouting, and backed away from the door to turn them up the hallway toward her bedchamber.

“But that isn’t at all proper,” she protested. “And I’m supposed to be her chaperone.”

“They’re playing billiards,” he countered. “And he was smiling. Did you see that? I thought his face would crack off if he smiled.”

“He does seem very stern, despite his frivolous reputation. And I truly dislike that mustache. He seems to be constructed entirely of contradictions. I can’t discern his true character at all.”

Nodding and somewhat mollified, James turned them sideways to slip back into her borrowed bedchamber. “He’s a conundrum, certainly. Can’t seem to figure out whether he’s coming or going. And he’s drinking again. Shameful.”

“Exactly. It’s very odd.” Holding on to his shoulders, she pulled herself closer against him. “Release my legs, will you?”

“You need to elevate your foot again, Mabel.”

“I know. It’s just nice to stand for a minute. Don’t be so stodgy. Let the lower half of me go.”

“‘Stodgy’?” he repeated, lifting an eyebrow. Dipping sideways, he set her feet on the floor. “I am not stodgy. Bite your tongue, Mabel Gooster.”

“But butlers are supposed to be stodgy. I fear for your continued employment if you continue to be clever and amusing.”

He felt a grin settle on his face as he looked down at her. “Do you, now?”

“I do. In addition, and as I’ve noted, you are not very good at your job, y—”

Before she could finish her insult, James bent his head, tilted up her chin with the tips of his fingers, and kissed her again. Having her in his arms, kissing her—that was something he could easily become used to. And he would enjoy every blasted second of it.

Mabel Gooster. A laughable name for a good-humored, lovely, utterly unique young lady—who wasn’t a lady, of course, and who, regardless, wasn’t meant to be his. What she was, however, was the guest of Earnhurst for the next ten days. Every ounce of him wanted to seduce her, and his reasons for not doing so had begun crumbling even before he’d kissed her in the meadow.

He and Lady Margaret Pinwell with the old grandmother’s name weren’t married yet. Hell, he’d never even met the damned woman. He had met Mabel, blast it all—and she had hurt her ankle, ruined her and her employer’s holiday, gotten herself trapped in a house that had murder on its mind, and she remained… nice. Pleasant. Exceedingly good-humored and witty to boot.

He wanted her, but that wasn’t even the end of it. He wanted to do something for her. Something to at least make her smile. Because she’d reminded him that as trapped as he felt, he could still control parts of his life. And that not every moment at Earnhurst had been horrid.

That thought, both the smiling and the desiring to know what would happen if he simply carried her off to his butler quarters and peeled her out of her prim companion dress, dogged him all night and into the next morning. If she needed to keep her ankle elevated, he could certainly help her with that.

Finally, it dawned on him as he tilted his tiny mirror to shave: If he couldn’t give her the world, couldn’t indulge his baser desires with her, he could at least fix the damned garden for her. She talked about the garden at the house where she lived, Lady Sophronia’s family home, constantly and with a great deal of fondness. And he’d witnessed her delight at the sight of simple wildflowers.

In a few days, Dr. Grimsby would return, and hopefully he would say that she could spend more time on her feet. Foot. With approval to sit or stand, she would hardly wish to remain in that bedchamber all day, especially with the view of the ratty, wild nightmare that sat outside her window the only thing to distract her.

He’d never liked the damned maze, and after the peacock incident he’d been glad to see it gone. Nor would he be adding another one. But Mabel had reminded him that he’d once enjoyed living at Earnhurst, even if he’d had to lie to her about the circumstances. Putting the garden right wasn’t the same as bending to Riniken’s demands and renovating the entire house, and even better, it would get him out from beneath the fake duke’s watchful eye.

After he dressed, he tracked Goodfrey to the kitchen and had the valet tie his cravat in a passable, if simple, knot. Timothy and Randall were both there, along with Hannah and Robert the head groom, and he found himself invited to play commerce with them after dinner when he’d had no idea that servants knew how to play any sort of card games. He was so surprised by the invitation that he agreed.

Unfortunately, this morning his butler duties consisted of overseeing Timothy and Randall polish what remained of the silver, quite possibly the most boring job he could imagine. And given that over the past few days he’d had to stand for an hour while holding a tray and use a ruler to measure the distance from the edge of the dining table to the bottom of a spoon, that was saying something. Twenty minutes in, and with visions of roses and daisies and flower beds dancing about his mind, he stood up. “Randall, see all this put back in the cabinet when you’re finished,” he said, and handed the older footman the key.

