Page 39 of Daring with a Duke (The Jennings Family #2)

39

Ash

E arly the next morning, Ash stood still as Sam tied his cravat in the ducal dressing chamber. Sam tugged on the fabric, tightening the knot, and Ash winced.

Sam’s gaze flew to Ash’s, his lips flattening. “Sodding prig.” Or at least that was what Ash thought his best mate said. It was more grunt than words.

Ash let out a sigh. His neck was really bloody sore, with a visible mark where Lord Bentley had wrapped his hands around Ash’s throat. But it was warranted, or in the least forgivable.

“I should have fucking killed the bastard,” Sam muttered.

Sam had been ranting and raving the entire time he’d assisted Ash with getting dressed. At first Ash had thought it was because he’d gotten Sam up at the arse crack of dawn. He had shite to get done today and needed all daylight hours. But, as much as Sam wasn’t an early riser—not the best quality in a valet—he seemed abnormally grumpy this morning. Unusually so.

“Sam, give it a rest, will you?” Ash said, his voice still holding a tinge of a rasp. “The man walked in on one of the most nightmarish scenes a brother could ever witness.”

Sam let out another boar-like grunt and glared at Ash, lips pursed, disagreement written all over his frowning face. Honestly, he seemed to have excessive ire toward the lord.

“Come now, Sam. Do you think if I had witnessed that same scene involving Pandora—” Fuck, his gut rebelled violently, and his hand flew to his stomach. No. No, most definitely not. Ash couldn’t even stomach the thought of the thought.

“I would have killed the man. Nothing would have stopped me,” he managed, an acrid taste filling his mouth. “So I can empathize with the man. As much as my throat and jaw feel otherwise.”

His best friend’s nostrils flared, and he grumbled something under his breath.

“Why do you hate the swell so much? Can you truly fault the man for coming to his sister’s aid?”

“You are my best mate, Ash. He hurt you. That alone is enough for me to condemn him to the furthest depths of hell.”

Ash’s expression slackened. “That is a bit theatrical, do you not think?”

“No, he’s a pompous prig who thinks his shite should be bottled and sold as perfume.”

Ash’s lips twitched. “He has always seemed rather humble and modest to me…”

Lord Bentley had never seemed overly pompous, but Sam was incredibly worked up over this.

Sam snorted. “Modest? Ha!” He muttered something unintelligible, but if Ash had to guess it wasn’t very flattering. “Thinks his fucking prick is made of gold, he does.”

It was Ash’s turn to snort. Sam turned and walked over to Ash’s dressing table to grab a stick pin. The valet doth protest too much, methinks .

But then Sam’s next nearly inaudible words had Ash’s mouth falling to the floor.

“And while it might be impressive, I can attest it is most definitely not made of gold.”

“What did you just say?” Ash demanded, eyes wide as Sam trudged back to stand in front of him.

Sam shoved the stick pin in Ash’s cravat. “Nothing, Your Grace.”

Ash knew what that meant. There were exactly two times when Sam Your Grace’d Ash. When they were with company, or when Sam was invoking Valet Privilege.

“I’m fairly certain you just admitted to seeing Lord Bentley’s prick. I may be old, but I don’t think my hearing has started to fail me yet.”

“Valet Privilege,” Sam grunted.

Ash’s face broke out in a grin. Oh, this was brilliant. “Your animosity makes so much sense now,” Ash continued. “You know what they say, hate and lust are two sides of the same coin.”

“That is not the phrase.”

“Hate is often lust disappointed,” Ash sang. “He who lusts passionately also hates passionately.”

“You are getting yourself confused. Those are about love and hate.”

Ash shrugged, still grinning foolishly at his friend. “You totally shagged him, didn’t you? I hadn’t realized Lord Bentley preferred men—though I did have my suspicions.” He bounced his eyebrows suggestively. “He is awfully beautiful. That family is blessed with good looks.”

Sam’s eyes slid shut, and he muttered something about insufferable dukes.

“I’ll say it once more. Valet Privilege.” Sam stepped back, assessing Ash’s attire. “Do you need anything else, Your Grace?”

Ash rolled his eyes heavenward but let the subject rest. He was definitely going to continue pestering his friend about this later, though. Especially after Sam’s meddling with him and Felicity. It was the least his friend deserved.

Ash strode over to the small writing desk in his chamber and grabbed a sheet of parchment. “I’ll be gone the majority of the day,” he said, walking back over to Sam and handing him the paper. “I want everything on this list completed, followed exactly as I’ve instructed. Understood?”

Sam’s eyes flew back and forth as he absorbed Ash’s list. He looked up, a small smile curving his lips. His eyes glinted with approval. “It will be done.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Ash said, heading toward the door.

“Good luck, Ash.”

Sam’s words drifted to him just as his door clicked shut.