Duke Ever After (Dukes' Club Book 5) (13 page)

Tony allowed himself to be enfolded and he clapped his father on the back but then he pushed away.

“Morning, my lad,” Derek said, studying his son’s face. The young man looked damned serious.

“Da, what the devil were you thinking last night?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Yes you do. Don’t treat me like all the other fools.”

“He doesn’t treat me like a fool,” Charles put in.

Benson cleared his throat from the door. “Coffee, Your Grace?”

“Yes.” Derek sighed. He wasn’t accustomed to being brought out on the carpet. And certainly not by his son, but he wasn’t going to dismiss the boy. “Plenty, Benson. Thank you.”

“You’ve taken a fondness to Lady Rosamund,” Derek observed.

“Who wouldn’t?” Tony said.

“It seems everyone loves her.” To his own shock, Derek realized he sounded damned bitter.

“Yes,” Tony said. “She’s that sort. Generous. Happy. Kind. And you went and—“

“Treated her like a whore,” Derek supplied before grinding his teeth together.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Glad to see you know.”

“Look here, puppy,” Derek warned. “erek damned complicated.”

“No.”

Aston blinked. “No?”

“You behaved like an arse,” Tony said passionately. “You’re going to apologize.”

Derek cocked his head to the side. “I am, am I?”

“Yes. You are.”

Derek stared at his young son, both awed and furious. He was delighted Tony wasn’t afraid to tell him what was what and stand up to him, but he didn’t like being told what to do. No one told him. Whether in London or Singapore.

“I’m right, Da,” Tony said softly.

The bluster that had been building up inside Derek faded like hot air from one of those marvelous new flying balloons. “Yes. I suppose you are.” 

“You behaved in an appalling manner.”

“You already said it.” Derek plunged a hand through his hair. “He’s said it, too.”

Tony nodded. “Brilliant. I hope all London says it. Otherwise, you’ve caused irreparable damage.”

Derek blew out a harsh breath. How had he managed to cock things up so badly in one encounter? Because he’d been having feelings he hadn’t had since childhood. That’s why. And frankly, he’d no idea how to manage them. How did one manage abject jealousy when one had never felt it before?

“Was it very bad? After we left?” Derek asked.

Tony, in a gesture that was an exact and unconscious copy of the one Derek had just done, plunged a hand through his black hair, leaving it wild. He crossed to a settee and threw himself down. “For a moment there, it did seem as if they were all going to strike, but thank God for the Dowager Duchess of Hunt. What with her smiling and fan waving, they all acted like naught had happened. Rosamund especially. They all laughed and grinned. Myself, too. And someone else, a boring chap, asked her to dance and next thing you knew, everyone had called off the hounds.”

“So, she her reputation’s not a bloody mess?” Derek found himself holding his breath. He’d been the one so determined that she not throw her reputation away in Scotland. How had it come to transpire that he was the one to run it into the mud? His balls. His stupid, large, offended balls. That’s how. And he hated himself for it.

Tony tugged at his cravat. “In all honesty? I don’t know. You never know how the old crows are going to turn. We shall have to see what the gossip mills say this morning. Only a few more hours to wait and see.”

Derek nodded. “I should have set sail yesterday.”

“Running away, Da?”

“She’s not like the others, lad.”

“I know that.” A look of nigh worship crossed Tony’s face. “She’s bloody marvelous. Are you sure you don’t want to make her my mother?”

Derek felt his blood run cold. Not with horror, but at the sheer fear of doing something which might give him more happiness than he could ever imagine. He didn’t deserve such happiness. A man like him would never deserve Lady Rosamund. Not like that.

“She’s no wish to marry, Tony. Surely she made that clear to you?”

Charles perked up. “I do beg your pardon, but why would she tell your son?”

Tony squirmed. “Lady Rosamund is my friend, if you must know.”

Charles gave him an incredulous stare. “How? You’ve just come down from school. You’re a burgeoning rakehell. What are you doing making friends with young ladies like that? And how have you been accepted into her good graces so quickly? Who introduced you?”