“But, Your… The butler makes certain the staff doesn’t pocket any of the silver,” Randall protested. “It’s the greatest responsibility he has.”

“The staff has already made off with a good portion of the silver. I believe I can trust those of you who are still here. I have something else to tend to.”

“I…” The footman’s shoulders lifted. “Of course, James. We’ll make you proud.”

That settled, James went out to the stable and found a shovel in one corner, made his way to the garden, shed his coat, and started digging up the first patch of weeds he came across. A long, raised bed followed the north wall, and while he vaguely remembered red and orange flowers being there, no sign of them remained. Weeds, a stray daisy or two, something purple that could have been lavender or lupin, all went into the growing pile of dirt and tangled greenery.

He fenced and boxed several times a week in London, but evidently none of those muscles were utilized in digging. An hour in, he was dirty, hot, tired, and his back felt like he’d been carrying a pianoforte on it all day. Straightening, he leaned on the shovel handle and looked at what he’d accomplished.

A good two-thirds of the raised bed had been cleared. Even the bare, newly-turned earth looked better than what had been there before. A good start. At this rate he’d have the entire garden cleared in another… six months or so. “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Riniken muttered, stepping up behind him. “What the devil are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Shaking out one shirtsleeve, James used it to wipe sweat from his face. “Am I using the shovel incorrectly? It’s the wide end that goes down, yes?”

“As far as I’m aware. I… While I appreciate that you’ve suddenly decided to take an interest in repairs, you can’t expect to replant this entire garden by yourself. It’s an acre of carefully arranged plantings, you know.”

“No, it was an acre of carefully arranged plantings. Now it more resembles a giant, tangled spider’s web, spiders included. And keep your voice down. Mabel’s window is right there.” He jabbed a finger toward the house, then turned to face the man of business. And blinked. The… Good God, it was gone. All he could see was Riniken’s upper lip, pale and pristine. Jesus.

“I am keeping my voice down.” The business manager rubbed his temple.

“What the devil happened to you?” James exclaimed.

Riniken frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Your mustache has run off.”

“Oh, that. I’m attempting something new.”

James didn’t bother to hide his grin. “Did you drink so much whiskey yesterday that you burned the hairs off your face?”

Riniken flushed. “Yes, I have been derelict in my duties. I apologize. But no, the shaving was intentional. I decided I was being old-fashioned.”

“Don’t apologize. I heard you laughing. It scared the daylights out of me.”

“It so happens that Sophie and I had a very productive morning in the library, and we decided to celebrate our progress. She is a fine woman, raised to have a very low tolerance for nonsense and a great deal of practicality. If she’d been a man, I daresay she’d have made a fine officer. Once she claimed she knew how to play billiards, I… Well, she challenged me.”

“Did she beat you?”

“I lost a few rounds. We came out fairly even by the end. She can hold her whiskey, too.”

James stared at the shorter man. “You like her,” he announced, just remembering his own advice to keep his voice down.

“What? Of course I like her. She has a keen mind, a thought toward reform, and a fondness for books and battle tactics, all of which I appreciate.”

Of all the things he might have foreseen occurring at Earnhurst, it wasn’t his man of business falling for an earl’s daughter. “Her companion has a similar disposition, though she’s much less battle minded,” he conceded. “But Riniken, you’re the Duke of Earnhurst. The engaged Duke of Earnhurst. I appreciate that I’ve dallied in the past, but pray don’t invent more sins for me than I’ve managed on my own.” He was already after the companion. If word got out that he’d pursued the lady, as well, good God, he couldn’t even imagine the chaos.

“I am well aware of the circumstances in which you’ve placed me. And of the ones in which life has placed me. I am proud of my principles, James, and I would not embark on a liaison with a proper lady under any circumstances, and especially not when she is an earl’s daughter and I am not even a gentleman, whatever she may have been led to believe. And that has nothing to do with the betrothal you’ve foisted on me.”

It occurred to James that he and Elliott seemed to have opposite problems. Riniken was well below the status of the woman he admired, while he was well above the status of the woman he admired. “A pair of idiots, we are,” he grumbled, glancing up at Mabel’s window again.

