Page 20 of Duke of Eccess (Seven Dukes of Sin #4)

Later that evening, after all his guests had gone, Octavius paced his study. After the catastrophe of the evening, and the shock of almost losing Miss Fields, he’d asked all six of the other Dukes of Sin to stay behind and give him counsel.

His hands shook slightly as he poured cognac into six glasses, the reddish-brown liquid glowing invitingly in the candlelight. Good God, how he wanted to drain every drop himself instead of serving it to his friends.

Octavius took a deep breath. “It was supposed to be the perfect evening, my first opportunity to prove the prime minister’s trust in me. But James…”

And after the conversation they had after the boy walked in his sleep…when he’d promised Octavius he’d behave well.

“Are you certain it was James?” asked Enveigh.

At the sight of Archibald, Octavius’s stomach churned with anger and jealousy. He absolutely despised how his friend—one of his best friends, truthfully—paid such attention to the woman who occupied his every thought.

Enveigh was a rake, looking for a rich heiress to fix his monetary problems. An impoverished governess was so far below a duke, Enveigh would never consider being honest with her and marrying her.

But even if he was, the thought of Enveigh and Temperance standing before an altar, her wearing his wedding ring and a beautiful gown, made Octavius’s stomach twist and fury bubble up in his chest.

Irevrence frowned. “Only six drinks? Are you still abstaining?”

Octavius grimaced. “Indeed.”

The six of them exchanged a puzzled look and he could not help but roll his eyes. “It’s only until I get the position of the president of the Board of Trade. Hence the whole reason why we are here.”

“But indeed, Archibald asked an excellent question.” Dorian, the Duke of Rath, was sitting comfortably in a chair, one leg crossed on his other knee, dark eyebrows drawn together. “What makes you so certain it was James?”

“I’m certain because that’s what the three of them like to do. Torment the servants. He catches mice and sends them through the house, frightening both the maids and the footmen. The number of trays of food and drinks that have fallen victim to his mischief…”

Though of course, the boy had not done that recently, and all thanks to Miss Fields.

Octavius pushed the thought aside and carried the drinks around the room, and every duke took a glass. But as the Duke of Enveigh took the final glass, something twisted in Octavius’s chest.

“Strange,” he muttered, unable to stop himself, “how easily you reach for what belongs to another man.”

Enveigh’s hand stilled on the glass. “The cognac belongs to you, Octavius, but I am your guest. You offered it.”

“Did I?” The words came out harsher than intended. “Sometimes I wonder what else I’ve offered without realizing it.”

The memory flashed painfully in his mind—the intimate way in which Archibald and Miss Fields had leaned towards each other earlier at the soirée.

The gift Archibald brought for James—something Octavius wished he’d thought of himself.

How hard would it have been to find a broken pocket watch?

No, it had to be Archibald who found it, therefore he growing even higher in esteem in the eyes of the governess.

Dorian sipped the cognac. “What did you wish to talk about, Eccess?”

Octavius cleared his throat. “I’m afraid James’s mischief may have cost me my run for the president of the Board of Trade. I need your help to restore my favorable position.”

“Of course, whatever you need,” said Roderick, the Duke of Fortyne. “What can we do?”

Octavius thought back to the days when they would spend entire weekends at Elysium drinking until dawn, participating in scandalous wagers, and entertaining ladies of questionable virtue.

The memory of that freedom—of pure gluttony in all senses of the word—made his chest ache with longing.

But that was the old Octavius. The Octavius who wasn’t trying to prove himself worthy of a prestigious government position.

“What else can I do,” he inquired, “that would appease the prime minister and other members of the Board of Trade? Now Lord Sinclair, this other candidate whose ward hasn’t spilled anything on the prime minister, is no doubt in favor.”

“We won’t let him win.” Fortyne sprang to his feet, his dark violet tailcoat stretching across his muscular shoulders.

After two hours of heated discussion, the six dukes had crafted a comprehensive strategy: a trade symposium followed by a Christmas Ball, with journalists documenting Octavius’s superior knowledge and international connections.

