Kasey Michaels - How to Tempt a Duke

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.”

“Men are always ruled by petticoats when you get right down to it, Your Grace,” Phineas said, helping to ease the superbly tailored jacket from Rafe’s broad shoulders. “That’s what m’father warned me when I was just a little tyke. Be he beggar or king, m’father would say, a man is bound to find himself under some woman’s thumb sooner or later.”

“Thank you for sharing your father’s insight with me, Phineas. But I am not under any woman’s thumb. I’m merely going along with what Miss Seavers suggests because she is more familiar with—And why am I bothering to say any of this to you?”

“I’m sure I have no idea, Your Grace,” Phineas said, not turning away quickly enough to hide his smile. “I’ll just go hang up your jacket now, seeing as how you’ve only the three rigouts until that mess of fine clothes you ordered in London catches up with us.”

Rafe stood in front of the cheval glass to adjust his hacking jacket more comfortably on his shoulders. His new wardrobe was a far cry from the uniforms he’d worn—lived in, slept in, shared with lice and other vermin more often than he’d like to remember. Broiled in during the hot summers, frozen in for several cold winters.

“Phineas? Where are my uniforms?”

“Burned, Your Grace,” the Bow Street runner turned valet said as he brushed at the discarded jacket. “Couldn’t go selling the King’s uniform to no bowwow shop, now could I? The dregs of London lording it about on Piccadilly as if they were real soldiers? Weren’t any use to you anymore, Your Grace.”

“Burned? So they’re gone?” Rafe felt a sudden desire to see his uniforms one more time. Surely not a rational thought. They’d been a part of his life for so many years; he’d planned to remain in uniform until Phineas had showed up with his startling, life-changing news.

“Excepting the ribbons and the braid and the buttons and such, yes, Your Grace. Sir? Your Miss Seavers is most probably waiting on you downstairs.”

“Right,” Rafe said, checking his appearance one last time. He knew his brown-and-tan riding clothes to be fashionable as well as proper, but he did miss the scarlet. He knew who he was in the scarlet.

He didn’t know who he was now at all.

His hand had just touched the banister when he looked over the railing to see Charlie standing in the entrance hall. She was dressed in a close-fitting navy hussar’s jacket and divided riding skirt, a matching shako hat tipped to one side on her head. She was tapping one booted foot in time with each impatient strike of his hat against her thigh.

He still couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around the idea that Charlie had grown up.And grown up so prettily, too. He didn’t know where she planned to take him, but they really should have a groom riding along behind them, as a young woman so beautiful, so eligible, should not be with a man unless chaperoned in some way.

As if Rafe was planning to pounce on her in any way. Which he wasn’t.

Even if the thought had occurred to him.

“My apologies, Charlie,” he called out as he rapidly descended the staircase. “I had not received your order until a few minutes ago.”

She looked up at him, frowning. “My order?”

“Yes,” he said, crossing the entrance hall to take his hat from her. “Something about showing my pretty face somewhere?”

Charlotte winced rather comically. “I must remember that servants have an unnerving way of quoting back just what they should forget, and forgetting just what they should commit to memory. I’m sorry, Rafe. But I did think this is something best not put off for another day. I suggest we begin with the forestry operations, and then continue to the cottages of the farm laborers, and then the mill. Or perhaps you’d like to ride into the village?”

“We could have discussed this all last evening, if you had deigned to appear at dinner.”

“I was otherwise detained,” she said unapologetically, although her gaze slid away from his rather guiltily. “I had to visit my parents with my maid and collect a few items I needed. Forgive me for not realizing you’d be lost without my presence.”

“Touché, Charlie, your point is well-taken. I did miss you, as it left me staring down that long table while my sisters pointedly ignored me, Nicole talking nineteen to the dozen about some new bonnet ribbons while Lydia reinforced my initial conclusion that she’s frightened to death of me.”

“Lydia will come around. She’s rather bookish. Quiet. I think you should be grateful. They are twins, remember, and both of them could be like Nicole.”

“Heaven forfend,” Rafe said facetiously, throwing up his hands. “Lydia’s bookish? That can’t be good, not if she’s smarter than the gentlemen around her. Is she really a budding bluestocking?”

“Not quite, but she is a very serious young woman. Girl. She’s always got her nose in a book, and very nearly lives in the library most days, curled up on a window seat with her latest discovery.”

Rafe considered this for a moment. “Then she might be the one to choose some reading material for Fitz. He only a few minutes ago begged that someone come read to him.”

“Oh, I doubt Lydia would ever dare to enter the man’s bedchamber. But I can ask her to select a few books she might think Fitz would enjoy and have a servant deliver them to him.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. I mean, not that Fitz would ever—that is, Lydia is only a child, and—oh, hell, Charlie, I don’t know what I mean. Is it cowardly of me to admit that I don’t have the faintest idea of how to take care of my own two sisters? There I sat last night, at the dinner table, wildly attempting to come up with something to say that might engage them in conversation somehow. But what do I know of what would interest a female of that age?”

Charlotte looked at him in real sympathy. “You’re worried they won’t like you, aren’t you? Oh, Rafe, that’s so sweet. I don’t think most men would care a fig what two sixteen-year-old siblings thought of them.”

“Somebody has to be responsible for them.”

“Responsible, yes. But you actually care. That’s so sweet.”

“Charlie, tell me I’m being sweet one more time and I swear I’m going to leave you standing here and go drink down half my uncle’s wine cellars.”

“Very well, we’ll get down to business. You’ve greeted the staff here, but you’ve many more souls who depend on the duke’s living for their bread and butter and the roofs over their heads. They need to see you. Mr. Cummings is a competent steward, but they’ve been too long without a real master.”