Riniken followed his gaze. “The companion ?” he whispered. “You? You’re quite intimately acquainted with most of the unmarried ladies in Mayfair, according to rumor. I didn’t think your taste ran to the servant class, as well.”

“It doesn’t. I mean, it never has before now. I may not have a keen sense of morality, but I don’t believe in abusing my position. The complication is that she thinks I’m a butler—a rather incompetent butler—and a bastard, and she likes my company, anyway. And I like hers.” He liked it a great deal. James took a breath. “It’s not wrong to have a… a friendship with a woman, is it? I don’t have much experience with that, but it seems fairly innocuous.”

The business manager was nodding. “Yes. Friendship. Time spent chatting about books and military campaigns. Completely within the realm of gentlemanly behavior.”

James hadn’t in a hundred years expected Riniken to agree with him, but he would take what victories were offered. “Precisely.” Putting such an innocent name to it certainly made him feel better about his attraction to Mabel, anyway. She was a friend. Merely a friend whom he kissed and wanted to see naked and in his arms. “Riniken, Elliott, I would like to propose an agreement. A truce, if you will.”

The man of business looked at him, suspicion in every taut line of his newly clean-shaven face. “What sort of agreement?”

“I used to like the garden. When I was small, I mean, before my mother died and you came along. If I were to take responsibility for the exterior of Earnhurst Castle, meaning the main grounds including the garden, the walls, the windows, the roof, the pond, and the follies, would you for God’s sake help me by seeing to the interior? I have very little time, as you know, and I don’t actually enjoy telling you to go to the devil five times a day as much as I used to.”

Riniken stared at him. “I… Give me time to consider whether that would be going against your father’s wishes. I am inclined to agree, as dividing the work would make it go more quickly and efficiently.”

James’s head was beginning to throb with all of the tiptoeing and deference he was dancing with. “How long do you need for your considering?”

“Perhaps we might meet after dinner tomorrow evening. I promised Lady Sophie whist tonight.”

“I never stand in the way of cards. I’ve a game of commerce with the staff, anyway.”

“You… I also have more papers for you to sign,” Elliott went on. “And we’ve received an instruction letter from our blackmailer. Speaking of which, did you answer the door yesterday and accept a letter?”

“I did. Wide-faced fellow with a pale complexion.” James looked at the man of business for a moment. “You think that was what’s-his-name?”

“Jasper Burshin. Yes. Did he say where he came from or where he might be going?”

“I didn’t ask. He was rude, demanded that I hand his missive directly to the duke. As he’d already done that, I put it on your desk.”

“ Your desk, you mean.” Riniken sighed. “We might have put a stop to him right then, if you’d been paying attention.”

“I was paying attention. That’s how I knew to answer the door. Don’t put this on me. I wasn’t anywhere near Earnhurst when he tangled your precious books and stole from the estate. You deal with it. However you choose.”

“And if I choose to pay him ten thousand quid to save your father’s reputation?”

“You and I have equal control of the purse strings, Mr. Riniken.”

“Only until the moment you’re married.”

“What I’m attempting to say is, do as you see fit. If it was me, I’d ignore him, but we both know that I’m not you. You are me, however.”

The man of business rolled his shoulders. “Very well. I will keep you informed,” Elliott said.

“If you wish. We’ll meet tomorrow evening, then. In the meantime, I’ll be out here. Have Timothy come fetch me when it’s time for me to ring the dinner gong.”

“That’s not strictly necessary, you know.”

“Oh, I know that.” What it was was disruptive, and he enjoyed that a great deal.

“I do request that you not overexert yourself out here. Your father would not be pleased if you expired in a bed of rosemary.”

“I would smell pleasant, though. Rather like a roasted boar, I would imagine. No, I don’t mean to do it all myself. In fact, after I finish this bed, I’m going to ride into the village and hire myself some gardeners. So if you also mean to hire your carpenters from Remiton, you’d best get started, or I’ll have everyone working for me and you’ll be the one hanging wallpaper by yourself.”

“Having to find more workers is a problem I wouldn’t mind trying to solve, Your Grace.”

James looked sideways at Elliott for a moment before he resumed digging. That was the first time the business manager had called him by his title without making it sound like he was chewing lemons. In fact, it was the first conversation he could recall having with Riniken where he didn’t instantly want to punch the man. Progress.