Duke of Decadence

by Tammy Andresen

  “You need staff.”

  She gasped. “Bash. No. I already owe you too large a debt.”

  He sighed. He wished he could kiss her. “I’ve already told you, you’re making the club a king’s ransom. You need staff.” Then he slipped his arm from her grasp. He wished he could stay. But he needed to speak with his brother.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Isabella watched Bash leave.

  She could barely contain her heart in her chest.

  She could feel her sister’s stare but she ignored it. If she looked at Eliza, her sister would know how she felt about Bash.

  “I’ve good news for you, Abigail.” Eliza cut the silence with her declaration.

  Isabella didn’t look over at Eliza, however. Instead, she continued to stare where Bash had disappeared.

  “What’s that?” Abigail asked.

  “You likely won’t be marrying the first purse that presents itself.” Eliza stood then and crossed to Isabella in the doorway. She gently touched Isabella’s sleeve. “Our sister is about to be a duchess.”

  That made Isabella start, and she turned to her sister. Her jaw dropped open. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m not.” Eliza gave her that smug sort of smile only an elder sister was capable of. “He’s going to marry you. And soon.”

  Isabella shook her head. “He turned down my offer to be his—” She stopped short, realizing her younger sisters were listening.

  Eliza’s smile only grew wider. “Because he cares too much to cast you in that role. It’s the only explanation. I’ve been wracking my brain and I can’t think of another.”

  Heat coursed through her as she considered that possibility. She’d never even considered it, truth be told. “But I’m just a merchant’s daughter and he’s a—"

  “He’s a man who can have whatever he wishes in this world and what he wishes for is you. I can see it. Why else would he be doing so much for us?”

  Isabella shook her head. Part of her wanted to believe too. But another part cautioned herself that she was headed for disaster if she let this hope in. “If what you say is true, then why hasn’t he asked for my hand already?”

  Eliza reached for her hand and squeezed her fingers. “If you find the answer to that question, you’ll likely break down the last of his defenses and receive an offer of marriage.”

  Isabella shook her head. “I can’t risk it, Eliza. What if he leaves us the way…” She swallowed down the rest of the words. Depending on anyone but her sisters had never worked out for her.

  “He’s not going anywhere.” Eliza gave a small laugh. “Lucky you. A handsome duke has fallen madly in love with you.”

  Love? Was it even possible that Bash felt the same way she did?

  But the sound of a carriage on the street interrupted her thoughts. Had Bash pulled around front?

  Before she could even ask the question of why, banging started on their front knocker. “Open the door, now.”

  Uncle Malcolm.

  Fear pulsed down her overset body and she reached for the door jamb to steady herself.

  “What is he doing here at this time of night?” Emily whispered as though he might hear them.

  “It can’t be good, whatever it is.” Abigail stood, blowing out a candle on the table next to her. “I say we ignore him and pretend to have slept through the racket.”

  “I agree,” Isabella replied. She’d learned enough about men these past few weeks to know when to leave one be. “At this time of the evening, who knows if he’s been drinking or—”

  “I know you’re in there and I’ll break down the door if I have to. This house, and everything in it is mine. At least until I sell it at the week’s end. Then it will be the new buyer’s.”

  Emily gasped but another set of carriage wheels could be heard on the cobblestones.

  Quickly, Isabella crossed to the window. Even in the dark, she recognized Bash’s carriage.

  A sigh of relief made her go limp.

  Bash exited his carriage looking tall and so handsome in the moonlight. “Step away from that door,” he bellowed.

  Her sisters joined her at the window. “Oh, Eliza’s right. He is going to marry you,” Emily sighed. “How wonderfully romantic.”

  “Uncle Malcolm just said he’s selling our house,” Abigail said, her voice clipped. “Let’s be outraged, shall we?”

  “His Grace will stop him.” Emily asserted as she pointed toward the street.

  “This is my door,” Uncle Malcolm spun about. “I don’t know why you’re meddling but not even you can stop this. I’ve had Lucas pronounced dead.”

  Isabella gasped. He’d had their father declared deceased? Those words cut deep because she feared it was true but even if it wasn’t, the declaration gave Uncle Malcolm a great deal of power.

  “You’d turn your own nieces out onto the street?” Bash asked. “What kind of man are you?”

  Uncle Malcolm shook his fist. “The bastard cut me out of everything. The business, the inheritance. This is the only thing he’s left unprotected and I’ll make him pay for what he’s done.”

  “The business is protected but we’re not?” Eliza grit out between her teeth. “That’s rich.”

  “Papa thought Mama would protect us,” Emily said, sounding uncharacteristically defensive. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  Abigail smacked the window frame. “I’m with Eliza on this one. How are we going to attract husbands without a home to entertain them in?”

  The conversation continued below. Bash’s voice was easy to hear from their second story. “I’ve little doubt in my mind that he had very good reasons. In fact, I’m certain I know what they are.”

  “I don’t give a damn what you know. And I can’t stop you from meddling, but I know you arranged for my nieces to be introduced into society. Think you’ll marry them off, do you? Make them safe and sound? How will you do that without a home for them?”

  Uncle Malcolm’s voice rose with every word, maniacal glee making him sound almost mad.

