How to Tempt a Duke

“Yes, you must,” Charlotte agreed, not holding out much hope for that eventuality. “Beginning bright and early first thing tomorrow morning, I’d say. After you bring me that eight pounds and I go have a quiet chat with Grayson.”

She stepped into the hall five minutes later, the eight pounds in her pocket, and leaned back against the closed door. Was she out of her mind? Only a fool would think she could get away with this charade.

In fact, she had only one thing on her side: Grayson’s disdainful certainty that Rafe was an unacceptable duke. If she approached the butler correctly, let him believe he was pulling one over on his new master? Yes, then Grayson might cooperate.

She’d feel terribly about not going to Rafe with the truth about what his sisters had done, but in aid of what? The man seemed truly out of his depth at the moment, although she was certain he’d grow into his new boots in time. There seemed no good reason to upset him; after all, the twins were fine, their reputations intact, and the house hadn’t burned down around all their ears, or anything.

And telling Rafe meant telling Emmaline, which Charlotte completely refused to do, not with the woman newly married and now expecting a baby.

“Have you convinced yourself?” Charlotte muttered quietly. She decided that she had, and that her greatest motivation wasn’t really the idea that Rafe wouldn’t learn the truth and thereby think her not only a liar but also the biggest imbecile in nature not to have seen through Nicole and Lydia’s lies. Intent on locating Grayson, she headed for the staircase.

She stopped at the head of the stairs, realizing that, below her, the entrance hall was clogged with maids and footmen and cooks and tweenies…and Rafe.

Sinking to her knees so as not to be easily seen, she watched through the balustrades as, accompanied by a starchy Grayson, the new duke—his hands held clasped behind his back, she noticed—walked along the curving line of Ashurst servants, nodding his acceptance of each introduction, each bow, every curtsy.

He looked wonderful in his fine London clothes. His dark hair glistened in the light from the large chandelier, still slightly damp, telling Charlotte that he’d bathed away his travel dust in the time she’d been closeted with Nicole.

She blinked back tears yet again as Rafe came to the end of the line, where the six children of the head cook stood in a descending row. He then accepted a pastry from the youngest, ruffling the lad’s hair before Grayson clapped his hands three times in quick succession, dismissing everyone.

“Thank you, Grayson,” she heard Rafe say once the entrance hall was clear except for two of the footmen who took up their posts at the front door once more, as if expecting the Prince Regent’s coach to come roaring up the drive at any moment.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Grayson said, holding out one white-gloved hand for the small silver plate. “I’ll take that for you, sir.”

“The devil you will. The lad gave it to me, the only person to offer me a morsel of food since I arrived. I’ve allowed you to exercise your spleen, Grayson, as I know how loyal you were to the late duke. But be warned. I will suffer no more insolence from you, or from anyone connected with Ashurst Hall. The staff follows your lead, Grayson, and you are not as irreplaceable as you might believe. I doubt any of them will wish to follow you out the door, if you take my meaning.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Grayson said, bowing. Then he turned on his heel and fairly marched out of the entrance hall, his chin high, his back ramrod straight.

Rafe turned about and looked up at Charlotte, his young, unaffected smile dazzling her. He broke off a bit of the pastry as he said, “That went well, Charlie, don’t you think? I didn’t even need to use the pin.”

Before she could get to her feet, or form an answer, he’d popped the bit of pastry into his mouth and headed for the main saloon.

Charlotte stayed where she was, not yet trusting her legs to hold her if she attempted to stand. What was it Nicole had said to her?

Oh, yes. What about you? Would you consider marrying Rafe? He isn’t ugly, and he’s very rich. And he seems to like you.

“I like him, too,” Charlotte whispered as she cooled one hot cheek against the wrought iron of the staircase. “Very much.”

Chapter Four

“I HOPE YOU HAD a restful night,” Rafe said as he approached his friend’s bed, smiling as Phineas employed a scissors, neatly trimming Fitz’s light brown beard. “How’s the leg?”

Phineas made one last snip-snip, carefully folded up the towel he’d laid on Fitz’s chest, and stood clear. “He’ll tell you it’s fine, Your Grace, but the servant assigned to sleep in the dressing room told me he moaned in his sleep on and off all the night long.”

“And did he ask you, Phineas?” Fitz said, throwing out his arm, which the small man easily evaded. “I’m fine, Rafe. So the leg got jostled a bit in the coach. The bones are nicely settled again. I want my crutches.”

“You can want them all you wish, but you can’t have them,” Rafe told him, gingerly sitting down on the side of the wide bed. “And the fever, Phineas?”

