Page 6 of Duke of Seduction (The Four Dukes #4)

CHAPTER SIX

“ M organ get up here,” Ambrose called, waving a gloved hand to join him in the ring.

“I cannot,” Morgan slurred, holding up both hands in surrender; a cup in one of them.

“And why not?” Ambrose sighed.

Before Morgan could answer, Ezra rose and swatted the back of his head.

“Because the fool is foxed,” Ezra muttered, moving to take Morgan’s place.

“Guilty,” Morgan admitted, picking up the whiskey bottle to refill his glass.

Duncan swiped it from him before a single drop could flow, and the two exchanged heated glares as Ambrose and Ezra started their row.

“You are nowhere near drunk,” Duncan whispered, setting the bottle down in front of him as he took a seat across from Morgan.

“No,” Morgan admitted, swiping the bottle with a speed that surprised his friend, “but I plan to be very soon.”

“Why do you not just show them how good you are?” Duncan sighed, shaking his head at him.

“What would be the fun in that?” Morgan quipped with a lopsided grin.

Through his mask, Duncan gave him a look that pleaded for him to be serious, but Morgan only smirked and raised his glass to his lips. From the ring there came a sudden oomph followed by a heavy thud. Morgan and Duncan looked up to see Ezra grinning devilishly down at Ambrose, who lay askew on his back.

“Wanker,” Ambrose wheezed, holding his ribs.

“Dandy,” Ezra scoffed before reaching a helping a hand to his fallen brother.

“Enough of this,” Ambrose said, wincing as Ezra pulled him to his feet. “If we are not going to box then let us all drink.”

“Finally, some logic has been spoken,” Ambrose boasted, holding up the bottle to Morgan and Duncan as he passed by.

Ezra snatched it away from Ambrose, as Morgan chortled at the frown on Ambrose’s face.

“Hey!” he exclaimed as Ambrose swept a hand down to steal Morgan’s glass.

“Got to catch up to you, do we not?” Ambrose asked with a smirk before downing what was left in the glass.

Morgan rolled his eyes but grinned at his friend. Another glass was placed in front of him, and Ezra leaned over with the bottle to fill it.

“In truth I should not be boxing today,” Ambrose admitted with an exhausted sigh, “My mind is not on it.”

“Is that because your mind is too busy with thoughts of Barbara?” Morgan teased. The quip earned him a kick to his shin, but Ambrose smirked.

“She is never not on my mind,” Ambrose retorted wickedly, then grew serious as he rested his elbows on the table. “No, in truth, I have been going over suitable candidates for Helena.”

Morgan stilled as he felt his heart beginning to beat faster. Tomorrow evening would be their first of seven nights, and he could not deny that he was more excited than fearful of being caught helping his best friend’s little sister. Her plea to him was too genuine, too similar to his own needs to ignore, despite how dangerous it was.

“Just be kind with your selection,” Duncan said, though his eyes were on Morgan.

Morgan noted his stare and quickly shook himself out of his frozen state to lean back lazily in his chair.

“Agreed,” Ezra chimed in. “She is a beautiful woman in both body and spirit. Do not saddle her with some old, fat aristocrat who has no time to nurture either.”

“Do you truly think I would be so cruel to my own flesh and blood?” Ambrose replied, raising a brow. “I want my sister happy. Now, I confess I do not gauge beauty in men as well as I do in women, but the list I have created thus far does not have a man over thirty-five. They all have a full head of hair and appear to take care of themselves.”

“Let us hear them then,” Morgan encouraged.

“Lord Crawley, Lord Brandon, Lord Raventhorn…”

“What?” Ezra spat out, clearly disgusted by the list. “An earl, a baron, and a Scot scantly worthy of whatever title his home country gave him?”

“Ezra’s right,” Duncan chimed in, his half-revealed face showing his disappointment. “Helena deserves to be a duchess in her own right, at the very least.”

“Of course she does,” Ambrose remarked defensively, “You think I am not aware? But the eligible dukes that fall within the previously mentioned parameters reduce the numbers to nearly none. I have sent word to Gantley, Duke of Urshire, and have yet to hear back, but his land is a four-day ride away from our home. I want to keep her close, just in case…”

Ambrose did not need to finish his sentence, because his brothers already knew how it would end. In case something awful happened to her. In case their investigation was not truly closed. In case whoever it was that had murdered their fathers was still a free man and would attempt to do the same thing to her.

“You could always marry her off to Thomas,” Morgan quipped.

As usual his jester-like spirit broke the tension of an otherwise heavy conversation. Ezra cackled like a demon as he leaned back in his chair, while Duncan chortled so forcefully that he tilted his mask. Ambrose, however, gave Morgan a look of death. As usual, it sent a little shot of devilish glee throughout his person.

“Do not dare to even joke about such a thing,” Ambrose said in warning, shaking his head gravely.

“You are right,” Morgan mused, slapping his hand on his jaw in mock horror as he wagged his eyebrows in challenge, “She would have the poor boy whipped in no time.”

Ambrose growled as he rose from his seat, but Morgan remained relaxed and perfectly calm as Ezra and Duncan lunged from their seats to hold him back, laughing harder all the while.

