The Duke Who Came To Town (The Honorable Scoundrels Book 3) Page 2

  “Why?” He studied her as though he considered her utterly hopeless. “Isn’t life difficult enough? Why complicate it further by insisting on making it more so?”

  “Because nothing worth having is easily won,” she muttered, casting a glance toward the crackling flames. A log snapped, sending up a flurry of sparks.

  His sigh, long and laborious, filled the air between them. “I suppose I can relate to that.”

  Snorting, she crossed her arms. “Really?” She didn’t believe him for a second. He was a duke after all, the sort of man for whom roads were paved with gold and doors were flung wide open.

  He glanced toward the fire. “The day I turned eighteen, my father came to inform me it was time for me to prove my worth. Turns out, he’d purchased a small cottage in Cornwall where he expected me to live for the duration of a year without relying upon the conveniences to which I’d been accustomed.”

  It was Josephine’s turn to be shocked. “You cannot be serious.”

  “Indeed, I am quite so. For you see, my father believed such an experience would allow me to relate to my tenants and servants, while giving me a true appreciation for what I have. He felt forcing me to lead a life of hardship for a year would make me a better duke in the end, and I suspect he was right.”

  “You never accepted any help from him during this time?”

  “No. I made my way by selling fish and wood carvings at the market. The last thing I wanted was to fail, to have to return home and admit defeat.”

  Amazed by his confession, she studied him for a long moment. “So you understand why I cannot give up my position or accept a stipend from Priorsbridge.”

  “I do.” A hint of sympathy warmed his eyes, and for a second Josephine believed she’d won. Until he said, “But your situation is different from what mine was. For one thing, great care was taken to ensure my identity would not be discovered. Can you honestly tell me nobody knows you’re related to Priorsbridge?”

  She thought of lying, then decided against it. “No.” The gossip columns had written extensive articles on her father’s pitiable downfall and on his daughters’ struggle to survive in the wake of his death. Their family history had been used as an example of how far one could fall when gripped by vice. And when Josephine and her sisters had been forced to sell their Mayfair home, whispers had followed in their wake, assuring them they would not easily be forgotten.

  “Then consider this, Miss Potter. It is no longer your reputation alone that’s at risk, but his as well. If word gets out he failed to support you, that you were forced to make your own way in the world, he will be painted a heartless man.”

  Josephine frowned. “Nothing of the sort has been said of his father. What makes you think anyone will care about Priorsbridge’s actions now?”

  “Because having acquired the title no more than a month ago, he will be scrutinized in every imaginable way. So please, show some consideration and help him avoid criticism.”

  When put like that, it was difficult for Josephine to maintain her determination. Still, she could not allow two men–one whom she’d never met and the other to whom she was not related –to guide her future. “While I sympathize, I cannot accept Priorsbridge’s support. I am sorry.”

  “You are, without a doubt, the most stubborn woman I have ever met.” He said it as though it were an affliction, his hand raking furiously through his hair, ruffling it in a way Josephine found disturbingly charming under the circumstances. “The stipend is not the only item on the table. I’ve also been asked to help ease your way back into society. I have family and friends on whom I can call, contacts who can help you regain your position. Surely this must be desirable in some way or other, if not for you, then for your sisters.” Her hesitance must have shown, for he pounced on it like a lion catching its prey. “What of your youngest sister? You’ve made no mention of her seeking employment, but if you’re what— ” He was suddenly giving her a critical assessment. “Seven and twenty?”

  “Six and twenty,” she corrected, doing her best to ignore the blush threatening to burn her cheeks.

  “Then your youngest sister must be of marriageable age. Correct?”

  Josephine nodded. “Eve set out for Amberly Hall near Bournemouth yesterday morning. Her friend, Mrs. Havisham, has offered to introduce her to her social circle. If doing so yields no result, there is still the coming Season. I have been saving what I can with the intention of giving Eve the debut she deserves.”

  He went completely still, his eyes fixed on her face with pensiveness, twisting her stomach and making her heart beat a little bit faster. It unnerved her, and she had no choice but to remove her gaze from his. So she considered the lackluster floorboards beneath her feet instead, until he said, “As confounding as you are, I must confess my admiration for your stalwart perseverance.”

  Instinctively, her gaze latched onto his. A pause followed, one in which all of her problems, her future, her sisters’ happiness, and Priorsbridge’s interference with all of it remained suspended. The only two people in the world at the moment were her and Snowdon, caught in a most peculiar web from which escape seemed increasingly difficult.

  It didn’t help that he looked like sin and seduction or that she was old enough to consider herself a spinster, a woman who might enjoy a man’s kiss without the threat of marriage. Was it wrong for her to feel desire? To secretly long for some shred of passion before she became too old to gain a man’s attention? She had no prospects, had inherited nothing but shame, and yet here she was, attracted to an aggravating aristocrat whom she didn’t much care for, if for no other reason than principal.

