Page 11 of Married to the Icy Duke (Duke Wars #3)

Mary’s cheeks burned. “I … I didn’t mean to tell you, Your Grace, but sometimes when I call him Master Thomas, he doesn’t respond.

I’m not sure he always realizes that I’m talking to him.

So, I started calling him Tommy, and I can tell that he likes it much better.

I did not wish to contradict you, as I know that you said he should be called Master Thomas. ”

“I should prefer that he was called Master Thomas, but I suppose the boy is old enough to decide which name he’d prefer. Tommy, it is then, I suppose. Master Tommy, ideally.”

She nodded in agreement and made a quick curtsey, but not before he saw a wide, relieved smile on her face.

He grunted and turned on his heel, striding out of the nursery. He felt strangely glad to have left it behind, as if the pressures of parenthood were something he could leave behind the closed nursery door.

Enough of that, I think, he told himself sternly, and hurried away down the halls. He needed to get to his club. There he could meet his friends, relax in his own habitat, and put all thoughts of matrimony and children out of his head.

Not that there would be children, beyond Thomas.

Tommy. I ought to call him Tommy.

Jamming his hat on his head, Isaac strode out of the front door and into the mizzling summer rain outside.

The Ton’s Devils gathered in a vast old library, repurposed into a club. Membership was exclusive, and a pair of broad, grim-faced doormen ensured that nobody without a membership got past the heavy double doors.

The doormen flinched as Isaac strode by and did not even think of challenging his identity. There were twin murmurs of, good day, mi’lord, greetings which he did not bother to return.

Inside, there was a small square foyer, in which Isaac handed his damp coat and hat to the footman and moved into the building.

It was easy to see where the main part of the library had been. It was a cavernous square room, with bookshelves still rounding the walls. A mezzanine littered with pairs of soft armchairs and coffee tables ran around the room halfway up.

Men of all ages, creeds, and colors were to be found here—the Devils did not discriminate. To highlight this point, a short, slim man with close-cropped fair hair and rather feminine features came stepping by, heading for the door.

“Morning, Hatsworth,” Isaac greeted idly.

The gentleman might be Mr. Hatsworth in London, but it was rumored that once she had been Miss Henrietta Hatsworth, a young lady in some quiet little country town.

But that mattered little, not amongst the Devils.

Amongst the Devils, it did not matter what one had been , only what one was .

Isaac paused, scanning the mezzanine for a familiar face.

He brightened at the sight of the man he was looking for, and set off up the stairs at a run.

A man sat with his back to the stairs, resplendent in a deep blue velvet suit.

Not very Devil-like. He twisted around as Isaac approached and grinned.

“Tristan. There you are.” Isaac said, sitting down in the seat opposite. He noticed with relief that his friend had already seen fit to order two brandies and reached for one.

“Ah, ah,” Tristan scolded. “The second brandy is for me, also. I had a late night, and I require a little extra energy today.”

Isaac rolled his eyes and snatched up the brandy anyway.

Tristan was a rather curious figure for a duke, or so people said.

He was almost as tall as Isaac, with a headful of rich auburn hair, and favored bright colors of dress.

Gaudy, some had said, but never to Tristan’s face.

It was well known that offending him was not wise.

Not with his extensive network of eyes-and-ears all over London.

No, all over England , and probably extending far beyond.

Tristan sighed, picking up his own brandy, and eyed Isaac thoughtfully over the rim.

He had strange eyes, a clear, light amber color which appeared almost red in certain lights.

He was a fairly handsome man, it was said, but there was something about his looks and demeanor that seemed to drive away hopeful young ladies and their determined mammas.

As far as Isaac knew, Tristan was entirely happy with this.

“I heard a rumor that there was something of a scene at your party,” Tristan said coolly. “Involving a Harding, no less.”

Isaac sniffed. “Lady Charlotte Harding, yes. Thomas—Tommy–had escaped the nursery.”

“Again?”

“Again. He found his way downstairs and naturally became terrified at the crowd. We could not find him, but it seems that Lady Charlotte stumbled upon him. She was playing with him underneath a table when we discovered them.”

“At least he wasn’t hurt,” Tristan remarked, his odd amber-red eyes fixed on Isaac. “I assume there is more to the story. More than I read about in the scandal sheets, at least.”

Isaac clenched his jaw, a muscle jumping in his cheek.

He found himself angry at the very thought of those ridiculous lies.

Why should Lady Charlotte be maligned simply because she was kind enough to console a frightened child?

Well, at any rate, those lies would stop at once after they were married. Nobody would dare write about her then.

“Thomas would rather be called Tommy, it seems,” Isaac said abruptly.

Any other man might have queried the abrupt subject change, but not Tristan. He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head.

“Oh? And how do we know this?”

“When Lady Charlotte asked his name, he told her that he was called Tommy.”

Tristan’s eyes widened. “He told her?”

