Kasey Michaels - How to Tempt a Duke

Charlotte settled herself into one of the large leather chairs flanking the fireplace. “But he’s gone, Rafe, they’re all gone, the three of them, and you’re exactly where no one ever thought you would be. Do you feel vindicated at all, Rafe, or overwhelmed?”

Yes, that was his Charlie. No one else would dare to ask him that question, ask the fourteenth Duke of Ashurst if his title sat uncomfortably on his shoulders. Even Grayson, whose opinion of Rafe had never been one of unmitigated admiration, wouldn’t have dared to broach such a question.

Rafe approached his uncle’s desk and perched himself on one of its corners as he smiled at Charlotte. “How do I look to you, Charlie? Do I look at all ducal?”

She shook her head. “I can’t tell. Sit in his chair behind the desk, Rafe. Sit in your chair. It is yours, you know. Yours, and someday your son’s, and then his son’s. You are the Duke of Ashurst.”

“Uncle Charlton must have thought much the same thing about his sons,” Rafe said as he circled the large desk and gingerly sat himself in the great leather chair. “George and Harold never went to war, never risked life and limb for our King. And yet I’m here, and they’re gone. Is it fate, do you think, Charlie? Or am I simply the accidental duke?”

Charlotte leaned forward in her chair, clasping her hands together on her knees. “May I tell you something?” she asked quietly.

“Please,” he said, daring to lean back in the chair, happy to believe he was not sharing it with his uncle’s ghost.

“You’re an ass, Rafe,” Charlotte said, sitting back once more.

Rafe laughed in spite of himself. “Such language! I beg your pardon.”

“And so you should. You’re the duke. The title is yours, all the titles are yours. You’ve had several long months to become used to that unalterable fact. This room is yours, this great hulking house is yours, the lands and farms and forestry and mills and all the rest of it are yours. George’s yacht would have been yours, as well, except it sank. Oh, and the wealth is yours. Considerable wealth, more than considerable wealth. So don’t you think it’s more than time you stopped playing at grateful pensioner or undeserving interloper—and began behaving as the duke?”

“Well, I—”

“You don’t tease with Grayson, or else risk giving him the upper hand,” she went on as if he hadn’t tried to speak. “I know your arrival was unexpected, but you’ve been home above an hour now, and still Grayson has not assembled the staff in the entrance hall to welcome you.”

“I don’t need—”

“Yes, you do! The staff has been answering to Grayson for eight long months, and Grayson has been answering to no one. Begin as you plan to go on, Rafe. Take charge. You were a captain in the King’s army, surely you know how to order men about, make them do your bidding. You sent them into battle, by God, to fight and perhaps die for you.”

“Running a household is scarcely akin to—”

“You think that? Oh, you poor deluded man. Grayson has been all but browbeating Mrs. Piggle—your housekeeper, Rafe—and the servants have aligned themselves with either one or the other. Ashurst Hall has been an armed camp since your uncle’s death, I swear it. You need to put your foot down, today, or else prepare for a mutiny.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you? Emmaline was in charge, surely. I can’t imagine Grayson or anyone else riding roughshod over her.”

Charlotte’s eyes, so steadily boring into his, shifted slightly, hidden behind her lowered eyelids. “She…Your aunt was in mourning.”

“Yes, of course. And then she was married. I can see why she wouldn’t have been paying too much attention to domestic matters.”

“Exactly!” she exclaimed, almost as if she was pouncing on his words. “Uh…yes, that’s exactly it. In any event, what should concern you is what steps you need to take to set things to rights. After all, Emmaline won’t be returning here, not now that she’s the Duchess of Warrington, and soon to present His Grace with an heir.”

Rafe looked at her in surprise. “She is? She never said any such thing in her letters to me.”

“No…ah…she wouldn’t have, would she.” Again Charlotte averted her gaze. “Perhaps she didn’t wish to speak of anything so private with a man? I received a post from her just today, apprising me of the coming happy event. Not even the twins know.” She lowered her chin slightly. “The twins most especially do not know.”

“Yes, and we’re back to the twins. My not quite grown, yet no longer quite children either sisters. You’re going to tell me I handled that badly, as well?”

“It could have gone better,” Charlotte said, shrugging. “I would have liked if Lydia could have been more animated. And Nicole a little less so. Lydia will give you no problems, Rafe.”

“But Nicole will?”

Charlotte sighed audibly. “As long as you’re aware, you should be able to handle her.”

“Really? How do you handle her, seeing as how Emmaline put you in charge of them?”

“I simply try to think of everything Nicole shouldn’t do, and then assume that she will. A plan not without its flaws, I’m afraid, as I find my mind is not half so devious as hers.”

“Now that’s unnerving, as I seem to recall that there was little you wouldn’t attempt. You were always either in a scrape or escaping one by the skin of your teeth. There were times I thought you headed for complete disaster, as I remember.”

“So I’ve been told,” Charlotte said rather tightly as she got to her feet, clearly cutting off that line of conversation. “Shall I ring for Grayson? You do need to put the man back in his place, and delaying that moment only undermines you more.”

“I’ll do it,” Rafe said, also rising. “Although I probably should change my clothes before I walk the length of the line, my hands clasped behind my back, solemnly accepting the bows and curtsies of my staff. God, Charlie, you know I’m going to laugh at some point, and make a total cake of myself.”

“Hide a straight pin in those clasped hands, and when you feel an undukely giggle coming on, simply stick yourself with it,” she suggested, already heading for the door.

“A straight pin. Of course. What would I do without you, Charlie?”

She hesitated as she got to the doorway, and then turned to face him for a moment, her smile finally back after what he’d been sure was an awkward moment, although he didn’t know why it had been awkward. “Keep calling me Charlie, Your Grace, and you might just find out!”

Rafe laughed out loud, watching her leave after having landed the perfect parting shot, and then shook his head, wondering why he suddenly felt so alone again.

He waited a few moments before following after her, hoping Phineas had ordered a bath prepared and unpacked at least one change of clothes for him by now.

As he mounted the stairs he continued to visually inspect his new home, the one he had run tame in often over the years, but only as his father’s son, the poor relation abandoned, yet again, by his flighty mother.

He’d be all right, he’d be fine in a few days. His new circumstances just needed some getting used to, that’s all.

Thank God he’d had the luck to stumble over good old Charlie—no, Charlotte. With Fitz out of commission, she was the only friend he had.

CHARLOTTE’S PACE increased as she neared the top of the staircase and turned down the hallway to her right, heading for Nicole’s bedchamber. Once again, firmly blocking thoughts of Rafe from her mind, she was a woman on a mission.

When she reached the door, she didn’t knock, but simply threw it open, stepped inside, slammed the thing behind her and declared, “You.”