Baxter drew in a breath. “I do have someone in mind.”
All eyes turned to him. “Really?” Vanity asked. “Who?”
Baxter drew in a breath. “Before I tell you—”
“Oh no,” Devonhall cut his brother off. “What are you planning?”
Baxter held up his hands. “Not planning.”
“Is it one of those earls from your club?”
“Not an earl,” Baxter swallowed. “Not a lord at all.”
“Who?” Vanity asked. “Is it another club owner? Someone who wants to have multiple gaming hells?”
“No,” Baxter winced. “Not another club owner at all. In fact, it’s not even a man.”
Ewan’s mouth dropped open. He’d been asked to be an objective judge. “That’s a terrible idea.”
Baxter raised his brows. “Thanks for withholding your judgment.”
“I’m with Ewan,” Devonhall growled out. “What women could possibly take over the club?”
Baxter stood straighter. “Our sister.”
Devonhall choked. “We don’t have a sister.”
“About that…” Baxter started.
Ewan looked over at his bride, who was facilitating her own awkward conversation. Family was never easy and he was so glad he had her here to help. Because this was going to take a while…
Did you thing Lords of Scandal was coming to an end? Find out about the sister of Devonhall and Baxter in 2022 with the first book in the next round of Lords of Scandal, The Queen of Hearts.
Also in this latest round of the Lords of Scandal series:
Earl of Gold
Earl of Baxter
Duke of Decadence
Marquess of Menace
Duke of Dishonor
Baron of Blasphemy
Viscount of Vanity
Earl of Infamy
Her Wicked White
Duke’s Dark Legacy
Benedict White, Duke of Whitehaven, sat at his desk. Well, his father’s desk, or at least the large piece of mahogany furniture still felt that way to him. He stared at a freshly poured glass of whisky. Its amber color winked in the firelight as he gently swirled the contents.
What a fucking shit day it had been, and it was only ten in the morning.
“Are you going to drink that, love?” a woman said from the doorway, giving him a practiced smile.
He glared at the wench who’d interrupted his thoughts. He’d hired her the night before with the intent of fucking her in his father’s bed. He’d ended up leaving her in the room to sleep alone while he’d sat, most of the night, with his back against his own headboard an entire floor away.
Again, he supposed the master’s bedroom was now his, but either way, he’d left the wench in the that bedroom alone. It turned out he didn’t hate his father enough to actually go through with the plan.
And he hadn’t the heart to send the woman home in the rain. That particular decision hadn’t worn well in the light of day.
Not there was much light. A hard rain still fell and had soaked him near to the bone as he’d stood outside at his father’s funeral.
His gut clenched. He wasn’t mourning. That much was clear. Their relationship had been difficult at best. But he wasn’t happy either. A feeling he couldn’t quite square.
“Here’s your coin.” He gestured to a satchel on the desk.
She sauntered into the room, hips swaying as she looked him up and down. “You’re paying me for sleeping in that thick feather mattress alone?” Her mouth tipped into a sultry grin.
His jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth might shatter. He’d never not bedded a woman before. It was damned odd, and he didn’t want to think about it, let alone discuss it with her. “Take your money and go.”
“There’s still time to do the deed.” She leaned forward, displaying what little cleavage she possessed. “You’re a very handsome man. I could enjoy a roll with one like you. Or a tup on the desk.”
His hand tightened around the glass. “Let me be clear. It’s time for you to go.”
She shrugged then. “What will people think? You inviting me here and then not…” She gave him a meaningful stare.
He stood then. She wasn’t the largest woman, and he was a tall man, more than six feet, his shoulders broader than most. He leaned over the desk, setting down his glass. “Are you threatening me?” His voice dropped low and deep. Her eyes widened and he pulled his lips tight over his teeth as he leaned closer. It had been a shit day and he was in no mood for whatever tricks she had in mind.
“Your Grace,” a second female said from the doorway. “Why don’t you send your friend off with a bit of extra coin for her trouble?”
He looked around the wench at his desk to his father’s second wife staring at him with her brows raised in a question. His father’s widow had to be younger than Ben. If he recalled correctly, the elder duke had decided to remarry after a decade of being alone. He’d picked the prettiest debutante of the season and wed her that spring. But the last Duke of Whitehaven had to have been thirty years older than his second wife.
Ben hadn’t attended the wedding; in fact he’d only been home once in the six years she’d been wed to his father. If he were honest, he didn’t even know the duchess’s name. Was telling his stepmother to fuck off appropriate?
But he kept his mouth shut and recognized that her suggestion made far more sense than intimidation, so he dug into his pocket and pulled out several more coins. Opening the satchel, he dropped them in and then extended his hand.
The wench took the coin, and with a smile, started for the door. “Your wife is very forgiving—and smart too.”
“I’m not his wife, dear.” The duchess said crossing her arms. “And you’d better leave before your mouth gets you into any more trouble.”
The other woman took the advice and with a final nod disappeared.
Ben returned to the seat and began staring into the glass of whisky once again. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d wished his father dead on multiple occasions. He’d only come here twice in the last ten years. Why should he be sullen now? He was finally free from his father’s tyrannical rule.