Isaac nodded grimly. “Yes, that’s right. He spoke to her. She had no clue that anything was remarkable about that. Of course, nobody outside my inner circle knows about Tommy’s silence, so she is unlikely to have heard it elsewhere. He spoke to her, Tristan.”

“Why her? Haven’t you presented him to all sorts of young ladies in the hopes of getting him to speak?”

“That I have,” Isaac sighed. “I have consulted so many doctors, they all seem to blend into one. Nobody could get a word out of him. For most of them, he wouldn’t even nod or shake his head. He would not interact with them at all.”

And yet with Lady Charlotte … Isaac clenched his jaw, staring down into his empty brandy glass. When had he drunk it all? Oh, it didn’t matter.

“For the first time in the longest time,” Isaac murmured, “I felt as though progress was within my reach. That I might not entirely fail my brother. That I might not fail Tommy .”

Tristan set aside his own glass with a clack , leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “And has there been further progress? Has he spoken again?”

Isaac shook his head. “No, but I plan to involve Lady Charlotte more in his care. After all, if he spoke for her once, he might speak again, might he not?”

“Stands to reason,” Tristan agreed. “But there is one tiny, minute problem.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, she’s an Orion, ain’t she?”

Isaac made a brief, dismissive gesture. “She is not an Orion. While they do admit women, she is not amongst them.”

Tristan stared at him, drawing his lips into a thin line.

“Come now, Isaac, you aren’t a fool. Her brother is an Orion. He’s one of the leading members! The leading member, in fact. Do you really expect that he’ll allow his sister to spend all this time with a Devil?”

“Not with me. With my nephew.”

“Don’t mince words, Isaac. You know as well as I do that it won’t be permitted. Besides, Lady Charlotte’s reputation is hanging by a thread as it is. A single exchanged word with you might ruin her at this point, let alone a long and complex friendship.”

Isaac sniffed. “Who said anything about friendship? I intend to marry her.”

It wasn’t often that Tristan was rendered speechless. In fact, he was infamous amongst the ton as being quick-witted and sharp-tongued. He sat back in his seat with a thump, staring wide-eyed at his friend.

“You are joking,” he said at last. “This is a joke. You are going to burst into laughter at any moment and laugh at my shocked face. That is what will happen, yes?”

Isaac lifted one languid hand, and a footman came scurrying dutifully over.

“Two more brandies, I think,” he requested politely. “Perhaps two for the Duke of Tolford. Is that acceptable to you, Tristan? Two brandies?”

Tristan growled, low in his throat. “Don’t you dare mock me. Marriage ? You ? It cannot be true.”

The footman bowed and scurried, looking keen to get away. Isaac bit back a smile.

“Why, Tristan, am I so very repulsive?”

“That is not what I am saying,” Tristan insisted. “ You are not repulsive to ladies , but the prospect of marriage was always repulsive to you. You were always clear about that.”

Isaac passed a hand through his hair, disarranging the careful style his poor valet had brushed it into only that morning.

“Yes, yes, and my thoughts have not changed. Marriage is indeed a waste of time, designed to shackle men and women to unhappiness. But you say yourself that I could never have any sort of interaction with Lady Charlotte without ruining her and bringing the wrath of her brother down on my head. Now, while I am not afraid of any Orion, I certainly don’t relish a battle with Gabriel Harding.

So, I had better be careful about how I do this.

Marriage will not change my life if I do not let it, not now that I’m a duke.

And Lady Charlotte’s presence may well save Tommy. ”

“Yes, but …”

“I cannot risk failing him,” Isaac interrupted sharply.

“Tommy is… Tommy is the last thing I have of my brother. Heaven knows I failed my brother enough when he was alive. I had better not do it now. Lady Charlotte is, as things stand, my only hope. That’s a shameful thing to admit, but there it is. ”

Tristan was silent for a moment, absorbing this. A footman came scurrying back with three brandies on a platter. He set them down, bowed, and scurried away. Tristan thoughtfully picked up one and drank it in one swallow.

“And has Lady Charlotte agreed to the match? Or, more to the point, has her brother?”

“She has, and he has,” Isaac confirmed. “Gabriel Harding may not like me, but I am a wealthy and powerful man, and a good match for his sister. When she agreed, he made no objections, at least.”

“And what does she gain from this match?”

“Status. A refreshed reputation. Money. Power. Freedom,” Isaac shrugged. “She will do quite well out of it, I think. It’s a marriage of convenience, plain and simple. We both know it, and it is what we would both prefer.”

Tristan glanced sharply at him. “And there is no attraction, no sentiment at all, on your part?”

Isaac hesitated only for a beat. He conjured up a memory of Charlotte’s face, her round, thoughtful eyes lingering on his face. He recalled how heat had flared through his chest when their eyes met.

“No,” he said firmly. “None at all.”

“Well, then, congratulations to you and to your bride,” Tristan chuckled, picking up the second glass and raising it in a toast. “And good luck to her—she will need it.”