  It was a wretched notion, and it brought her promptly out of her reverie. “Thank you,” she managed to say with a steadier voice than she’d ever imagined possible. A bit of awkward silence passed between them while she gathered her composure. “If that is all, I believe I must ask you to leave. Your presence here is far from appropriate, and your carriage the sort bound to gain attention from those with nothing better to do than observe the lives of others. Whatever my reputation may be, it will suffer even more the longer you stay. Especially once my neighbors discover my sisters are no longer here, and I invited you into my home without chaperone.”

  A frown pinched his brow. “Forgive me. I should have excused myself the moment I discovered you were alone, though you ought to have conveyed such information sooner rather than later.”

  “Duly noted.” He was right, but she’d been freezing with cold outside, and he’d obviously had a great deal to say. You didn’t mind having a handsome man’s attention to yourself for a while.

  She was ashamed to acknowledge the fact, but her life had lacked excitement for so long. It had revolved around her mother’s death, her father’s decline, his death, financial loss, and a dire future from which she’d struggled to protect her sisters. With Louise, she’d failed, but there was still hope for Eve. More so if you simply surrender and take the money Priorsbridge is offering.

  Her pride, however, would not allow it. Not when she stood to succeed on her own. It would be harder, the sacrifices greater, but in the end, she wouldn’t owe anyone a thing. Her life would be her own. It would not belong to another man. She would have the freedom to make her own choices without interference or criticism or any other kind of involvement from anyone.

  Snowdon strode toward the door and paused, his hand on the handle. “I expect you to take my advice seriously, Miss Potter.” There it was again, the blasted arrogance grating on her nerves. “Priorsbridge is my friend, so while I sympathize with your situation and admire your effort to survive without anyone’s assistance, I will not allow you to tarnish his name in any way. Is that clear?”

  “Perfectly, Your Grace.”

  His eyes narrowed, no doubt in response to her tart tone. It couldn’t be helped. Not when he meant to strip her of her freedom.

  A curt nod followed. “Good,” he said. “I shall expect a missive from you no later than tomorrow aft
ernoon, informing me your position has been terminated. Then we shall see about taking you out in Society. I’ve a sister who likes the occasional project. She’ll no doubt be thrilled to make your acquaintance.”

  He tipped his hat and made his exit, leaving Josephine to wonder if he knew how offensive he was being, or if he simply didn’t care.

  2

  Arriving at the hotel he’d acquired two years earlier, Devon entered the manager’s office after a quick rap on the door. He’d bought the building shortly after inheriting his title, when he’d realized the true cost of running his estates. Fearing the day would come when his descendants would not be able to afford the expense, he’d done what most would consider unusual, perhaps even unacceptable, for a duke. He’d gone into trade, albeit in a classy sort of way and with complete discretion.

  “Mr. Roth,” he said, greeting the middle-aged gentleman to whom he entrusted the daily running of his business, “I would like to discuss the letter you sent me.”

  Mr. Roth rose from behind his desk and extended his hand. “Your Grace. I am much relieved by your presence.” Devon shook his hand and lowered himself to a vacant chair. Mr. Roth sat too. “Your opinion of my suggestions to aid the business is most welcome.”

  “From what I gather, the Park View isn’t doing as well as we’d hoped.”

  Flattening his mouth, Mr. Roth drummed his fingers against his armrests before saying, “Income has been steadily declining since the hotel opened. This year, we stand to make half of what we made last year.”

  Devon frowned. As far as investments went, this was proving to be a catastrophe. “Any idea why this might be?”

  Mr. Roth nodded. “Few clients return for a second visit. They seem to favor the High Tower. The rooms there are significantly cheaper.”

  “So you advise a price reduction?”

  “And the dismissal of twenty employees.” When Devon raised his eyebrows, Mr. Roth added, “We have to cut cost somewhere, Your Grace. This is the most obvious approach.”

  “It will also hurt a lot of good people.”

  “Yes, but keeping them on would be detrimental. Unless you plan on putting more money into the business, which rather defeats the purpose of your investment.”

  “Of course.” Devon leaned back in his chair and considered the problem at hand. “What I need is for it to sustain itself and grow without additional funds being added.”

  Nodding, Mr. Roth looked him squarely in the eye. “Then allow me to make the necessary adjustments, Your Grace.”

  Devon hated the idea of referring to the discharge of employees as a necessary adjustment, but he could see Mr. Roth’s point. Still…“I expect each of these people to receive some compensation, thirty pounds at least, along with a decent letter of recommendation.”

  Mr. Roth inclined his head. “Of course, Your Grace. You may rest assured no one will feel the least bit slighted.”

  Devon grunted his response since he believed the opposite would be true. They were discussing people’s livelihoods, after all–more specifically, the snatching away of them. Resentment would be inevitable. But to say as much would serve no purpose. Rising, Devon made to take his leave. “I trust you to keep the best employees and to dismiss only those whose work has been found lacking.”

  If it wouldn’t have been exceedingly rude of him to do so, Devon imagined, Mr. Roth would have rolled his eyes. Instead, he gave a tight smile. “Naturally, that goes without saying.”