  “Why does he want to hurt us so much?” Isabella asked.

  “Papa was forever getting in his way,” Abigail answered.

  “I’ll buy the house,” Bash said, standing tall and straight. “You’ll get your piece, and everyone will be happy.”

  “I don’t want them to be happy,” her uncle snarled back. “The world gives them everything all the time.”

  Bash scoffed. “They are sitting in a house with no parents and no servants, barely eating. How can you even say that?”

  Malcolm spit. “You’ll see. They’ll bounce back better than ever. It’s what they do. It’s what their father did.”

  Bash shook his head. “It’s time for you to leave.”

  “No.” Malcolm pointed toward the house. “It’s time for them to leave my house.”

  Bash was on Uncle Malcolm in a second. Before Isabella could blink, he’d bounded up the stairs and had Uncle Malcolm by the shirt collar.

  Isabella heard their uncle’s back crash into the door.

  Bash wanted to strangle the life from this man and watch the air leave his lungs. But he eased back the grip he had on the old letch’s throat. Not even a duke could kill a baron without just cause.

  Though he might have argued his cause was fairly just.

  But he hated when he allowed the violence to take over. “You’re lucky I’m a nice person,” he gritted out through his teeth.

  The older man sneered back. “Well, I’m not. Get them out of my house.”

  Hadn’t the man learned his lesson? Bash pushed him back into the door, pressing on his throat again. “They’ll spend the night right where they are at. I’m not asking.”

  Lord Pennington tried to push him off. “It’s my house.”

  “Unless you want me to blacklist you from every business happening in all of London, you’ll get in your carriage and return home right now. Then you’ll come to my office first thing in the morning where we will d
iscuss this like gentlemen.”

  Pennington let out a snarl but gave a tiny nod of assent. Bash eased back and the man pushed past him to climb into his carriage. “Tomorrow at ten,” he called out as he snapped open the door and climbed in.

  Once the carriage had disappeared down the street, he turned back to the door, raising his hand to knock. But he didn’t get the chance.

  The door flew open and Isabella launched herself into his arms.

  The second her body crashed into his, he knew what he was going to do. “Get your aunt up out of bed. You’re all coming with me.”

  “What?” Isabella asked, pulling her face back. “Going where?”

  “To my home,” he answered. “Where I know you’ll be safe.”

  “Forgive me, Your Grace, but that just isn’t proper.” Eliza said from the doorway, but she didn’t sound scandalized. Not even a little.

  “You’ve got no other place to go, am I correct?” he asked, not bothering to let Isabella go. She felt too good in his arms.

  Eliza gave him a knowing smile. “It would be far more proper if there was a promise.”

  For just a second, he didn’t understand and then he realized. Eliza was angling for a match between him and Isabella.

  “Eliza!” Isabella stepped away from him to spin toward her sister.

  He missed her body next to his. “That’s a conversation for the morning. After the conversation where I convince your uncle to sell your house to me.” He gave Eliza a hard stare. She didn’t know what she asked. “If we could just face one complication at a time.”

  Eliza crossed her arms staring right back. “If only there was a solution that solved all our problems.”

  His mouth pinched into a hard line. “Of course, marrying a duke would save you from all your problems. That’s why every girl wants such a match.” He was tired and worried, and he didn’t want to have to explain why he couldn’t marry Isabella. Even if he wanted to. “But I can’t save every girl in England with a marriage proposal.”

  He heard Isabella’s gasp and he knew he’d gone too far. He reached for her hand. “Isabella. It’s not that—”

  She jerked her hand away. “Eliza speaks out of turn.” Her voice was shaky. “We all appreciate what you’ve done for us and it was rude of my sister to imply you needed to do more.”

  But her face was pinched, and her eyes showed her hurt. They crinkled in pain even as her other features grew taut.

  “Try to understand. My past. I can’t be that man for you.” He ran a hand through his hair. Of course, she didn’t understand. How could she?

  “I never asked you to be. I’ve never asked you for anything that I didn’t try to give in even trade.” She stood straighter. “My father taught me the principles of business a long time ago.”

  So that was why she was always so concerned?

  “A lesson my sister has forgotten.”

  “I have not,” Eliza returned. “I have every confidence that His Grace,” she put special emphasis on his title, “will get more from that bargain than you will.”

  “Eliza,” Isabella said with a force that Bash had never heard from her. “That is enough. Go back inside and wake up our aunt. We’re leaving.”

  Bash relaxed to know that they were coming with him. But he also wondered what sort of damage he’d just done. Isabella had been hurt.

  And he also had to wonder if Eliza was right.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bash sat behind his desk with a large glass of whisky in front of him. He’d gotten the sisters settled about an hour ago and had retreated to his office. Which meant Isabella was sleeping under his roof.

  His hand shook as he reached for his glass.

  He’d sent a missive to his brother, Mason. Who was likely furious about being pulled from his bride’s bed. But he’d come.

  Mason loved him. So he’d answer the call no matter how furious he was with his brother.

  Bash took a large swallow of the amber liquid in front of him. He hadn’t been doing much drinking of late, but he needed it tonight. Because every time he stopped to think, all he could picture was crawling into bed next to the woman who’d plagued his thoughts for weeks.

