An Innocent Maid For The Duke

‘Please, Flo. I want to go. Now.’

Clearly torn between wanting to seek out the man and needing to help Rose, Flo hesitated.

‘Flo, I need to go home.’

With a curse, Flo put an arm around her shoulders and turned down the street heading for Cheapside.

Chapter Three (#u1e936611-158c-508d-b85c-1590d046b654)

Heavy-eyed and muzzy-headed, Jake lifted his gaze from the numbers dancing across the page of the ledger and stared at the straw bonnet sitting on the corner of the desk.

What had he been thinking? He was the Duke, not the carefree second son any longer. He had responsibilities and, as his father had reminded him with his dying breath, a duty to the Westmoor name. A duke didn’t go about importuning ladies in a hidden garden. Surely even he had too much pride to abase himself before an unwilling woman. His brother would never have considered such a thing.

Besides, even if she was not a member of the ton, Rose was innately a lady in every respect. The rake in him had recognised her innocence from the first and he had come so close to scaring her to death, she’d had to run from him. It did not bear thinking about.

After swearing to his father to do his duty by the title, at the first temptation to come his way he’d returned to his old careless impetuous ways. Shame flooded him to the core of his being.

Thank heavens Rose had more sense.

And yet something inside him kept urging him to seek her out.

He could do it. He could find her. A widow or wife living on the edges of society in search of a bit of harmless adventure would be known to someone. As a duke, he had unlimited resources. And he could bend her to his will, make her want him if he put his mind to it, too. He’d charmed enough ladybirds and widows in his salad days to know his appeal to the ladies. A charm he’d never given a second’s thought. Until now.

Not that he would. It wouldn’t be honourable.

He really ought to apologise, though.

Those last moments with his father floated through his mind.

‘You swear you will give up your rakish ways and give the title its due? For my sake.’

‘No!’ he’d yelled. ‘You are not going to die. You must not. I do not want this—’ His voice had broken.

A heavy sigh. ‘Do your duty, my son. That is all I ask. Care for Eleanor and my mother.’

Fingers, clammy and cold, had clenched on his hand.

‘Swear it.’

His throat had felt raw. His eyes had burned.

‘I swear it, Papa. On my life.’

‘I trust you, my son.’

The grey eyes had closed for the last time.

Trust was a heavy burden. Jake squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for respite, for an hour or two of sleep before he returned to the house where his father had placed a life of duty and honour upon shoulders ill-prepared to bear them. Burdens he had never wanted.

How many times during his youth had he rejoiced that the dukedom was his brother’s destiny and not his, while he went his merry way.

‘You here again, Westmoor?’

He looked up at the impatient tone.

Frederick loomed over him, glaring down. ‘Do you not have a home to go to? Oh, wait. You do. A ducal mansion.’ He inhaled and curled his lip in distaste. ‘God, how much wine have you drunk?’ He whisked the decanter off the desk and deposited it back on the tray on the console between the shuttered windows. ‘You stink of brandy. Go home. Bathe, for God’s sake.’

Frederick’s brusque manner hid a caring heart. Jake knew this, but he simply glowered at his friend. ‘I have as much right to be here as you do. I am doing something useful.’ He glanced down at the ledger. Trying to anyway.

‘We employ a bookkeeper for that.’

‘Someone has to oversee the bookkeeper.’

What on earth was the matter with him? Fred’s advice might not be to his liking, but it wasn’t wrong.

Besides, it was a lady’s prerogative to choose her protector. A gentleman simply shrugged and moved on if he wasn’t picked. He toyed with one of the blue ribbons from the bonnet and twined it around his fingers. Not that he’d suffered such rejections in the past. After all he’d been the second son of a duke, fabulously wealthy in his own right and his reputation for generosity had not gone unnoticed.

Until now. Damn it all, he needed to think about something else. About those in his care. His grandmother, for example.

When had he last seen the old girl? He cast his mind back with effort. Two days ago? Three? She’d be worrying. The thought of her in distress made his stomach roil. Another failure to add to a string of them he dragged behind him like anchors.

Fred peered at the bonnet. ‘What is that doing there?’

‘Nothing. I found it in the garden. One of the girls must have dropped it. I thought I would ask around.’

‘I doubt any of them would want that old thing back.’

‘Probably not.’ Jake picked it up and dropped it in the rubbish basket.

‘Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ Fred said.

‘Not on my account, I hope. I’m leaving.’

‘I only came by to check on the state of the cellar, which I have done. See you later, Westmoor.’

Fred left, closing the door behind him.

Jake forced himself to his feet. He was done here. There was no point in pretending to read numbers when he could barely see them. He picked the bonnet out of the bin and hung it on the back of the door. Just in case.

He wandered off to the stables. He deliberately did not glance at the garden gate and nor did he utter a word at the reproving glance he received from his coachman for keeping him waiting till some ridiculous hour of the morning. Again. Thank goodness the stables at Vitium et Virtus offered comfort for long-suffering servants.

* * *

Once home, he went straight to his room, endured the ministrations of a valet who did nothing but complain about the fit of his coats and the state of his linen, and shut himself in the library, which he now used as his office. Even after all these months, he still couldn’t bring himself to use the ducal study.

Instead, he’d had them bring a writing table in here along with the various documents he needed day to day. He’d also had them cover the most recent family portrait. His father, brother, sister and himself. Something about the way his father and brother looked out of that frame made him feel inadequate. And as guilty as hell.

Why had he not done as his father had asked him on that last day?