“Come on now, old boy,” Ezra laughed, wrestling him back into a chair. “It was just a bit of fun. You have to admit the imagery is laughable.”

Ambrose glowered at him as he finally seated himself in his chair. Thomas and his younger sister Camilla were beloved by the four of them. Like them, the duke and little duchess had been orphaned at an early age and had no idea how to handle life as noble adults.

Ambrose, Ezra, Duncan, and Morgan all contributed as much as they could to give them access to trustworthy acquaintances and staff members, excellent tutors, and most importantly, a sense of being part of a family. Ezra and Lydia taught them how to be strong. Duncan and Alice taught them to control their emotions. Ambrose and Barbara taught them how to be cunning. And Morgan… Morgan taught them that it was safe to laugh again.

The two were cherished by them all. Despite Morgan’s jest, he never meant it. Thomas deserved to grow into manhood, and Helena deserved more than a boy. There was no denying these truths.

“Must you blunder so blindly with your words?” Ambrose scorned, scuffing his thumb across his nose as Ezra and Duncan returned to their seats.

Morgan held his hands up in surrender, grinning maniacally. “Apologies,” he acquiesced, bowing his head. “You were saying about your list of true suitors for Helena, my brother?”

Ambrose glowered at him a moment longer, then huffed out a breath through his nostrils, picked up the whiskey bottle, and smirked as he refilled all four glasses.

“Drink, you arses,” Ambrose commanded, raising his glass towards the center of the table. His brothers followed suit, clinking their whiskeys together and downing them as one, before slamming their glasses onto the table in unison. Ambrose leaned forward and readily continued with his list of potential suitors as though nothing had happened.

Morgan’s grin slowly faded as Ambrose continued to list off the names. The men were all of strong title and decent appearance, and their mannerisms were not necessarily appalling, but they were all so safe and bland. They were men that would chuckle at her books and desires, not take them seriously in the way she so craved.

He thought of Helena’s desperation in the library; the pleading look in her eyes to be understood, and he found himself standing up from the table.

“Rude,” Ambrose scoffed, looking up at him. “I was talking.”

“Apologies,” Morgan muttered, unable to reach for his usual wit. “I just remembered that I had a meeting.”

“At nine in the evening?” Ezra mused, watching him with a wary eye.

“I did not say it was respectable one,” Morgan countered, finally able to muster up some sarcasm. He added a rueful grin and the others rolled their eyes.

“Harlot,” Ambrose mocked.

“Old man,” Morgan shot back, and Ambrose grumbled something about being young enough to whoop his arse in the ring.

Duncan’s eyes stayed on Morgan, his smile fake, but Morgan pretended not to notice and made his way out.

“Your Grace,” a sweet, feminine voice greeted Morgan half an hour later. “What a lovely surprise, we have missed you.”

“And I have missed all of you,” he answered devilishly, closing the door to the paramours’ waiting room that was nestled inside Ezra’s and Ambrose’s gaming hell.

“Which one of us do you desire this evening?” the matron asked, waving a fan towards the three ladies available.

“All,” Morgan answered.

He needed to get Helena’s image out of his mind; get the phantom scent of honeysuckle out of his nostrils. He drew in a deep breath and welcomed the oversaturated scent of roses and nutmeg. It stung slightly as he breathed, but he took another deep inhalation as he looked down at the three women approaching him with lustful smiles.

“On your knees,” he commanded gruffly, his gaze and features suddenly cold and hard.

They all tensed for a moment as their eyes widened in fear, then dilated with pleasure as they all silently moved to obey. He moved forward, placing his hand on the head of the blonde to his right, and stroked up a handful of her hair, giving a firm yank. She let out a sharp gasp as heat flooded her cheeks.

“Are you going to be good for me this evening or am I going to have to punish you, Luna?”

The pleading look in the woman’s eyes quickly sharpened into a wicked glee as she smiled up at him seductively. “Punish me, my lord,” she purred, reaching for his crotch.

He caught her hand roughly and shoved her back onto her knees.

“Not yet,” he taunted, shaking his head as walked to the next woman, repeating the process. Cherie answered that she wanted to be good, and Elaine, like Luna, pleaded to be punished.

A plan began to form in his head as he motioned for all of them to stand and turned with a wicked smile towards the matron.

“You too, madam,” Morgan commanded, his tone and look both stern as he eyed her up. Her cheeks glowed with desire but she shook her head.

“But, Your Grace, the other clients…” the matron began.

“… are not going to offer you what I can” he cut her off, his tone like steel. “Now tell me, do you want to be praised or punished?

The matron shut her mouth, her cheeks growing red at such a blunt question.

“Both, Your Grace,” she whispered as she waved to a nearby door.

Wicked pleasure bloomed in him as his thoughts raced to plan the next steps of their tryst.

“Lead us to The Dungeon then, madam,” he commanded. “We have no time or pleasure to waste.”

Two of the women beside him smiled as the third woman and the matron paled. “The Dungeon” was a bedding quarter whose walls were lined with certain tools; a creative variety of chains, cuffs and other diabolic bits that were meant to cause equal measures of pain and pleasure. If he wanted to help Helena with what she had asked, he had to experiment with everything beforehand.

He pushed away the thought and focused on the task before him as he led the four women to their ecstasy.