To be fair, he’d been free for years. His mother had left him a small amount of coin and Ben had used it wisely. He had a great affection and an even better eye for horseflesh. He’d used it to make a living among the elite.
The duchess walked into the room, the bottom of her soggy skirts dragging on the thick carpet.
She’d been the only other member of the family in attendance at the funeral, other than her five-year-old son. He ran his hand through his hair. His half-brother. What was the brat’s name again?
“We need to talk,” she said, taking the seat across from him.
He frowned, his eyes still on the glass. “Is it not apparent that I am not in a talking mood?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. A halo of blonde hair was expertly coiffed around her angelic features. Distantly, he recognized that she was an attractive woman. Odd, because he barely knew her, but she felt more like his sister than anything else. “If I caved to male blustering, I would have crumbled under your father’s iron rule years ago.”
His brows lifted and he had to confess, in that moment, he realized he’d underestimated this woman. She was excessively beautiful and rather well-endowed and he’d assumed that meant she was soft. “Fair enough.”
She straightened in her seat. “First I need to know if you plan to remove us from the house now that you’ve returned.”
Remove her from the house? He wasn’t the most caring man. In fact, he kept a great deal of distance between himself and…well…everyone but still. “What kind of selfish bastard do you think I am?”
She cocked her chin to the side as she assessed him. “I have no idea what kind of selfish bastard you are. Nor do I know what sort of selfish bastards your other brothers are. They’ve never graced me with their company and neither have you.”
“You’r
e a great deal saltier than I expected,” he said, finally taking a swallow of his whisky. Because the conversation required fortification.
“What did living with your father do to you?” she asked, one eyebrow quirking.
He sat back in his chair because the woman had a point. One he respected a great deal. “I’ve no intention of sending you away.”
Her shoulders slumped, relief clear in every line of her face. “Thank you.”
He was tempted to ask why she might think that. But why wouldn’t she? His father was as ruthless as he was pious. Of course, she’d expect the same from his eldest son.
His hand flexed around his drink. “I must confess. I don’t know your name.”
Her lips pressed together, a small sign of disapproval, before she answered. “Esme.”
“Benedict,” he returned.
“I know,” she said, sinking back in her chair. “Everyone knows the name of the heir to a dukedom, Your Grace. Just like I know most of the family calls you Ben.”
Called. They had called him Ben in his youth. He hadn’t seen a single one of his siblings in years. A niggle of regret worked its way into his stomach. Mayhap that was the whisky. But he wondered where his three brothers were now. What they’d done with themselves.
His sister…he knew she was tucked away at some finishing school. More the better for her.
The problem was that he now had two women under his protection. And Ben was a man who preferred to be lone wolf. He looked at Esme. She was young, attractive. She’d remarry easily enough. “Esme.”
She gave him a wary side glance. “Yes?”
“I am going to need your help.”
“How so?”
He fingered the glass. Subtly was not his strength, but he gave it his best attempt. “As soon as it’s proper, I’d like you to take Millicent to London. My sister should wed, posthaste.”
Esme gave a tentative nod. “Of course.”
“And if you should meet an engaging lord while you’re there…”
Her breath hissed. “You’d also like me to remarry as soon as possible.”
He was spared answering, when a knock sounded on the open door. Finally. A person who actually knocked. But as his eyes rose, he grimaced again.
Because standing in the doorway was his childhood friend, the Honorable Jacob Veritas. Being the third son of an earl, he’d entered the legal profession, becoming a barrister. Ben’s father’s barrister, to be precise.
“Your Grace,” Jacob gave a short bow. “May I come in?”
He’d been expecting Jacob. There were legal matters to be put right. Though much of his father’s estate was entailed, some money, land, and assets were not. Ben suspected his father’s dealings with the church had actually proven profitable.
His father had sunk deeper into his religious beliefs as he’d gotten older, not that they softened him in any way. In fact, they’d made him harder, more rigid. He’d lecture endlessly on sin. And the boys had gotten the stick often in the name of making them more pious. This entire house, Whitehaven, had been built with gothic revival architecture, in his father’s zeal for traditional religious beliefs.
Ben hated the house, and he had no intention of residing here. The only property he’d ever loved was the small estate, Cliffside, in Dover, where he’d travelled with his mother as a child. It was the only place he ever remembered being happy.
But since that house was not part of the entail, having come to his father as part of his mother’s dowry, he had no idea who would inherit the home. “Please, Mr. Veritas, join us. I am assuming you are familiar with the dowager duchess?”
Jacob gave a quick nod. “I am. And I’m glad you’re both here.”
His stomach dropped again, but he dismissed the feeling this time. Of course the barrister would have business with his father’s wife. “It’s good to see you,” he grunted in some acknowledgment of their past friendship. A friendship that had ended when Ben had decided relationships only made him weaker.
“And you as well. I’m sorry for the circumstances.” Jacob said, his tone professionally detached despite the situation and their past.
