An Innocent Maid For The Duke

Such a simple request. For some reason he could no longer fathom, or justify, he had taken umbrage at the implication that he had nothing better to do than dash off to Brighton to curry favour with the Regent.

If only—

He cut the thought off and returned to the pile of correspondence awaiting his attention. Why had he never realised how much work it was, being a duke? Likely because his father and brother had never involved him in the routine running of the Duchy.

Nor had he wanted them to. Had he?

He shut his eyes, briefly. No. He had not. He’d been having too good a time as he’d so often gloated to an older brother weighed down by responsibilities and paperwork.

Too busy enjoying the charms of the fairer sex, his unbelievable luck at the tables and running Vitium et Virtus with his friends. Running it and enjoying its entertainments. Though he had to admit the sameness of it all had begun to pall some time ago.

The library door opened to admit an elderly lady with her hair powdered and her back ramrod straight, despite needing the support of her cane. A pair of piercing grey eyes fixed on his face. Eyes like his father’s. And his brother’s. His were blue, like his mother’s and Eleanor’s.

‘Grandmama. Good morning.’

A beauty in her youth, she was still a handsome woman in her seventies.

She snorted. ‘Don’t “Grandmama” me in that cozening tone. It is mid-afternoon. Where have you been? I having been wanting to speak to you for two days now.’

‘Out. What can I do for you?’

She pursed her lips, but plucked a letter from her reticule. ‘Eleanor asks if she may come to town next week. She wishes to shop.’

Eleanor. Something else his father hadn’t seen fit to tell him about. If ever he discovered who the father of his niece was, who the man was who had abandoned his sister to a life of secrets and loneliness, he was going to roast him on a spit. ‘She may come whenever she wishes, as I told her.’

‘Your father...’

‘In this one thing, Grandmama, my father was an ass.’

The starch went out of his grandmother and all of a sudden she looked old and frail and sad. She sank into a chair. ‘It was on my advice that we sent her away,’ she admitted, sounding miserable. ‘I thought it was for the best. You know your father always took my advice when it came to your sister after your mother died.’

Jake bit back a hard retort about his father needing to think for himself and came around to sit beside his grandmama on the sofa.

She reached out and touched his hand. ‘You are a good boy, Jake. You have a kind heart.’

Not always. His mind went back to Rose. He’d upset her very handily, when clearly she did not fancy him the way he had fancied her. It was such a spur-of-the-moment thing, he barely understood it himself.

Dash it. He would find her and make sure she had suffered no ill effects as a result of his reckless behaviour. It was the honourable thing to do. But right now his grandmother needed him. ‘Shall I ring for tea?’

‘No, thank you. I need to get a reply off to Eleanor in the post. I want to assure her right away that she is welcome. Any delay and she will think we don’t want her and these days, with my stiff joints, writing is a slow business.’

‘Why do you not let me hire a secretary for you or a companion to help with such things?’ It was not the first time he’d made the suggestions since her last lady companion had departed.

She shot him a steely-eyed stare his father would have been proud of. ‘Your wife would be companion enough, should you deign to obtain one.’

He masked a wince. ‘I have to find a willing lady first, Grandmama.’

Her brows lowered. ‘Excuses, excuses. Why, I have introduced you to a dozen suitable young women over the past few weeks.’

His hackles rose. He was perfectly capable of finding his own wife. When he was ready. ‘It is too soon, Grandmama. We are barely out of mourning.’

‘Your father would have wanted you to secure the succession as soon as possible. You danced with Mrs Challenger at the ball you threw for her and Challenger. You could have used the opportunity to meet this Season’s crop of debutantes. But, no, not one other lady did you ask to dance.’

His scalp tightened. Every muscle in his body felt tight. He now knew how a fox must feel when chased by the hounds. He forced himself to remain polite. ‘The ball was a favour to one of my oldest and dearest friends. Right now, the affairs of the Duchy require my complete attention. Let me get those in hand and then I promise you I will do my duty and attend every ball and assembly from John o’ Groats to Land’s End. I will leave no stone unturned. No maiden left uninspected for her suitability.’

She laughed and shook her head. ‘Ridiculous boy. You always did have a way with words. But...’ she wagged a finger gnarled by the ravages of rheumatism ‘...I will keep you to that promise. Or the spirit of it anyway.’

She limped out of the room.

* * *

Eight hours later, Jake found himself entering Vitium et Virtus in search of an hour or two of sleep before the sun rose. Again. He’d forced himself to remain at home, to go to bed like a normal person, under his own roof—and lain awake all through the darkest hours. Now, at almost dawn, he needed sleep to the point of desperation.

Snyder greeted him briefly, took his coat and hat and left him in peace.

If there was peace to be had. The servants would soon be bustling about their chores.

He should have come earlier. He strolled past the Green Room and against his will opened the door and looked in.

Naturally no one was twirling about in front of the mirror. No one was there at all. And in the interim he’d come to the conclusion he should forget about Rose. Seeing her again, he had concluded, would only make his restlessness worse. He had a duty to the Duchy as his grandmother had pointed out. He must make a good marriage if he was to secure the future of his name and the dynasty entrusted to his care. Albeit reluctantly, he’d given in and taken up the mantle and the strawberry-leaved coronet. Blast it.

The weight of that mantle and crown had him dragging his steps towards the owners’ private quarters. He passed a maid already at her work in the grand hall, the entrance used by paying members.

On her hands and knees polishing the marble floor, she was scrubbing so hard that her bottom moved in counterpoint to the swish of her cloth.

A very attractive, lushly curved bottom it was too. Drawn by some unnamed instinct, he paused to watch, feeling a strange sense of kinship with that sweetly rounded bum. A palm-tingling urge to stroke and squeeze. And she was humming quietly to herself. A familiar refrain that... No. It could not be.

His gut clenched. He felt ill. She was not... He refused to allow it.

Unable to stop himself, he walked stealthily around her, but she must have seen a movement from the corner of her eye, because she jerked upright, still on her knees, and looked up at him, her face pink with exertion—

‘Rose!’

She winced at his shout.

* * *

Staring at the Duke, Rose felt horror roll through her in a sickening tide. Another half-hour and she would have been hidden away in the kitchens for the rest of the day.

He was staring at her as if he expected her to say something. She dropped the rag, wiped her hands on her apron and pushed to her feet.

She bobbed a curtsy, keeping her head respectfully lowered, her gaze on the floor, wishing he’d walk away. Or that the floor would crack open and swallow her up. ‘Your Grace.’

All she could see were his feet planted squarely on the patch of marble she’d scrubbed clean. She waited for him to move on. She didn’t dare look at his face, at the disgust she’d see in his expression.

Or the anger.

‘Well?’ he said softly, menacingly. ‘Are you going to explain?’