Charles’ sobering line of questions sent a shiver down Derek’s spine. If Charles was wondering, would other people? The whole
ton
knew Tony was his son. They’d made no secret of it. In fact, Tony was known to have quite a fortune of his own. And while some might give him a sniff and narrowed glance, most accepted him into the fold with no mention of his bastardy.     Would Tony ever be free of it? Certainly not. And many young ladies would never be allowed to dance with him let alone marry him, but Tony wasn’t an outcast because Derek had made certain that anyone who disparaged him would be dragged into hell and left there.

“It’s none of your bloody business, Charles,” Derek warned coolly.

Charles held up his hands. “Fine. Fine. You all are remarkably and mysteriously close. But the lad’s right, Aston. Why don’t you just make her your duchess? She’s a perfect candidate. Wealthy, beautiful, the sister of a duke. Couldn’t be any better, old man.”  

Charles suddenly coughed and choked. “Good God, what am I saying? Did I just advise marriage?”

“You did, and you’re the third person, the second in a matter of minutes,” Derek said, glaring at Charles then his son, then back to Charles again, “to suggest it.”

“Clearly, it’s a good suggestion then,” Tony said.

“Bad logic there, puppy,” Derek countered. “Majority is not an indicator that something’s good.”

“Your father has a point there young’un. When the majority clamors, make sure you’re not running with sheep.”

“So, you do want to marry her though, Da?” Tony asked, a hopeful note in his voice. “Is that it? But she won’t? Have you asked her?”

Derek felt the decided and unfamiliar urge to squirm. “That’s a damned personal question.”

“Who better to ask?” Tony quipped.

Derek smiled. “No one. You’re the only one who’d dare.”

“Then?” prompted his son.

“No.” Derek gave a decisive shake of his head, possibly to convince himself as much as to convince his company. “I haven’t and I won’t. Lady Rosamund deserves better than my used up old carcass.”

Charles gagged. “What nauseating self-pity. In what way are you a carcass? You’re also wealthy. You’re a duke. You’re good looking.”

“You’ve noticed? Charles, I’m touched,” Derek drawled.

Charles snorted. “Stuff it, old boy.”

“It’s my
insides
that are rotting, Charles.”

“To the core. Certainly,” Charles parried. “But what does that matter if you like each other? Dukes have to marry inevitably, now don’t they? Why not her?”

Derek drew in a harsh breath. He could never explain it to Charles, to the world, to Rosamund, but he simply couldn’t do what so many were advising him to do. So, it was simpler to pin his inability on Rosamund.

“Look,” Derek said quietly. “You make good argument, but none of that matters. She told me. Her brother told me. She’s no wish to marry. Why should she? As you point out Charles, she’s wealthy and highly placed. She’s far too clever to throw herself away on marriage.”

“You’re still going to go apologize, Da,” Tony put in, “lest you think we’ve forgotten.”

The door swung quietly open and Benson snuck in, bearing a tray laden with coffee and pastries.

The scent wafted through the air and an appreciative and collective groan met the arrival of the heavenly beverage.

“Thank you, Benson,” Derek said. “We are beholden to you.”

Benson bowed, stoic to the core, and backed out of the room.

Tony, being a boy still in many ways and having a body that burned through food like fire through a ship’s rigging, jumped up and headed for the morning repast. “Shall I be mother?”

Charles laughed. “Please do, puppy.”

Without so much as a hint of chagrin, Tony poured the coffee into the delicate cups and passed them out.

Derek clutched his like a lifeline, inhaled the steam and nearly passed out from the simple, but perfect, pleasure. He drank and, after a few moments, the world didn’t seem quite so brittle.

Tony stuffed a piece of fruited bread in his mouth and masticated voraciously.

“Dear boy, this is not a barnyard,” Charles instructed, sipping at his coffee with surprisingly good manners.

Tony rolled his eyes then said around a mouthful, “I have been out all night with no sustenance since midnight supper.”

“The horror,” teased Derek.

Tony stuffed another slice of bread in his mouth in answer.

“Lads today,” sighed Charles. “No stamina.”

Tony glared but made no reply as he chewed.

Derek strode to the window and peered out. London had come alive in the last hour. The pavement was already filled with fashionable people heading to the park and the street itself was choked with stylishly turned out riders and gleaming coaches.

“How the devil do I apologize?” he asked as he studied the passersby. “If I go and knock on her door, shall I not simply be adding to the attention I directed at her last night?”

“Yes.” Tony gulped his coffee audibly as he clearly mulled the problem over.