Each duke would leverage their particular influence—Fortyne through shipping investments, Pryde through his East India Company connections, and Luhst through Thorne Blackmore’s pressure over the Regent.

Thorne Blackmore was the uncrowned king of Whitechapel.

Born out of wedlock to a nobleman and raised a gentleman, he became a smuggler, a crime lord, and the owner of the most exclusive and notorious gentleman’s club in London, Elysium.

He was also the half-brother of Lady Seaton, the wife of Lord Richard Seaton.

When it was all settled and the dukes began making their way home, Octavius touched Enveigh’s shoulder. “May I have a word with you, if you please.”

“By all means,” said Archibald.

“What are your intentions?” asked Octavius when they were alone.

“My intentions?”

“Towards Miss Fields,” said Octavius.

Enveigh gave him a long stare, then thoughtfully rolled the glass around between his fingers. “If I had serious intentions towards her, would you object?”

Octavius clenched his jaws. He would object. He would very much object. In fact, every part of his body screeched with pure objection. Something primal in him didn’t want another man anywhere near her, didn’t want whispered conversations or meaningful glances or any intentions from anyone—but him.

And yet he couldn’t give her that.

As dukes, neither Octavius nor Archibald had any valid reason to be interested in a lowly governess.

One day, he might need to marry a highborn woman who would be more of a political ally and could support his ambitions as well as manage the children.

Likewise, Enveigh would need a woman of a completely different station to that of a servant—a daughter of an earl or a duke, not someone born to a bookseller.

So Octavius needed to find a different excuse.

He drummed his fingers against the desk. “Why would you have serious intentions towards a governess? You need a rich wife, she’s not that—and I will never let you just seduce her. She’s under my protection, and it’s my duty to look out for the well-being of my employees.”

Something dangerous flashed in Archibald’s gaze. “So you do object?”

“I do.”

Archibald’s nostrils flared. “If I want to have anyone, I will have them. No one can stop me.”

Octavius felt his jaw tighten. He hated this, hated arguing with one of his best friends over a woman. “I simply can’t have a good governess leave my employ again. Miss Fields is the first one who’s making a difference.”

Not just for the children, but also for him.

She challenged him, she interested him. She helped him stay away from drink.

She didn’t agree with him on everything, like any previous governesses had, and she made him want to be a better man.

Since Miss Fields had arrived, there was never a moment he didn’t think of her in some way, wonder what she was doing upstairs, what she thought of the menu he’d set for the week, whether she held his library in high regard.

So indeed, he would object to losing her. “You need to marry for money. Clearly she doesn’t have any.”

Enveigh’s jaws clenched and the sharp angle of his chin stuck out arrogantly. “So if I wanted to change? If I was interested in marriage for more than money, then what?”

Octavius felt more and more cornered, helpless. He was running out of reasons to object to Archibald’s visits. “Marry for a reason other than money? Surely not to a governess,” he barked.

“But Rath married a commoner, so did Pryde.”

“They had good reasons,” Octavius bit out. “Rath was losing his mind from guilt and wanted to make amends, and Pryde was blackmailed. You have no reason to marry Miss Fields.”

Enveigh looked at him coldly. “Not one you understand anyway.”

“Enlighten me, pray.”

Archibald glared, and he’d never looked more dangerous. The snake was the sigil of his house, and there was something deadly, cobra-like, dragon-like in him. “And what if I invoke the credo?” he asked slowly.

Octavius’s mouth went dry. Their seven credos were supposed to be sacred.

Unbreakable. They’d survived when he’d betrayed Pryde’s secrets to the Prince Regent breaking the credo: “Secrets shared. Secrets sealed.” Lucien had seduced Dorian’s sister, Chastity, violating the credo: “Protect each other’s family as your own. ”

Could their brotherhood withstand another fracture? Each break weakened them further. How many times could they bend before they finally shattered?

“Don’t do it, man,” Octavius warned.

“‘A lady claimed by one of us is forbidden to the rest,’” Enveigh murmured, quoting the fourth credo.

