Never Kiss a Duke

by Megan Frampton

  Sebastian kept his gaze on her until her eyes dropped to the floor.

  “It wouldn’t be right,” he said softly. “It wouldn’t be the truth. You know we all promised to be truthful with one another, no matter what anyone else might say. You, me, Thad, and Nash. Who would we be if we just ignored what my mother did?”

  Ana Maria’s expression softened, and she walked up to Sebastian, tears in her eyes. “I am so sorry, Sebby. It must hurt to know the duchess was so . . .” She paused, as though unable or unwilling to speak the word.

  “Conniving?” Sebastian supplied. “Duplicitous?” he added. “It’s a relief, honestly. My whole life I wondered what it was about her, about me, that made it impossible for us to care for one another.” He shrugged. “Now I know it wasn’t me. That I wasn’t undeserving of love.”

  “You deserve love,” Ana Maria replied, her tone fierce. “And you know that no matter what, I love you.”

  Sebastian reached forward to draw his sister into an embrace. “I love you, too.” He buried his nose in her hair. “You’ll tell the staff officially?” Even though he knew they knew. But it was the way of things, to pretend not to know things until one was directly informed.

  “Of course,” she replied.

  He held her for a few moments, wishing he could take her with him. But she didn’t deserve his future, and besides, he wanted to enter his future without feeling encumbered or responsible for anyone else.

  If he were to fail, he wanted it to be his failure alone, not drag anyone else along with him. If he succeeded? Well, then perhaps he would return and invite Ana Maria to join him. Wherever he ended up. But hopefully by then she’d have found her own happiness.

  “You’ll let me know where you’re living?” Ana Maria held his hat, running her fingers over the brim. “Oh! And your dogs—what about them?”

  Damn. Another ducal responsibility that wouldn’t belong in his current situation.

  “Can you take care of them? Just until I figure out where I am going to live?” As though it were a simple matter of just deciding. Even though it wasn’t.

  “Yes, of course,” Ana Maria said in a bright tone. She frowned as she thought, then reached into the pocket that hung at the waist of her gown, drawing out some coins. “Here. You’ll have more immediate use for these than I. Now that Thaddeus is going to manage me. ‘Ana Maria, you are going to dance, and you are going to enjoy it.’” She lowered her voice to imitate Thad’s imperative tone, and Sebastian couldn’t help but laugh at her mimicry.

  “Thank you.” It was awkward, taking the coins. He’d never had to carry cash around; dukes just asked for things and they got them. Mere illegitimate misters likely had to pay right away. But Ana Maria would be hurt if he declined, and he did need some money, after all.

  “What are you going to do?”

  He didn’t reply, at least not right away. But seeing Miss Ivy’s had given him a spark of an idea that hadn’t burst into any kind of flame until just this moment. If a lady could open a gambling house, then why couldn’t he do something equally risky? Why wouldn’t he?

  “I might go into investing.”

  She looked puzzled. “Investing?”

  “Yes,” he replied, feeling more enthusiastic as he began to think on it. “I know shipping companies are always looking for investors. If I can make enough money to put a stake into some sort of venture—”

  “Do you need more? I am certain Thaddeus would give you the—”

  “I don’t want charity.” His tone was sharp, and he immediately felt terrible for using it toward his beloved sister. “That is, if I have a goal beyond no longer being a duke, that will give me purpose. I need something to point toward. Getting enough money to make my own way in life would do that.” Because it was no longer enough just to be—he had to do.

  “You can achieve anything, Sebby, once you put your mind to it.” He was shaken by her absolute faith in him. “You’ll be just as good at investing or whatever it is you end up doing as you are a duke.” He gave her a wry look, at which she rolled her eyes. “Fine. A brother, you are still an excellent brother.”

  “Thank you, Ana Banana,” he replied. The clock struck quarter past, and he realized it was getting late. Besides, if he stayed here any longer, he might give in to Ana Maria’s pleading looks and stay here, which would ensure he was a useless bastard, after all. “I need to get going.”