  “You called?” Mason said from the door, clearly having bypassed the butler.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said as he stood.

  “You knew I would.” Mason shook his hand and then settled into the chair across from him. “As you were the one who rescued me from that dank excuse of a medical facility and basically bought me a title, I can’t see how I might refuse you a thing.”

  “You earned the title with your valor on the battlefield,” Bash said as he took another swallow. “And you’re my brother. How could I not rescue you?”

  “I’m your bastard brother. Most men would have allowed me to die there.”

  Bash chuckled a bit at that. “You weren’t dying. You’d already begun recovering. You’re pigheaded that way. I didn’t do much. Just carried you back to London.”

  Mason shook his head as he looked up at the ceiling. “We’ll agree to disagree. What brings me here tonight?”

  “Isabella.” The single word fell from his lips as he scrubbed his hands through his hair.

  “Ah.” Mason smiled. “The pretty card dealer. Of course.” He shifted. “Have you deflowered her?”

  Bash’s hands thumped onto the desk, irritation rippling down his back. “I did not.”

  Mason’s eyebrows went up. “I meant no disrespect. I myself may have taken liberties with Clarissa…” He cleared his throat. “I know you care about her.”

  He waved his hand. “She’s here.”

  Mason blinked twice. “You’re going to have to catch me up, I’m afraid. I can’t seem to follow the conversation.”

  With another swallow, Bash told Mason the events of the night, starting with the man at the club and ending with the uncle’s threats. “The man is completely warped. He thinks he’s owed the business and he’s willing to toss his nieces onto the street because he’s not getting it. It’s his job to care for them but he’s left them to rot on their own.”

  “Indecent.” Mason scowled. “Men like that should be…” But he didn’t finish as he rubbed his jaw. “What are you going to do?”

  Bash spread his hands out on the desk. “Eliza, Isabella’s sister, thinks that I should marry my little card dealer.”

  “I agree,” Mason said without hesitation. “I’ve met her, if you recall. She’s perfect for you. Smart, sweet, sensitive, and extremely pretty. She’d make an excellent wife.”

  “Just like that?” Bash sat back in his chair, staring at his brother.

  “You have to marry eventually. You’ll need an heir.” Mason shrugged. “Have you met anyone better?”

  “No. But I haven’t met anyone worse either.” He shifted, staring down at the swirling liquid in his glass.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that she brings out this fire in me that reminds me…” He shifted the glass, watching the light shimmer off the cut glass. “I’m more like him.”

  Mason sucked in his breath. “Horseshit.”

  He looked up at his brother then. “It’s not.”

  “It is.” Mason pushed up from his chair. “He would have never saved me and our father, the Demon Duke, would never in a million years have tried to save her. You’re less like him than any man I know, and don’t you forget it.”

  “You didn’t know me before. Before I gave up the anger and you don’t know what I’ll be like if it comes back. She strips me of my control.”

  “Your anger would be to protect her,” Mason fired back. “You’re a man, Bash. You’re supposed to protect your woman. It’s your job to funnel the hostility and aggression into keeping her safe. And when you have children…you’ll use it to keep them safe too. It’s our sole purpose in this world. Even our work is meant to provide for them.”

  “But I feel it taking control…what if I hurt her the way he hurt us? W
hat if I lay hands on her?” His throat itched and he took another swallow. Because he’d never forgive himself if he hurt her.

  “Then I’ll kill you myself,” Mason said but he came around the desk and patted his shoulder. “But I won’t have to. You’re not him. You’ve never been him and you never will be. I know you, Bash. I always have.”

  Did his brother really mean that?

  And if it were true, what was keeping him from the woman he loved?

  Isabella couldn’t sleep. She turned over again, pushing into the fluffy pillow. The thick blankets had her toasty warm on a freezing January night as she sunk into the luxurious mattress.

  And she’d been exhausted for days. By all accounts, she should be sound asleep.

  But…she was in Bash’s house.

  He was here, somewhere. Was he in bed too?

  That made her tense. Was he without his clothes?

  She sat up in the luxurious bed. What did that matter? He’d been exceedingly clear that they had no future. She shouldn’t be picturing him at all let alone picturing him stripped of his clothing, his muscles flexing, and his… She forced herself to stop.

  Rubbing her forehead, she gave her head a shake. They weren’t getting married, he’d made that fact exceedingly clear. Not that she’d expected a proposal. He’d rejected her as his mistress, obviously he didn’t want to make her his wife.

  But if she were honest, somewhere in her heart of hearts, she’d hoped.

  What woman wouldn’t?

  He’d swept into her life all muscles and square jaw and went about righting all her wrongs.

  She stood up, pulling the covers off of her and crossing to stoke the merrily burning fire. She simply needed something to do with all the restlessness jumping inside her.

  It was his fault she was hurting now. Not because he’d rejected her but because he’d captured her heart in the first place.

  Just like she couldn’t help but love her father, the man who’d left them in this mess, or their mother, the woman who’d died too soon.

  She jabbed at the fire again and a piece came falling out of the grate nearly hitting her bare foot.