“All but gone this morning, Your Grace. We removed the splint, as the surgeon ordered, thinking that should ease him some. Does it ease you some, Captain?”

“Go hang yourself,” Fitz muttered without rancor, reaching down to rub at his left thigh. “If I was a horse you would have ordered me shot, and I begin to think you would have been doing me a favor. How long are you planning to keep me locked away up here?”

“Two months, I believe I was told,” Rafe said, genuinely sorry for his friend. “We’ll have to find something to amuse you.”

“Good. I’ll take that pretty little redheaded maid who came in this morning to replenish the fire, thank you.”

Rafe smiled. “Down but not out, are you, Fitz?” He waited until Phineas had departed the room, and then said, “In truth, I wish you could be downstairs with me. I met my sisters yesterday.”

“That all sounds ominous. Are they horse-faced?”

“Hardly. And I’m told chastity belts are no longer acceptable garb for young unmarried sisters, more’s the pity. I can only thank God Charlie was here to steer me through my first encounter. I’ve faced the enemy with less trepidation.”

“Ah, yes, the fetching Miss Charlotte,” Fitz said, stroking his short beard. “She seemed sorry for me. Do you think that sympathy would extend to visiting with this poor soldier, perhaps reading poetry to him?”

Rafe frowned. “She is pretty, isn’t she? It’s strange. I don’t remember Charlie as pretty. I remember her as a thorn in my side, a perpetual pest. And as my friend. Sometimes the only friend I had here at Ashurst Hall.”

Fitz’s grin split his beard. “Well then, your friend can come pest me any time she likes.”

“Only here the one night, and already you have designs on the ladies?” Rafe hoped his voice sounded light, unconcerned.

He shouldn’t have bothered to try to dissemble.

“Staked her out for yourself, have you?”

“No,” Rafe said quickly. Too quickly? “You really can be an annoying bastard, do you know that?”

“I do, and pride myself on it,” Fitz said rather smugly. “I also pride myself on being able to take a hint, so I’ll stop teasing you now. Still, if you won’t send Charlotte to me, how about you order one of your new servants to round up some books I can read to pass the time? Better yet, someone to read them to me? The sound of Charlotte’s lovely voice washing over me as I lie on my sickbed, for instance, my eyes closed in bliss, her every word soothing my pain—Your late uncle did own books, didn’t he?”

“Thousands of them, yes. I don’t ever remember anyone in the household reading them, however. But I can’t promise you that Charlie would be agreeable. Besides, you’re strong enough to hold a book and read it yourself.” Rafe got up from the bed, alarmed to see his friend wince at the movement of the mattress. “Although perhaps tomorrow would be soon enough?”

“Damn it, I suppose so,” Fitz muttered, once again rubbing his thigh. “You didn’t tell anyone how this happened, did you? Bad enough I did it, without you running through the halls like the town crier, telling everyone about your clumsy oaf of a friend.”

“Only Charlie. Sorry, Fitz. But she won’t tell anyone if I ask her not to. Feel free to make up whatever heroic, outlandish story you want.”

“The runaway cart doesn’t impress you?”

“Actually, I was thinking more of the Frenchmen we shooed away from Elba the week before we departed for home.”

“Come to rescue their emperor,” Fitz said, nodding. “But it wasn’t me who saw them at the tavern and got suspicious. I never saw more than their backs as we chased them to their longboat. No, that’s your story, my friend, as it was you who was nearly shot and not me, although I thank you for offering it to me. I’ll think of something else, something equally heroic. Now go away, if you please. This injured soldier needs his rest.”

Rafe left the bedchamber reluctantly, knowing he’d delayed facing his first full day as duke in residence as long as possible.

It was November. What duties did a duke have in November? When he wasn’t away in London or at some house party or other, his uncle had always been riding out somewhere or another with his chief steward…That was it, he’d find his chief steward, and ride out with him.

Having decided on a plan, Rafe returned to his massive chambers to find Phineas already laying out his riding clothes in the dressing room.

“Ah, good, I don’t have to go calling through this large pile, chasing you down. Miss Seavers says for you to hurry and get changed, Your Grace. And I’ve sewn and brushed your riding cloak for you, not that I can find that lovely new beaver anywhere. Your Miss Seavers said she thought she might be able to locate it, as you’ll need something on your head with the chill being so in the air, not that I know where you’re off to. Your Miss Seavers said something about showing your pretty face somewhere?”

“Oh, she said all that, did she,” Rafe said, feeling an unreasonable reluctance to continue doing as Charlie dictated. Even if she was right, damn it. “She’s not my Miss Seavers, Phineas.And perhaps I don’t want to show my—Ah, hell’s bells, Phineas, help me out of this jacket.”