Page 4 of Don’t Let Your Dukes Grow Up To Be Scoundrels (Dukes in Disguise #1)
Chapter Four
A loud banging noise woke Hal with a start.
Blinking his bleary eyes open, he stared in confusion at the bright sunlight pouring in through his curtainless windows. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept past sunrise. Unlike his relations, who had routinely spent most of their daylight hours abed.
His brother’s wife had been famous for demanding breakfast in bed around two o’clock every day. His brother, Walter, had usually made it down to the breakfast room, but not until after noon and always complaining of the headache his excesses of the night before had wrought.
Well. Hal supposed when one was up carousing, drinking, gorging, and tumbling anyone other than one’s spouse until six in the morning, it made sense to lie abed the whole day, trying to sleep it off. Hal couldn’t imagine wanting that sort of existence, much less being so unable to let it go that he allowed it to take everything from him. Including, in the end, his life.
And now here Hal was lazing in bed until…what time was it, anyway?
And what in God’s name was making that awful racket?
It was someone knocking on the front door, he realized, shock running through him. But who? No one came to Kissington Manor anymore.
Struggling free of his blankets, Hal padded across the room to the wash basin. He splashed cold water on his face and ran damp fingers through his hair to tame it. Hurrying into his clothes, Hal jerked on his sturdy work boots and cursed when mud flaked off the soles and onto the faded Aubusson carpet. He ought to have cleaned them the night before, but he’d been distracted by thoughts of a certain beautiful, infuriating London lady.
Despite his hard physical labor of the day before, and the liberal glass of whisky he’d brooded over before bed, Hal had lain awake for hours with his mind busily turning over and over every interaction he’d had with Lady Gemma Lively.
He wasn’t sure what had kept him from sleep—his consternation over her brazen plans to lure wealthy suitors to Five Mile House? Or the fire she’d stoked in his blood with the bold curl of her lips and the lavish curves of her mouthwatering little figure.
Finally, once he’d given in and taken care of his insistent, iron-hard cockstand, he’d been able to sleep. The particular tilt of her dimpled chin and her slow, sensual smile had flashed before his closed eyes at the moment of crisis, setting off an explosion that had racked his body with shudders of pleasure. At last able to relax, he’d fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.
This morning, in the cold light of day, the memory of that made Hal want to snarl. What the hell was he playing at? He needed to be strategizing ways to get rid of this woman, not fantasizing about her with his hand wrapped around his prick.
He was still scowling as he strode through the grand hall and flung open the huge front doors.
His friend and solicitor, Mr. Jonathan Reed, Esquire, blinked at him, fist still raised to pound on the door.
A tall Black man with tidy sideburns, a disarmingly bright smile, and a sardonic twist to his well-groomed brows, Jonathan made a show of peering around Hal as though searching for someone.
“I do beg your pardon,” he said blandly. “I was under the impression that I was calling upon the Duke of Havilocke. But surely a duke would have a butler to answer his door, rather than a farmer.”
Hal’s scowl deepened. “What are you doing here, Jon?”
The dark winged brows went up a bit. “That’s quite the greeting. Perhaps I really am at the wrong place. I would have thought a duke would have better manners. Not to mention better style.”
As usual, Jonathan was impeccably, if conservatively, dressed in pleated buff trousers and a dove gray wool coat, double-breasted and cropped at his trim waist. He removed his tall, brimmed hat and tucked it under his arm as he strolled past Hal and into the dim interior of the manor.
Hal followed, shutting the door behind him with a truculent bang and leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest.
His friend took his time removing his gloves, and Hal noted the careful, shrewd cataloguing of details Jonathan effected while seeming to only glance negligently about the hall.
Hal knew what Jon was observing. The sconces hanging on the walls, devoid of candles. The thick layer of dust dulling the sheen of the painted crown mouldings. The Holland cloth-covered furnishings just visible through the open door to the front drawing room.
The echoing silence of a house filled with nothing but ghosts and bad memories.
“I suppose it would be folly to await a footman to come and take my things.” Jon laid his hat, upside down, on a small, ornately carved end table, and draped his kid gloves neatly over the brim.
“It would,” Hal acknowledged.
Jonathan slanted him a look. “Would it likewise be folly to expect a cup of tea?”
Fighting a smile, Hal pushed away from the door. “Tea, I can do. Come along, the kitchen is this way.”