But wasn’t it he, Octavius, who’d actually claimed Miss Fields?

Kissed her. Touched her. Craved her.

He couldn’t say that to Archibald, of course.

The honorable thing was to marry her, but he couldn’t marry a governess, not when Lord Liverpool expected him to avoid scandal and improve his sinful ways.

A duke marrying someone from the serving class would bring a devastating scandal to his house even the future generations would suffer from.

Rath and Pryde had married below their stations—but even they didn’t marry servants.

But no matter her status in society, Miss Fields didn’t deserve to be ruined.

And if he revealed what had happened between them, he’d dishonor her.

His jaw had tightened to the point of pain. “I know the credo.”

Archibald took a step forward, his cold eyes never leaving Octavius’s, and said slowly and clearly, every word like a hammer against an anvil, “I claim Miss Temperance Fields.”

A stone dropped in Octavius’s gut.

According to the credo they’d all signed and sworn to follow, if one of them claimed a lady as one he wanted to pursue, the rest had to stand back.

He had to allow this. He had no official reason to deny Archibald.

He hadn’t claimed her for himself out loud—and Archibald was witness to Octavius’s promise he wouldn’t pursue or seduce a good governess.

Three months ago, the seven of them had sat on the floor in Pryde’s dark ballroom, trying to put Constantine back together after his wife had left him.

Octavius’s exact words were, I’d never bed a good governess that can keep those three little devils under control.

I’d treasure her and worship her and never touch her with a single finger.

Now that promise had become his cage.

Yet every instinct, every bone in his body, every muscle screamed she was his—he’d claimed her, even without saying it out loud. Oaths, credos, and propriety be damned.

“I don’t care,” growled Octavius straight into his best friend’s face.

Archibald’s nostrils flared, but his gaze remained cold. Sometimes Octavius wondered if the man had red blood at all. “That is quite all right. You may not care. That doesn’t mean I can’t have her. You have to stand down now—I claimed her.”

Octavius’s fists clenched and unclenched viciously. “I cannot allow it. I am her employer and her well-being is my responsibility. I won’t have you dishonor her and ruin her life.”

Enveigh smirked. Smirked , the bastard. Octavius had seen him use his venom on their enemies, on people he’d wanted to stand down. Being the recipient of it was blood-chilling.

“We’re on the same side, Octavius. I have no intention of dishonoring or ruining her. On the contrary, I know Miss Fields needs protection—a true friend. And I’d never take advantage of someone in her position.”

She needed protection? A true friend? Her position?

Octavius’s chest tightened. How did Archibald see all that while Octavius didn’t?

Did she feel lonely? Was the work so distressing? When he’d found her earlier this evening, about to leave, she had seemed so afraid he’d wanted to take her into his arms and soothe her. Protect her.

“Why does she need a friend?” asked Octavius, and there was a flash of something in Enveigh’s eyes that made him sure he knew more than he wanted to say.

Then his supposed friend shrugged. “Everyone needs a friend. She doesn’t know anybody but you and the children and, well, me in London.”

Octavius cleared his throat. He couldn’t find a reason to disagree, to deny Archibald’s noble intentions to have access to Miss Fields. Blast him. “Fine, you may visit her as a friend—but make sure all propriety is taken so she doesn’t feel endangered or compromised.”

Enveigh narrowed his eyes. “Since when do you care about propriety?”

Octavius’s face burned like he’d been caught doing something scandalous, something he was never supposed to do. “I just want a good governess to stay. She’s made a difference with the children. I don’t want her to become distressed, that’s all.”

Enveigh shook his head as he stood up. “You’ve changed. Something’s different about you.”

Shrugging stiff shoulders, Octavius muttered, “It’s only because of the position I’m seeking. Once I have it, once I’m the president of the Board of Trade, I’ll be back to my normal life—as though all this never happened.”

As Enveigh left, it was clear to Octavius that, for the first time in a long time, his pure and honest friendship with one of his closest friends was in jeopardy.

No matter how much Octavius denied the truth, both of them had claimed the same woman.