Page 32 of The Nanny’s Handbook to Magic and Managing Difficult Dukes

Marcus threw himself down onto a nearby wooden bench and his bare shoulders rose and fell on a huge sigh.

“I suppose I should be grateful that I’m not sparring with the new Marquess of Kinsale.

” He gestured with his chin toward the towering bruiser of a man on the other side of the room who was proceeding to pound a punching bag into next week.

Although, considering the power of the chap’s mighty blows, maybe it was into oblivion.

Xavier cocked an eyebrow. “Kinsale, you say? He hails from Ireland then?”

“He does,” said Marcus. “Phineas O’Connell is his name and he’s originally from Dublin.

I met him recently at an out-of-town boxing match in Surrey about a fortnight ago.

It seems he inherited the marquessate quite unexpectedly and he doesn’t wear the title comfortably.

” He winced slightly. “The chap also has a marked stammer. I don’t give a jot, but I do wonder if that’s part of the reason he’s not keen on meeting other ‘toffs,’ so to speak. ”

Xavier nodded. “I could understand why an Irishman with a stammer might be reluctant to enter society.”

“Indeed.” Marcus’s eyes were soft with understanding.

At least Xavier interpreted his friend’s expression as sympathetic.

“Like you, Lord Kinsale is quite the loner. I imagine he feels like the proverbial fish out of water at society events. Even so, I’ve been meaning to invite him to White’s and show him around town.

Make a few introductions.” He caught Xavier’s eye.

“You and I both know what it’s like when one is new and doesn’t quite fit in. ”

Marcus was alluding to their early days at Eton. It was a time Xavier would never forget. He cast another glance at the marquess. “He looks like he could hold his own though. He certainly knows how to throw a punch.”

“Rumor also has it that Lord Kinsale used to be a prizefighter. Speaking of rumors”—Marcus rose and threw a towel about his shoulders—“I should let you know that that bastard Sir Randolph Redvers has been spouting all kinds of lies about you and your mental fitness. Again. Those who know you well realize it’s nothing but horse bollocks. ”

Xavier gave a small snort of laughter. “So that means you and you alone. To be perfectly honest, I’m not surprised that Sir Randolph is behind this current rumor campaign. My uncle paid me a visit yesterday and mentioned the gossip going around the clubs.”

“Peregrine? That bitter old bellend?” Marcus flicked his towel against his thigh. “His son Algernon is a complete tosser too.”

“I won’t disagree with you,” said Xavier. “About the only thing I can do to counteract the rumors is to rise above it and do well, despite all the slings and arrows hurled my way.”

They watched Lord Kinsale pummeling the punching bag for another minute, then Marcus said, “How is your Westminster clock design coming along? And your electromechanical clock prototype?”

“I’m making steady progress with both,” said Xavier. “Actually, I have a new nanny who’s effectively managing my wards, so that’s helped immensely. Although there are still odd household occurrences from time to time that disturb my concentration.” He related the latest events to his friend.

Marcus frowned. “Hmm. I don’t like the sound of that breakin. And someone followed you home not that long ago if I recall. You need to take extra care, my friend.”

“Believe me. I am,” replied Xavier. “I keep hoping that there isn’t a sinister plan afoot to discredit me. That it’s all in my head. But as time goes on, I know something is wrong. I can feel it.”

“You should always trust your gut. Have you considered hiring a private detective?”

“Yes, but I have nothing specific to share that would be helpful.” Mrs. Chase was already taking on an undercover role within St Lawrence House.

Xavier supposed he could have someone look into Sir Randolph’s activities, to see if he had recently paid anyone to follow him about or break in to St Lawrence House.

But he also didn’t see much point in hiring an investigator to watch the baronet at all hours of the day and night when there were barely any breadcrumbs to follow.

He needed something concrete to go on. “I’m rather hoping the problem will resolve itself in time,” he added.

“Once I submit my clock design—if my suspicions are correct—then all this domestic mayhem and skullduggery will end. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. ”

Marcus eyed him gravely. “I hope so. And it goes without saying that I’ll help in whatever way I can. You only need to ask.”

“Thank you. Your support means a lot. It always has.”

The viscount ran a hand through his tousled light brown hair. “I know you’ll be keen to head home, but let me introduce you to Lord Kinsale first.”

The marquess’s training session appeared to have ended, as he was presently unwrapping his bandaged knuckles.

“Kinsale,” called Marcus as they approached the darkhaired mountain of a man. “How goes it?”

The marquess turned and his emerald-green eyes darted to Xavier before settling on Marcus. “W-Well enough,” he said. The soft Irish lilt in his voice was more evident when he added, “How-How-How are you?”

“Good. Good…” Marcus’s smile widened as he affected Xavier’s introduction. “Lord Kinsale, this is the friend I was telling you about. Xavier Mason, the Duke of St Lawrence.”

The Irish peer tilted his head by way of a bow. “Your Grace,” he said. “P-P-Pleased to m-m-m-meet you.”

Xavier would have extended his hand to shake the marquess’s, but he wasn’t wearing any gloves.

So he simply inclined his head as well. “It’s good to meet you too.

Though I wouldn’t bother addressing me so formally.

Xavier will do.” While it was customary for noblemen to be referred to by their titles, even when conversing with close acquaintances, Xavier had always disliked the practice, given his titles and his surname had always been distorted into vile nicknames.

The Irishman arched a black brow. “Xavier it is. I prefer to go by me Christian n-name too. Phineas. But most of me acquaintances call me Ph-Ph-Ph—” He broke off and drew a deep breath. “Phinn.”

“Phinn,” repeated Xavier. “You were certainly giving that punching bag a sound thrashing. Marcus was just telling me that you were a prizefighter.”

Phinn’s mouth quirked with a sardonic half smile. “Aye, I was, Your Gra—I mean, Xavier. For f-four years.”

Studying the Irishman’s face, Xavier could see that his nose was slightly crooked, as though it had been broken.

There was also a scar bisecting his left eyebrow.

Xavier idly wondered if Mrs. Chase would think the man ruggedly handsome.

Was that the right way to describe the Irish peer?

Xavier would readily own that he couldn’t tell whether other men were physically attractive or not.

He also had no idea if women considered him to be attractive.

Or more to the point, if Mrs. Chase did.

Of course, it shouldn’t matter what the nanny thought of his looks.

Although, she often blushed around him… The problem was, Xavier was never sure why.

Perhaps she did so because he had a habit of regarding her too closely and for too long.

Then again, her apparent discomfiture might be caused by something else entirely.

Some reason he couldn’t fathom because he was an inexperienced, largely clueless male.

To Xavier, Mrs. Chase was as mysterious and unfamiliar as the universe, yet equally as beautiful and thoroughly absorbing.

Bloody hell. He was thinking about the woman again. He’d become quite obsessed with her.

Marcus and Phinn had begun to make plans to visit White’s and Boodle’s later that evening.

When asked if he would like to join them, Xavier hesitated.

He should, but he also had a lot on his mind.

And Marcus would no doubt want to introduce Lord Kinsale to some of London’s less genteel gentlemen’s “clubs.”

Xavier certainly wasn’t in the mood for drinking or gambling or consorting with high-class courtesans. But then, he supposed he never was. He’d rather go hunting for rare pocket watches at auctions and antique jewelry stores.

A watch-hunting expedition would also be a good distraction. Perhaps then he’d stop fantasizing about making love to a flame-haired nanny with sky-blue eyes and a smile that could light up the darkest day.

Given the smoldering fire in his veins, an ice-cold bath rather than a piping hot one wouldn’t go astray either.