  Devon asked the manager to keep him apprised of the progress, before leaving the Park View’s future in Mr. Roth’s capable hands. Devon had other pressing matters to attend to, like convincing Miss Potter to do what he asked. He’d written his sister the previous afternoon, immediately after returning home from his visit with Miss Potter, and asked her to come to Town post haste.

  Rowena would not be thrilled. There was little to do in London this time of year. Most families chose to rusticate in their grand estates for the winter. But at least Miss Potter would not be alone. With him. He winced at the prospect while his driver set a course for Piccadilly, where he intended to do some necessary shopping.

  She was attractive. No doubt about it. And he…hell, there had been a moment–several, in fact–where he’d been inclined to be anything but proper. Like when she’d called him a pompous ass. There had been something about the fiery look in her eyes as she’d stood there, stiff and commanding. It had roused his senses.

  No one had ever put him in his place with such exemplary efficiency before. The effect had been not only humbling but thoroughly arousing. It had tempted him with thoughts—wild and wicked—of what her chastising mouth might taste like and how she’d respond to his touch. Would she apply an equal measure of passion to lovemaking? Would she be equally free and honest in her demand for pleasure?

  Most assuredly, he reckoned. And as this idea began to take root, he found himself wanting to explore the possibility, to take her in his arms and show her what it meant to stir a man’s blood.

  Christ!

  He’d clearly gone too long without a bed partner. Perhaps a visit to Madame Lizette would be in order. Having sordid ponderings about Miss Potter was definitely not the right approach. It had to stop. Immediately. So he set his mind to the items he needed to purchase and did his best not to think of Miss Potter. Having an affair with her would lead to a whole new set of problems, which was something he wanted to do without.

  Two days had passed since the duke had made his demands. Arriving home earlier than usual, Josephine entered her parlor on wooden feet and slumped down into the nearest armchair. Her job, the one she’d depended so thoroughly on, had been taken from her no more than an hour earlier. She could scarcely credit it, could not even feel the cold on account of her numbness. Somewhere deep in her chest, she felt her heart beat—a dull thud of failure. Her breath came raggedly, pushing its way in and out of her lungs as if forcing life into her disheartened body.

  She’d no idea how long she’d been sitting there before a loud knock broke the silence. It came not from the front door but from the back, and with increasing incessancy. Rising, she hastened toward the sound.

  “What?” she demanded, not caring who it might be as she tore the door open.

  The Duke of Snowdon stood before her, his expression immediately hinting at caution. “Is this a bad time, Miss Potter?”

  She closed her eyes, willed herself to be calm, then said, “I thought you told me to write.”

  “And you’ve not done so, which is why I decided it would be best to look in and ensure all is well.”

  His charm was enough to make her scream at the moment. She did not want him to be nice or polite. She wanted someone deserving of the anger in need of release. “As you can see,” she bit out, “I am here and in perfect health. No need to worry.”

  “And your job? Have you managed to—”

  “You got your wish.” She almost spat the words on a wave of resentment rolling through her. “I was discharged this afternoon.”

  His eyes widened a bit, and then he said the most astonishing thing. “You’re clearly distressed. Perhaps you would like me to make you a cup of tea?”

  Laughter rushed up her throat and out through her nose in the form of a sputtering snort. When he remained serious and she realized he hadn’t been jesting, she clasped the doorframe and tried to find purchase in this odd turn of events.

  “Thank you for your kindness, Your Grace, but we’ve already talked about how your presence in my home might be construed.”

  “Which is why I chose to arrive at the back door. There is no view of this entry from the neighboring houses. I already checked.”

  “Really?” She couldn’t hide her surprise. Uneasily, she peered toward the gate at the end of her walkway. Walls rose from both sides, tall enough to ensure they couldn’t be seen.

  “So please step aside and allow me to enter before we freeze to death on your doorstep.”

  Against her better judgment, Josephi
ne did what he asked. Not because she had any interest in keeping company with a man as attractive as he or because she liked the attention he gave her. It certainly wasn’t because she hoped to experience another moment of physical awareness with him or because she wished he might do something more improper than keep her company in the privacy of her home. No. It was only because he was cold, and it would be rude to turn him away.

  “I brought a few things for you too,” he said, passing her in the entryway. His arm and shoulder brushed against her so smoothly she gasped. He turned about swiftly, facing her in the tiny space and crowding her with his much larger size. “Are you all right?”

  Unable to speak, she managed a nod.

  He frowned as if he didn’t believe her. But whether he did or not, he chose to drop the subject, for which she was immensely grateful. “I imagine the kitchen must be through here?” he asked, gesturing toward a door on the right.

  She nodded again, though he couldn’t see since he’d turned his back.

  “There’s some ham and cheese, a couple of oranges, and three tomatoes in here,” he said, setting a bag on the kitchen table.

  Josephine felt her throat close around the words she wanted to say. He was being so nice—too nice—and she’d treated him abominably. “I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier,” she tried, hating how raw the words sounded and what they revealed.

  “You lost your employment, which must have pained you.” He’d found the kettle and was busy filling it with water from a jug.