“Hal. I did not read civil law at Oxford, while hauling you out of gambling hells and taverns and back to your land management courses, and then work five years as an unpaid apprentice to the best solicitor in London so that I could take tea in a kitchen. Even a duke’s kitchen.”
“The kitchen is where the tea is,” Hal pointed out, leading the way down the hall. “Or will be, once I put the kettle on.”
Jonathan sighed behind him. “You let the cook go as well.”
Hal shrugged, refusing to be embarrassed. “You were the one who advised me to retrench. I pensioned off all the servants who didn’t find better jobs to go to.”
“I thought you might lease some of your properties and use the income to take a small townhouse in Bath! Instead, you sold off everything that wasn’t entailed and poured all your money into Kissington—which somehow still wasn’t enough to allow you a proper staff to care for the place?”
“Leasing the Mayfair house and the other properties wouldn’t have brought in nearly enough to pay off my family’s debts,” Hal reminded his friend wearily. “I preferred to settle the debts at once. That consumed the lion’s share of the profits from selling the other properties, and yes, whatever was left over had to go to Kissington—the estate and the village, not this house.”
“As I told you at the time,” Jonathan reminded him testily, “no one truly expects a duke to pay his debts. I devised a very simple—and brilliant—plan for you that would have satisfied your creditors enough to leave you alone, on the promise of future payments and a continued association with your very old and grand title. But no. Instead you prefer to rattle around this empty shell of a house by yourself, living like a stray dog scrounging for scraps at your own table.”
“I don’t think my family title should mean the rules are different for me than they are for any other man.”
“You may not think it should be so,” Jonathan retorted, “but that does not alter the reality.”
Hal’s mouth twisted with bitter amusement. “Perhaps I am just enough of a duke to expect the world to bend to my whims.”
The kitchens were located at the back of the house, down a narrow flight of stairs normally only traversed by servants. It was a large, low-ceilinged space with a hearth large enough to roast an entire pig hollowed out of one wall. The stove was a cast-iron monstrosity that Hal tried to keep lit at all times, or else it took forever to heat up a simple kettle of water. Opening the fire door, he saw with satisfaction that the embers were still burning. It was the work of a moment to add kindling and stoke up the little fire.
Inspecting the tea kettle, Hal found it almost empty. “Make yourself at home. I have to fill the kettle, I’ll be back in a moment.”
Before Jonathan could protest, Hal grabbed the water bucket and stepped out into the morning chill. He walked through the tangled, overgrown walled garden, following the well-worn footpath to the well.
The trees were just beginning to bud with their vibrant spring green, and the rain overnight had brought out their color to a startling degree. Bluebells poked up from the forest floor, slim tendrils that would become a carpet of indigo in a few weeks. Sparrows twittered back and forth as the sun rose high enough to sparkle on the dewdrops clinging to the long, waving grasses of the fields edging the beech wood.
The long winter was ending, and Hal could feel his land coming back to life all around him, its face washed shiny and clean by last night’s spring storm.
Breathing deeply, he tasted the freshness of the breeze. It carried the rich, loamy funk of freshly turned earth, the crisp chill of Westcote Brook rushing in the distance.
This was what Jon, a born and bred Londoner, couldn’t understand. There was no life for Hal in a city. This place might be a millstone round his neck, but it was also the lifeblood in his veins. He could never leave it.
He made his way back to the kitchen where he found his dearest friend poking through the bare pantry cupboards with a fascinated expression.
“I was jesting before, at least somewhat, but Hal. You are living like a squatter in an abandoned building,” he said, looking at Hal with his brows raised. “What on earth is going through your head?”
Hal set his jaw. “I’m living as well as many Englishmen, and better than most, I’d wager. I’m not Walter, I have no need of servants to cook and serve me elaborate, twenty-course meals, most of which ends up as slops for the pigs. I have a bed, a roof over my head, and enough money to take all my meals at Five Mile House. I would say I’m fortunate.”
“Hmm. I’d say you’re punishing yourself for your brother’s poor judgment and ludicrous excesses, but what do I know. I’m only your oldest friend, who also happens to be the most intelligent person of your acquaintance.”
That was the trouble with old friends, Hal reflected. They knew too much and understood too well.
With a grin designed to distract Jonathan from noticing how deeply he’d struck with that observation about Hal punishing himself, Hal shook his head. “Not true. Sophia is the most intelligent person of my acquaintance. In all areas except for her taste in men.”
