Page 2 of The Duke Who Dared Me (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #31)

Briggs House, London

When Miss Verity Baxter dared a duke to fall in love, the only real surprise was that he said yes.

- The Polite Observer

Too much scotch and babies did not mix well. Nor paying a social call at only eight in the morning. He wouldn’t have made the effort for anyone but Percy Baxter, the Viscount Musford.

After spending most of the night at White’s and drinking enough scotch to pickle himself, Alistair had hoped for silence, not shrieking or sunlight, and certainly not Verity Baxter before he broke his fast.

“Is there no nurse?” he asked, handing his coat to the footman and shaking off the late January chill.

“Pardon, Your Grace?”

Alistair only grumbled and instead followed the footman inside.

Percy’s Belgravia townhouse was modest by Baxter standards, but it suited a man trying to outrun old debts.

It took some adjusting to realize they were no longer neighbors.

Their ancestral family seats also shared property lines in Kent.

Again, the piercing cry.

He strolled into the morning room, his brows drawn as Verity danced with her nephew in her arms in front of a large bank of windows. The crisp morning light made Alistair regret that fifth glass of scotch.

Once he stepped inside the room, he realized he had made a fatal mistake. The cry was not one of pain or hunger or even aggravation, but it was a gleeful cry as she swung the baby in her arms.

“Can’t you leave him alone?” he snapped just as his godson turned on him with a watery wail so torturous it made his eyeballs ache.

Bloody hell. This was precisely why he avoided such domestic scenes. Give him the House of Lords or a cutthroat business negotiation any day. At least there, when someone made his head pound, it was intentional.

Verity glowered, hushing the small child with a kiss on its bald head. “You came to Briggs Hall, Your Grace, knowing Colin is here. We’ve been blessed with him for five months now.”

“I know my own godson.”

“He knows you as well. Knows well enough he should be afraid.”

“Verity,” he sighed. He pinched his brow.

She only grinned wider.

“Bring him here.”

She looked irritatingly bright and too awake. With a second glance, he gathered she must have spent her morning riding in Hyde Park. Her cheeks were still pink from the cold.

“And risk him crying again?”

She had a point. He could do without the crying or the wave of nausea that followed him home. “Bring him. Here.”

She spun away, her light blue gown spinning out to reveal her riding boots. “Not until you tell me why you are here. Especially at this hour, smelling like you do.”

“I don’t smell,” he countered.

“Alistair.”

Very well, they were skipping over formalities this morning. It’s not like it mattered when they grew up beside one another. He still remembered when she was missing her front teeth.

“I invited him,” her brother announced, striding into the room. He plucked the baby out of Verity’s arms, ignoring her protests, and handed it off to Alistair.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked.

Percy chuckled. “I haven’t figured it out myself if I’m to be honest.”

“You two are impossible. He’s a baby. They’re simple creatures, much like the rest of the male sex. Smile, sing, play. He only wants to explore the world.”

Alistair bopped the baby on the nose. It only earned him a drooly smile. Where was the nurse? Or had they let her go as well?

Percy Baxter was tall, his face rugged and strong and, for a time, was the perfect companion when out on the Town.

But after he met Marina three Seasons ago?

It was hopeless. The man had fallen in love hard, and the decision to ask her to be his wife was an easy one.

Their life after the wedding had been less than perfect, however.

“Verity, bring Colin back to the nursery, please? I need to speak with Alistair alone.”

“He smells, don’t you think?”

“Colin? No, I don’t?—”

“Alistair, Brother. You wish to speak with him when you know full well he’s been out…” She brushed his fingers with the palm of her hands as she plucked the baby out of his grip. “Afraid of a baby,” she mumbled.

“I don’t smell,” he called out after her.

Percy snickered as his sister swept out of the room. “You didn’t need to come over immediately. Doesn’t appear you’ve been to bed since I saw you last night.”

“You’re going to judge me?” He collapsed back into the chair and tossed back his head. If the room could stop spinning, or if he could only rid himself of that sour taste in his mouth, he might be a functioning human today. “What do you need, Percy?”

“Ah.” Percy strode around to the windows and clasped his hands behind his back. “It’s no small matter, and it is important. You know I wouldn’t ask, but a favor…”

Yes, a favor owed.

“You know you can count on me. I’m fortunate that I had your help when I did.”