  “You’ll let me know where you are? Will you be at Nash’s?”

  “I’m not certain.” His hoped-for future did not entail living with his friend the Fighting Duke. “But when I am, of course I’ll let you know.” He gestured toward his hat, which she held out for him to take. He glanced beyond her to where Fletchfield stood, having given him his coat. “Thank you for informing the staff,” he said in a low tone meant just for her ears. “I told Thaddeus he needed to make certain they were taken care of.”

  “They will be,” Ana Maria replied. “But who will take care of you?”

  His heart squeezed at his sister’s forlorn tone, and he leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. “I’ll be fine.”

  He’d have to be. Ana Maria should be free of worry, should finally be able to live her own life, not spend time fussing about him.

  He’d succeed, if not for himself, then for his sister.

  “Make sure Byron gets good long walks in the afternoon. Otherwise she’ll try to bite Keats.”

  “I will,” she promised. “Do you want to say goodbye to them?”

  “I think this goodbye is all I can handle,” he said, trying to keep his tone light and failing. Because it was true—he and his sister had never lived apart, and while of course they would see one another, everything was different now.

  God. Everything was different now.

  “Goodbye, Ana Maria,” he said softly. He turned and walked out the door as quickly as he could, feeling both anxious and excited about what his new future would bring.

  Ivy settled a dispute between her chef and her servers, managed to persuade Octavia not to buy a particularly hideous hat, and took the deposit—saved by the cribbage-board-holding Mr. de Silva—to the bank.

  And it was barely teatime.

  “You offered him a job?” Octavia said in disbelief. “But I’m right here, you could have hired me!”

  They were sitting in the small parlor between their two bedrooms. Regardless of their schedules, Ivy and Octavia met up every day at this time to review the day and have a small moment of sisterly affection. Even though Octavia’s affection was frequently tinged by complaints. Such as this one.

  The parlor was thankfully clear of the items found in the spare room—Ivy winced as she realized what Mr. de Silva had seen when he had woken up.

  Ivy took a sip of her tea. “He has skills you do not. He is a gentleman, for one thing.” She cleared her throat. “He used to be the Duke of Something, actually.” Octavia’s eyes grew round, and she opened her mouth, but Ivy kept speaking. “And what’s more, he is not my sister who should be working on being respectable.” It was a losing battle, she knew that. Eventually Octavia would refuse to listen to her older sister, and Ivy would have to accept that she’d be involved in the club. But Ivy wouldn’t be doing her job as her sister’s guardian if she didn’t at least try to persuade her otherwise.

  “Humph.” Her eyes sparkled. “Was he really a duke? How do you not be a duke after being one?”

  “I have no idea. I did not intrude,” she said in a prim tone, trying to remind her sister it was rude to pry.

  Octavia’s expression brightened. So she hadn’t taken the hint. “At least he is very good-looking. He’ll make the time pass more quickly on slow evenings.”

  Ivy squelched the inappropriate thoughts of just what Mr. de Silva could do to make the time pass more quickly. She was really going to have to give herself a stern talking-to regarding her newest employee.

  “The mysterious former duke,” Octavia sighed, her expression growing dreamy. “He must ha
ve a dark past. Perhaps he lost his first love in a tragic storm, and he finds solace only in games of chance.” She bolted upright. “Do you think he lost the dukedom in a wager?” She shook her head. “No, it doesn’t work that way.” She scrunched up her face in thought. “There has to be a reason he’s here. Maybe he wants to make amends for his past mistakes.”

  “By rescuing damsels in distress. Armed with a cribbage board,” Ivy finished dryly. “Honestly, Octavia, you should try your hand at writing gothic novels. Your imagination is well suited for it.”

  Octavia folded her arms over her chest. “Perhaps I will. And I will use my real name to publish under—Miss Octavia Holton—so that everyone knows it is me.”

  Ivy shook her head. She wished, not for the first time, that Octavia had just a fraction of the practicality it seemed Ivy had in spades—so to speak.

