Page 26 of The Duke In My Bed (The Heirs’ Club of Scoundrels #1)

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage.

Damned rain!

Bray sat in his book room with his booted feet crossed at the ankles and propped on his desk.

He listened to the constant patter of rain hitting the windows and rubbed his forehead.

Several times he’d considered rising and pouring a drink but refrained.

It was more than the weather that had him feeling restless and in an ill humor this dreary late afternoon.

It was Miss Prim. Lately, it was always Miss Prim.

It had been more than a month since he last saw her, held her in his arms, and kissed her, and still she haunted him.

After returning from Yorkshire with Harrison, he’d filled some of his endless days with studying account books and meetings with his solicitors and Members of Parliament, and others with fencing, shooting, or gaming at one of his clubs.

The hell of it was that nothing had completely distracted him from thinking about Miss Prim.

And for the life of him, he didn’t know why.

Perhaps it was those damned senses they had talked about that afternoon when he held her captive behind the blindfold.

It was no wonder she thought him a scoundrel.

Kissing her, touching her, letting her touch him as he did that day were devilish things for him to have done to her.

He knew she’d never before been touched or kissed.

But the lesson for her had backfired on him.

He couldn’t get the taste of her, the feel of her out of his mind. He heard her whispered moans of pleasure in the quietness of the night. He remembered the scent of warm, fresh-washed hair. The only bad thing about having done it was that he kept thinking he wanted to do it again.

And that was madness. He’d already decided she and her sisters were too much trouble.

Miss Prim was too headstrong for her own good, and she was too innocent for the likes of him.

Her sisters cried over nothing and screeched like banshees when they were having fun.

What sane man would want to deal with that every day?

“Damn Wayebury for dying and leaving them alone,” Bray said aloud, and swung his feet to the floor. “Foolish man for insisting we race that night!”

Bray rose and walked over to the side table that held the fresh decanter of port Tidmore had brought in when he stoked the fire and lit the lamps.

It wasn’t that Bray had never been foolish.

Damned foolish. Often. He couldn’t count all the times he’d done dangerous things and taken unnecessary risks.

It was a wonder he was alive today. When he was younger, he had jumped from high rocks into turbulent waters off the coast of Dover.

He let Harrison and Adam shoot milk pails off his head one summer long before they became true marksmen, and probably the most outrageous thing he’d ever done was wrestle a bear just to prove to his friends that he wasn’t afraid of anything.

But Bray never had five sisters depending on him to see they were properly brought up and wed.

Bray had only himself to worry about—until now.

“And damn Miss Prim’s uncle for signing their guardianship over to me,” he mumbled to himself as he poured a splash of the deep red liquid into a glass.

Miss Prim had refused to marry him, and he was glad of it. He paid the accounts for her and her sisters, and that was all that was expected of him—except, of course, for the damned vow.

And it was frustrating him.

Bray took a sip of the port. But… and often there was a “but.”

He couldn’t forget the fact that he’d had to force himself not to go over to her house and see her again.

His eyes closed, and his hand tightened around his glass.

Not going to visit her had been difficult.

He didn’t understand this unusual yearning to see Miss Prim and hold her in his arms again.

Always before, there was just the need for a woman to share pleasure with him.

It had never really mattered to him who the woman was, so long as he desired her.

Now he found himself wanting to see not just any woman, but in fact, Miss Prim.

For some reason, she made him sense that something was missing; an emptiness in his life had been revealed, and he didn’t like that unsettling feeling.

Whether he was being lectured by his father, berated by a schoolmaster, or dared by a friend, for as long as he could remember, Bray had always found a way to be content with whatever fate sent his way.

Until now.

“Excuse me, Your Grace.”

Bray turned to see Mr. Tidmore standing in the doorway. “Yes?”

“There’s a Mr. Hopscotch here to see you. Should I show him in?”

“No.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Mr. Tidmore said.

Bray replaced the top on the port decanter and walked to the window to look out over the foggy garden.

The shrubs had budded and were a lush shade of green.

The raindrops pelted the tender new leaves on the bushes, making them look as if they were dancing.

His thoughts drifted back to Miss Prim and her sisters.