Jonathan sat at the kitchen table, his eyes gleaming at the mention of his lovely wife, with whom he was entirely—and rightly—besotted. Sophia was a highly educated, highly opinionated, highly enjoyable woman who had run rings round Hal’s very intelligent friend from the moment they met. Naturally, Jonathan worshipped the ground she trod upon, and Hal was not far behind in his level of admiration.
“I shall tell Sophia you said that there was a limit to her superiority of mind. See if she sends you a hamper at Christmas this year.”
“How are she and the children?”
“Very well, thank you for asking. Your goddaughter is a holy terror, she sends her love and also asked me to convey to you a frog she caught on an outing to Hampstead Heath, but I liberated it along the Bath Road. You’re welcome. And nice try at steering the conversation away from yourself.”
Hal’s groan was pierced by the whistle of steam from the boiling kettle. Quickly assembling the tea things, he said, “Fine, have at it. What have you come all this way for? Was it merely to mock my life choices, or was there something more?”
“First of all, don’t flatter yourself, you’re not my only client. You're not even my only peer. I was in the neighborhood inspecting a property for sale on behalf of the Earl of Snowley. I decided to drop by to see how you’re doing.”
Jonathan accepted the cup of tea Hal handed him, his eyes going soft. “Sophia and I have been worried about you.”
Hal slumped into the other chair, his gaze dropping to the scarred wood of the tabletop. Having grown up amongst people who took no notice of him, Hal had very little defense against genuine caring.
“You don’t need to worry,” he told his friend. “I’ve got everything under control.”
“As your solicitor—as your friend—I must disagree. You have paid off the debts you inherited, very honorably, yes, but you have left yourself with not a single income-producing property except Kissington Manor. And from what I can tell, you are not seeing a penny from the tenants here.”
“Not true,” Hal argued, grimacing at the bitterness of his over-brewed tea. “My tenants pay their rents and farm their land—I am simply choosing to use that money to repair and modernize their farms. Ultimately, we will all benefit.”
“Hmm. If you don’t work yourself into the ground before the farms start to turn enough of a profit.”
Hal narrowed his eyes. “Oh, you’re one to talk about working too hard. I’ve never known anyone who worked harder than you.”
“We’re not talking about me,” Jon reminded him loftily. “And besides, I’ve learned over the years to work a little less and enjoy life a little more. I’ve learned the joys of having a family—and the difficulties of supporting that family. But I don’t do it alone. I have Sophia, and she has me. We worry for you, Hal, because you have no one to share your burdens.”
For a wild moment, Lady Gemma Lively’s lovely countenance flashed through Hal’s mind. Shaking it away, he said, “I’m not alone. I have friends here. Bess Pickford, for one. All the people here…”
“Bess Pickford is a good woman and I know she is like a sister to you. But she and the other people here depend on you for their livelihood,” Jon said bluntly. “I am sure they care for you and honor your good intentions and appreciate your help, but you do not burden them with your own troubles—nor should you.”
Frustrated, Hal ran a hand through his hair. “What would you have me do?”
“You could consider coming to London, taking part in the social season. You might find a nice heiress to wed…”
“No,” Hal said firmly, sitting up straight in his chair and fixing his friend with a glare. “I will never turn fortune hunter.”
Of course, that made him think of Lady Gemma once more. Hal must have allowed some trace of what he was feeling to show in his expression, because Jonathan leaned forward intently.
“Hal? What has happened? Never tell me you’ve met someone appropriate here in the country.”
Hal huffed. “No, not someone appropriate. She is perhaps the most inappropriate woman I’ve ever encountered.”
Interest sparked in Jonathan’s dark brown eyes, so Hal sighed and said, “Five Mile House has been infiltrated by London usurpers intent on rearranging it beyond recognition to attract wealthy suitors for this woman, Lady Gemma Lively. She came right out and admitted the whole scheme to me, if you can credit it. And commandeered my assistance in the endeavor. The brazen boldness of the lady!”
Hal related what her coachman had told him as they unhitched the horses and got them settled in the inn’s stable. The taciturn older man had acknowledged them as fair employers who paid a good wage and weren’t too demanding or unreasonable, aside from throwing the occasional strop over unavoidable traffic delays. And often Lady Gemma had wanted the carriage quite late, as she flitted from party to party—though that was all over now that the new duke, her half-brother, had moved into the London residence and tossed the ladies out.
They had no money, was the rumor belowstairs. Nothing to their name except Five Mile House.
No wonder she was so desperate to sell. And to find a titled husband. A woman like Lady Gemma had few options when it came to supporting herself in the extravagant style she preferred.
