Page 13 of Dominating the Duke

9

JUNE 1826

CHELMSFORD TOWNHOUSE, BERKLEY SQUARE

When Percy walked up the steps of his Berkley Square townhouse and waited for the door to open, nothing happened. When he reached for the door handle to let himself into his own god-damned house, he received immediate attention. Burly John Footman burst out of the door, seized him by the neck of his shirt and the seat of his trousers and tossed him into the middle of the road that rounded the square.

Percy sat upright and took a deep breath, his anger building, when he realized what a horrible stench he and his clothes gave off. By the gods, he couldn't fault his servants. He looked and smelled like a demon from from the farthest reaches of Hades.

He took in his surroundings and the looks he was getting from his high-in-the-instep neighbors as they rolled past in their elegant conveyances. He decided he'd better disappear down into the lower-level entrance for tradesmen and hope to hell someone in his household would recognize him.

When he finally arrived at his own servants' entrance, his elderly valet was there with a horrified look on his face. "Now what have you gotten yourself into, Your Grace? Did you not listen to a word I said about how to bring a woman around to your way of thinking?"

Percy waved the older man's scolding away. "Just get me out of these clothes and into a scalding hot tub of water."

As they bustled up the back servants' stairs, Percy complained over his shoulder. "What the devil's gotten into all the servants? Have they forgotten who makes sure they're fed, clothed, and housed?" When James didn't answer his petulant query, Percy turned in annoyance. His valet held out a mirror. The damned man must carry the thing everywhere. Percy finally caught sight of his own face and bellowed out a string of epithets. This was the final straw. Actually, therewasa straw of hay sticking out of his hair.

Eleanor had made him the laughing stock of his own ungrateful household of servants. If she were in front of him in that moment, he'd turn her over his knee, lift her skirts, and...he couldn't remember what would come next, so lost was he in the vision of lifting the auburn-haired wildcat's skirts once more.

A nervous cough from the old man brought Percy thankfully back to his senses. He'd almost forgotten where he was, so lost was he in the vision of Eleanor's bare bottom. He was a damned duke with responsibilities and a reputation to maintain. What the hell was wrong with him?

James seemed to echo his thoughts. "Did you consider my earlier advice, Your Grace?"

Percy was still stomping up the back stairs, lost once again in his own circle of confusion about Eleanor. He paused and turned toward James. "What advice?"

"About how to handle women."

Percy lifted his eyes toward the ceiling as if seeking help from the almighty and then replied, "No, I'm not taking advice about how to handle women from a man as old as my father."

James shook his head sadly. "Maybe you should. A man encounters a lot of women on the way to being as old as I am...and your father was, God rest his soul."

* * *

El leanedback in the leather-covered copper tub she'd had especially made for her rooms above Goodrum's. Her mood had not changed for the better, despite the thorough trouncing and comeuppance she'd delivered to Percy Whitcombe at her Surrey estate, Totteridge Park.

She thought she could wield sex and access to her body like a cudgel to put him under her spell and then abandon him to public humiliation the way he'd abandoned her. Instead of delivering satisfaction, her revenge had circled around and made her more bitter than she'd been before.

The ugly truth was she almost wished the two of them could go back in time...before her betrayal by her father and before what had happened to her over the years while she fought and struggled to remain whole as a human being.

She pulled the stub of a smoldering cheroot from a side table near the tub and took a long, thoughtful inhale. When she'd told him there would be no child, he'd probably thought she wouldnothave his child. The truth was she couldn't have a child, another cruel legacy from the abuse she'd suffered at the hands of her father's debtors.

She put down the cheroot and sank lower into the scented, hot soapy water. If Percy were any other man determined to expose and destroy her carefully built empire, she'd have long ago had him killed. If he tried again, and she was certain he would, she'd have a decision to make.

She rang the bell on the table next to the tub, and Hetty appeared in the doorway. El motioned for her to come closer. "Please send a message to Dickie. I have a job for him."

Hetty snorted. "This boy, he gonna be able to retire to his own country estate the way you all pay him to do your dirty work."

El arched an elegant brow at her maid. "Maybe you could retire to the country if you didn't have such a saucy mouth."

Hetty snorted again. "You, you wouldn't know what to do without me." She gave the steaming water surrounding El a calculating look. "You, you need more scent and soap added in dere?"

"No, this is plenty for a hot soak."

"You sure?" Hetty took a delicate sniff. "You came back today surrounded by a cloud of what the air in Old Lady Kittridge's House down in Whitechapel must smell like."

El gave Hetty an ugly frown and threw a cake of soap at her.

Hetty dodged out of the way easily before turning to leave to summon Dickie. She shot El a wicked grin before shutting the door behind her.