Were they playing in the house today, since it had rained all afternoon?

Had they played chase, blindman’s buff, or some other childhood game?

“I’m sorry to disturb you again, Your Grace,” Mr. Tidmore said. “But Mr. Hopscotch said he is here on official business for the Prince, and it’s most urgent he speak with you.”

Bray kept staring out the window and considered not responding to his butler. He really didn’t care what the Prince or his lackey wanted. But he knew if he didn’t see Mr. Hopscotch today, the man would return tomorrow or the next day, so he relented and said, “Show him in.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And, Tidmore, if the man ever comes back to my door, don’t tell him I’m home.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Bray walked over to the fire, poked the embers, and added a piece of wood while he waited for the Prince’s man.

“Thank you for seeing me, Your Grace,” Mr. Hopscotch said after he walked in and bowed.

“Since you are on official business for the Prince, get to it and tell me what the Prince wants now.”

Mr. Hopscotch didn’t appear the least bit perturbed by Bray’s curt manner.

“Of course, I understand you are a busy man. The Prince wants the same thing he wanted the last time I spoke to you. He wants to remind you that it’s been more than three weeks since you’ve last seen Miss Prim, and there have been no announcements of nuptials. ”

Bray scowled menacingly at Mr. Hopscotch. He knew exactly how long it had been since he last saw Miss Prim, but how in the hell did the Prince know that?

“Are you following me?”

“Me? No, no, not me,” he denied quickly.

“That is, of course, well, I can’t say how the Prince knew this.

It’s not for me to question him about anything he does but to do what he asks of me.

He doubts whether I made myself clear to you the last time we spoke.

He wants you to marry Miss Prim as soon as possible. ”

Bray put his drink down on the edge of his desk and walked closer to Mr. Hopscotch. “You made it clear. Now you can go.”

“But I’ve returned because you haven’t done anything about it. No notice, of nuptials, not even a visit to her house in the last several weeks.”

Once more, Bray scowled. “I thought I made it clear whom I marry is none of the Prince’s affair.”

Mr. Hopscotch cleared his throat. “Well, I must repeat it’s always important to the Prince whom dukes marry, Your Grace.

Political and financial alliances are usually the best kind of marriages.

The Prince wants you to know he understands there might be some other lady you prefer, and if so, by all means have her as your mistress, but marry Miss Prim. ”

Bray stared the man down, wanting to grab his neckcloth and tell Hopscotch exactly what he thought about the Prince having him followed, but at the last second, he realized there was no use in terrorizing the messenger.

Instead Bray said, “And I repeat to you, the Prince has no say in whom I marry.”

“Very well,” Mr. Hopscotch said, and pulled on the tail of his coat. “The Prince had hoped to keep this bit of information from you for many reasons, but now he sees that is impossible. The Prince did not wager from his personal fortune but from England’s coffers.”

If this was supposed to shock Bray, it didn’t.

Bray wasn’t one to pass judgment on a fellow gambler.

He’d made some foolish wagers in his lifetime, too.

Bray had lost his share of extravagant bets over the years.

He’d been known to put up expensive horses and property as well as blunt, but he never played with anyone else’s money or property.

“Then let the dukes he wagered with and his subjects deal with him when he loses.”

Mr. Hopscotch sighed and folded his arms across his rotund chest. “This is not about the wager with the dukes. He is not concerned about that one. There is another wager that has nothing to do with them. The Prince was hoping this would never be told, but because time is of the essence, he has given me liberty to tell you why you must marry Miss Prim.”

“This conversation grows tiresome. I have no interest in the Prince’s gambling habits or debts.”

“It’s imperative that you listen to me, Your Grace.”

Bray bristled at the man’s high-handed tone, but he remained quiet.

“A few days after the Prince’s wager with the dukes, he had an especially grand evening of much food and wine with the Archduke of Austria.

He says he doesn’t really remember how it happened, but by the time the dinner was over, he had wagered with the archduke that if you were not married by June one, he would hand over to Austria the Elgin Marbles. ”

The hairs on the back of Bray’s neck rose and “Damnation,” whistled past his lips.