“Since when have you been concerned about front doors?” Charles asked. “Windows are more your thing. Mine, too, point of fact.”

He arched a silencing brow at Charles.

It was true. Neither of them were purely front door men. Both of them had made mad dashes at the sound of husbandly footsteps heading down the hall. He was also a remarkably good climber, having scaled many a back wall to gain admittance to a tryst. However, he wasn’t necessarily interested in giving Tony ideas. The lad already had success with the ladies. He didn’t need to hear about sneaking in through the rear.

“Splendid idea!” exclaimed Tony. “Why don’t we go in through the back garden? Over the wall and all that. Very Daniel Defoe and
The Three Musketeers
.”

Charles snorted. “We are not The Three Musketeers.”

“Clearly not,” said Tony. “I am too young. If I’m anyone, I’m d’Artagnan.”

“You read too many novels,” Charles declared.

“Blasphemy!” declared Tony.

Charles’ lips twitched.

Tony had never been to Charles’ dueling club and so had never seen the extensive library that the lord had been unable to keep himself form installing, even in a club meant to be martial. It was one of the largest private collections in London.

As if Charles’ thoughts were in alignment, he asked, “Now, why haven’t you tried to join my club, young’un?”

“It’s rather exclusive,” Tony pointed out as he helped himself to another cup of coffee.

Charles held his own cup out. “And?”

Tony seemed off foot as he filled up the rather infamous dueling lord’s drink. Tony swallowed then managed, “I didn’t know. . . I didn’t know. . .”

“Bastards are always welcome on my doorstep, young’un,” Charles assured gently. “Especially if they have your taste and style.”

Tony’s shoulders straightened with pride.

Derek ground his teeth and forced himself to appear unfazed by the interaction between Charles and his son. He’d never had to face the crowds as a bastard. No, that knowledge had been private and his father had made him ashamed of it until the day he’d finally been relieved that the old man wasn’t his real father. Still, he knew that, deep down, Tony was sometimes afraid of how men he admired looked at him.

It was hard to live under a shadow, no matter how much support one had or how carefree one seemed.

Derek was tempted to give Charles a grateful look, but he didn’t want Tony to see it. He wanted Tony to know that Charles respected him for his own sake. Not his father, the duke’s.

“So. . .” Tony waggled his brows. “We’re going then?”

“No,” Derek cut in quickly. If he had to go to his own doom, he was bloody well doing it on his own.

Tony’s brows shot up. “But. . But. . “

“I’m going. Never fear. But I’m going alone,” Derek said. “You go upstairs and sleep.”

“But who will keep lookout?” Tony demanded, brandishing his coffee as if it might somehow solidify his point.

At last, Derek laughed. He couldn’t help himself. Tony was a romantic. Of that, there was no debate.

“This is not one of your serial novels, lad,” Derek said, trying to gain composure. “I’ll attract far less attention if I’m on my own.”

“He’s correct,” Charles added. “How about you and I go and get a proper breakfast. I know a public house not too far that serves the best oysters—“

“Charles,” Derek growled.

“Yes?” Charles asked innocently.

“He’s already been corrupted by me.”

“So how could I possibly hurt the innocent flower any further?”

Tony sputtered, “Did you just call me an innocent flower?”

“Shhh, young’un,” Charles hushed. “The adults are sparring.”

Derek shook his head. “Fine. Oysters. But nothing else.”

Tony grinned and crossed over to Charles, pulling up the older man from the floor.

There was a long pause as Charles and Tony stared expectantly at Derek.

“I’ll head over then.” Derek felt his spirits lag. He’d never had to do anything like this before. . . And well, he wasn’t sure where to begin.

Tony hesitated. “Da?”

“Yes?”

“Take a bath.”

Another laugh boomed from Derek’s throat. “That bad, eh?”

Tony sniffed with dramatic effect. “You smell like the East End.”

“A damned fine scent,” Charles put in. “But not to the ladies.”

“Go,” Derek ordered. “Go, both of you, so I can prepare myself to beg the lady’s pardon.”

“Ask her to marry you. For the hell of it,” Charles drawled. “Every man should put his neck in the noose once.”

“My neck has been in danger more times than I can count but not from a woman.”

And asking Rosamund to marry him was the one thing he’d never do. No matter how much a deep, unacknowledged part of him might wish to.