Now that Ben thought on it, it was damned odd that his former friend had been in his father’s employ. Jacob had seen his father’s tyranny firsthand on more than one occasion. “Let’s have this business done, shall we?”
Jacob took a seat, clearing his throat. “I’m afraid done isn’t really an option.”
What in the bloody hell did that mean? Ben grabbed his glass from the desk and took another long swallow. His head pounded from the lack of sleep and his nerves were frayed at the edges. “Explain.”
Jacob cleared his throat. “Your father left specific instructions on when and how his final will and testament would be shared.”
Ben scrubbed his face. “My father is dead. I’m the duke now and—”
Jacob held up his hand. “You could be king, it wouldn’t change the fact that legally I am bound to deliver his last wishes as he saw fit.”
Ben grunted. He’d always liked Jacob’s strength of character. Right now, of course, it was a bloody pain in the ass.
Esme cleared her throat. “And my dowry?”
Jacob winced. It was subtle but unmistakable and Ben sat a bit straighter. “You’re not aware of the details?”
“I’m afraid not,” Esme folded her hands in her lap.
Jacob scrubbed his face of emotion but not before Ben caught a muscle ticking in man’s jaw. “Your father retained much of it.”
Esme was silent for several moments, looking down at her hands before she lifted her head. “And my husband. Did he add to what he received?”
Jacob gave a small shake to his head.
Ben let out a growl deep in his throat. Had he been mourning his father? This was exactly the reminder he’d needed that while his father preached about how they should uphold moral standards, the man himself had been a selfish bastard. How was Esme supposed to remarry without any funds? “And did my father leave anything for the boy?”
“Caleb,” Esme said with a nod, her eyes filled with pain. “Your brother’s name is Caleb, Your Grace.”
A different regret lanced through him. Another little boy had been subject to his father and Ben hadn’t done a thing. He’d known about it, was man enough to fight it, but he’d stayed away, left Esme and Caleb to face his father on their own.
He shook his head. He didn’t need these feelings. He was a man who stayed apart.
“He did leave instructions for the boy,” Jacob added, shifting in his seat. “And there is an inheritance for each of you, but your father was clear: the details will only be read when all seven of you are assembled together.”
“All seven of us?” Ben rumbled, standing from his chair, his stance wide and his face surely showing his displeasure.
“That’s correct.” Jacob didn’t budge, didn’t show even a modicum of fear as Ben stood over him. No wonder his father had hired him. He had fortitude even against the White fits of temper. “You and Lady Whitehaven, who are obviously already here. Your brothers Lord White, Lord Destrian, and Lord Sayden. And of course, your sister, Lady Millicent, along with Lord Caleb.”
“Impossible,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “We’ve not been all together in more than a decade.”
Jacob shrugged. “The instructions are clear. In addition, your father told me to tell you that you should find the motivation to see the family gathered together as he had gifted something to you that was very near and dear to your heart.”
Cliffside. How had the man known it’s what he wished for more than anything? He dropped his fist onto the surface of the desk, a loud thump filling the room. The old man was controlling, manipulating even from the grave. Ben could only imagine that some moral lesson was also wrapped up in this peculiar meeting. Some value he wanted his children to learn. And while that sounded like good parenting, his father’s lessons always had a cruel twist. “I don’t have the first clue wh
ere my brothers are. They could be anywhere in the world.”
Esme cleared her throat. “I don’t have any idea where Lord Sayden or Lord Justice have taken themselves t,o but Lord White, when not on his ship, resides near where your sister attends school.”
Destrian lived near Millicent? Why did that information make him feel both better and worse? He was glad to know his brother had been watching out for her all these years, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been neglectful on that front too. “So, I can collect them both in one trip?”
“That’s right,” Esme nodded.
He let out a long breath. “And which village would that be?”
Esme blinked several times. “You don’t know?”
His mouth thinned again. Did the woman not understand that she now lived by his pleasure? “I don’t need a dose of guilt with my information.”
She gave him a hard stare. “Westcliff. It’s a village near Dover.”
Ben’s eyes widened in surprise. He could just send for them, of course. They’d most likely come. Then again, perhaps they wouldn’t. They hadn’t attended the funeral and Destrian was a man whose will matched Ben’s. If he didn’t wish to come…
Ben’s mouth pressed into a taut line. He understood Dez’s position. In his brother’s place, he wouldn’t answer the summons either. Ben would have to go to them. Truth be told, leaving this house would do him some good. The walls of the massive estate were somehow closing in on him. And he could visit Cliffside, see the place that reminded him of the best parts of himself.
“Mr. Veritas, do you have any ideas where my other two brothers might be?”
“No, Your Grace, but I have taken the liberty of finding two detectives with excellent reputations. I can employ their services if you would like.”
He gave a stiff nod. “See it done.”
Then he sat back at the desk and grabbed a quill, beginning a letter to Dez. He’d write another to Millicent.
It looked as though the White family was due for a reunion.
Want to read more of the first in this new series, the Dark Duke’s Legacy? Order copy of Her Wicked White today!
Laird of Longing: Regency Romance Page 10