He’d guessed at it based on the elegance and expense of their clothes, the over-embellished flair of even their deep mourning gowns, but it gave Hal no pleasure to have it confirmed that Lady Gemma was accustomed to an exciting, fashionable life of parties, dancing, and revelry.
A life very different from the one she would find in Little Kissington.
“Wait.” Jonathan frowned. “Why were you helping with the horses?”
Hal felt the back of his neck flush hot. He lifted his chin defiantly. “Because I was pretending I worked at the pub.”
It was almost gratifying, the way Jonathan’s eyes popped wide with disbelief. “Why on earth would you do something so addle-pated?”
“Well. Lady Gemma’s younger sister specifically mentioned their goal of landing a duke.”
“And you thought if they knew they’d just met one, even an impoverished one, the lady would set her cap at you, and you’d…what? Have to marry her, just to be civil?”
“It sounds ridiculous when you put it like that.”
“And Bess Pickford is going along with this?”
“Not happily,” Hal admitted. “But yes.”
“My God. I cannot wait to get home and tell Sophia you’ve gone round the bend.” Jonathan shook his head in amazement. “Let me be sure I understand. You are now committed to maintaining this charade of pretending to be a potboy, or what have you, as long as these ladies remain in the village.”
“Barman,” Hal corrected him, ignoring his friend’s snort. “And you haven’t seen these particular ladies. They won’t make it a week in the wilds of Wiltshire.”
Damn. They had better not stay longer than a week.
Hal swallowed as he thought of Lady Gemma and the unreasonable, illogical, inconvenient tidal pull of desire that threatened to swamp him when in her presence.
It had taken more self-control than it should’ve to stop himself from kissing her there in the darkened back staircase of the inn. In all honesty, it was really only the logistics of where to put their heavy dinner trays that had slowed him down enough to allow his higher reasoning to function.
He’d never met anyone like Lady Gemma Lively. The curve of her waist and the intriguing sway of her lush hips. The way the sweetness of her features and the upward tilt of her dark pink lips contrasted with the shocking things that came out of her mouth.
God, her mouth.
Hal shook himself free of his musings to find his friend watching him with some degree of fascination.
“I shall have to make inquiries about the lady’s family,” Jonathan said mildly. “Since she appears to have made quite the impression.”
“She’s annoying. The entire situation is ludicrous. But ultimately, these ladies are tourists. They will not become a permanent fixture of life here in Little Kissington. So no inquiries are necessary.”
“But if there is money in the family, perhaps there is a dowry?—"
“Enough!” Hal pushed back from the table, his heart pounding in his ears. “Jonathan, I beg you. I know you’re only trying to help, but I cannot entertain the notion of marrying a wealthy society lady, even to save Kissington Manor. My brother’s wife was an heiress when they met. My mother in her day, as well. They always hated it here in the country, begging to be taken back to London the moment the Season began. The rest of the time, they threw lavish parties and invited their high-flying friends to come and stay at the manor for weeks at a time, so that the party would never have to end. And even with all of that, they were just…desperately unhappy. I saw it in every look, every gesture. I heard it in every brittle, false laugh. They didn’t see the beauty in the land or the people here. They didn’t belong here. And neither do Lady Gemma Lively and her family. The sooner they realize that, the better for everyone—including them.”
“All right, my friend. Pax. I can see that you have charted your course and are determined to traverse it, however perilous and ill-conceived it might be. I only ask that you keep me apprised as to what happens with this Lady Gemma Lively—if it were not crass beyond belief, I should be tempted to place a wager on how long she manages to survive here in Little Kissington. From what you have told me, I fear you may be underestimating the lady somewhat.”
Hal laughed, glad to be able to end this visit on a lighter note. But after he promised to let Jonathan know how it went, vowed to write a glowing letter to his goddaughter, Amelia, thanking her for the frog, and walked his friend out to his carriage, Hal found himself troubled by Jon’s assessment of Lady Gemma Lively. Was Jon right?
But Hal was the one who had met her. Sparred with her. Nearly succumbed to the maddening urge to kiss her.
He knew exactly what sort of person she was. And despite her beauty and flashes of charm, despite the seething hunger she had awakened in Hal’s body, he knew that she was not the sort of person who could ever be happy with life in Little Kissington. He would not have a moment’s peace until she was gone.
And when he got to the Five Mile, he’d tell her he was ready to do whatever it took to get her and her family out of his village and out of his life for good.