“Right, well, I’ve a favor to ask then.” Percy paused, scratching the back of his neck to avoid looking at Alistair before he blew out a giant breath. “I need you to find Verity a husband by the end of this Season.”

The words dropped between them like a stone, casting ripples outward in the small morning room. Alistair blinked once. Verity Baxter led to matrimony? She’d toss the bit and trample the groom for good measure.

“I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“Oh, you did.” Percy laughed, shaking his head. “Verity must be married by the end of this Season. She deserves a household of her own. Not to waste away helping manage mine while Marina and I…” He exhaled. “There’s just not room for all of us anymore, not really.”

“You’ve been exceedingly patient with her these past few Seasons, I grant you. But is there no other solution?”

“What else is there? She’s a well-bred woman, intelligent and beautiful.” Percy raked a hand through his hair, glancing out toward the hall once more. “It’s no matter. I’ve placed a bet on her finding a husband at White’s.”

“On your own sister?”

Bile rose in Alistair’s throat. He bent forward, swallowing it back and wincing. What an idiot he had been last night. He wasn’t in the habit of drinking to excess, but his days lately were so boring.

“You look a shade green. Rough night?”

Alistair groaned and waved off his friend. Back to the matter at hand, then he would retreat home to his bed and hide under the covers.

“All of London believes Verity to be…” He had to select his next words carefully so as not to offend. “She’s clever, Percy. Too clever. Too bold. Half of the men in London admire her until she opens her mouth, and then they run.”

* * *

A wager was far more civilized than murder.

And considerably less messy.

Considering Verity Baxter was not willing to reside in Newgate for any length of time, especially over something as trivial as a man, it was a compromise she was willing to make.

She glared over her teacup at Alistair Rutley, the insufferable Duke of Tunstall, who had claimed her brother’s morning room settee like some sort of conquering hero.

The arrogant man rolled his ice-blue eyes at her pointed stare and draped his arm over the back of the furniture with all the lazy grace of a bored cat.

Even disheveled, and he was disheveled, though he’d clearly made an attempt to disguise it, he cut an imposing figure.

His dark hair was perfectly combed, even as those stubborn waves fought against his pomade.

Those Hessians of his gleamed with their usual sinful polish.

But there was something off about his usual unflappable composure.

A tightness around his eyes, perhaps, or the way he held himself just a touch too carefully, as though sudden movement might prove his undoing.

When his gaze met hers, she caught a flicker of something.

Irritation, maybe. Then, his expression smoothed into that familiar mask of ducal indifference.

She only smiled wider. “Did I hear correctly just now? You told my brother you would help him find me a husband this Season?”

“I did.”

She set the teacup down, not trusting herself to keep it from accidentally flinging across the room at his stupid, handsome face.

“Why?”

“Because he’s my oldest friend.”

His oldest friend and her oldest enemy. After her parents passed three years ago in a carriage accident, she was swept up into Percy’s purview, and he was far more interested in her daily activities than they ever were.

“I can find a husband myself. I’ve had several proposals.”

“And yet, you’re still unmarried.” He leaned forward, arching a brow. “They must know about the warts,” he whispered.

Verity growled. Very well, the teacup to his face would not be accidental. “I don’t need your help.”

“Listen, Percy is happily married to his wife, enjoying the blessing of a new baby. Or so he insists.”

“Colin is a delight,” she said over him.

“He doesn’t have time to manage you.”

“I don’t need to be managed!”

The words rang hollow in her ears. She could feel it in the way Percy had been avoiding her gaze these past few months. The way Marina’s polite smiles never quite reached her eyes. Verity was well on her way to being set on the shelf, taking up space in a home that had already moved on without her.

“He needs you married, Verity, so he can focus on his family and restore the Baxter family name. Your father's debts were significant. As you know.”

“You mistake my independence for loneliness. That’s a very male assumption.”

She felt like a child again, balling her fists and stomping. The problem, it seemed, was others viewed her as a child, treated her as a child, but never acknowledged she was a woman with a will and wants of her own.

“I don’t see why I must be married when you can sit there and declare you won’t be married.”

“I don’t expect you to understand.”

She jumped from her seat, pacing over to the wall of windows overlooking the gardens, dry and brittle, resting for the season until spring. “I understand plenty. They wish me gone.”

“As do I.”