  “Miss?” Their maid stood at the door. Carter was the daughter of one of Ivy and Octavia’s father’s workers who’d lost his job when their father had lost everything. Ivy had packed Carter up, along with Octavia and a ridiculous number of dolls, and had come to London.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s a gentleman here. Says his name’s Silver.”

  “Mr. de Silva, yes. Please show him in.”

  Carter nodded, then turned back to walk down the hall.

  “Oooh, the mystery man in the flesh!” Octavia exclaimed.

  “You’ll excuse yourself. We have business to discuss,” Ivy said in a brisk tone. It wouldn’t do to let Octavia and Ivy’s employee spend too much time together—Octavia was nothing if not completely and totally irresistible, and Ivy could say the same about Mr. de Silva. She did not want her sister getting romantically entangled with anyone, at least not until she’d secured her future.

  Plus it was obvious Mr. de Silva was a shameless flirt, and Ivy didn’t want her younger sister to mistake flirting for anything else.

  “You don’t let me have any fun,” Octavia groused, putting the remaining biscuits on the tea tray into a napkin. “I’m taking these as punishment.”

  “Fine,” Ivy said. It was a small price to pay.

  “Mr. Silver,” Carter announced.

  He stood at the door, glancing between the two sisters, an appreciative grin on his face.

  No, no, no, no, a voice clamored inside Ivy’s head. Don’t be all charming to my sister.

  “Mr. de Silva, you’ve arrived. I thought you needed a day or two to settle your affairs?”

  She heard Octavia suppress a snort.

  “That is not what I meant,” Ivy said reprovingly. “Mr. de Silva, may I introduce my sister? This is—” Well, drat. She hadn’t had to formally introduce her sister since they’d arrived. She couldn’t call her by her real name in case he knew their family, but she didn’t know what she could call her.

  “I’m Miss Octavia,” Octavia said, holding her hand out. Mr. de Silva took it, his lips curling into a devastating smile.

  Double drat.

  Well, if she had to flirt as shamelessly as Mr. de Silva to thwart any flirtation between the charming man and her sister, she would.

  What a noble sacrifice.

  Hush, you, Ivy rejoined.

  The only issue now was finding the right words to flirt with—she didn’t have much, that is to say any, experience flirting. Just like being flustered. She had experience gambling with blackguards, negotiating with vendors, hiring workers, and bargaining with landlords, and she’d even found herself on the receiving end of masculine interest, but she had no experience with flirting.

  Triple drat.

  Octavia rose, brushing crumbs from her lap. She held the napkin full of biscuits in her left hand, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Ivy tells me I have to excuse myself, so I am going to do that.”

  “Because you always do as I say,” Ivy commented in a dry tone.

  Octavia beamed. “Exactly.” She held her hand out to Mr. de Silva. “It was a pleasure to meet you, I look forward to working with you.”

  “And I with you,” he replied before Ivy could contradict Octavia’s assertion that the two would be working together. Her sister shot her a smug look, then walked out, shutting the door behind her.

  Ivy plopped back down on her chair, exhaling sharply.

  Mr. de Silva gestured toward Octavia’s seat. “May I?”

  “Please do,” she said.

  But before he could sit, the door shot open again, revealing a large gentleman clad in a military uniform. His expression was fierce and determined, and she wondered if her new employee was wanted by the authorities in addition to being a former duke.

  That would be ludicrous, even for one of Octavia’s gothic novels.

  “Thaddeus.” Mr. de Silva didn’t seem surprised, but Ivy certainly was.

  “We have to talk.” The gentleman replied before glancing at Ivy. “Ma’am.”

  Mr. de Silva addressed Ivy. “This won’t take long.” It sounded like a threat—not directed toward her, but to the stranger. “I assume we’ll find some privacy in the game room?”

  “Yes, of course,” Ivy replied. Should she grab the cribbage board and follow?

  Mr. de Silva strode past the military man, grabbing him by the arm to pull him toward the door as he walked. She couldn’t hear the specific words, but there was no mistaking Mr. de Silva’s stern tone.

  Sebastian walked quickly down the hall to the game room, Thaddeus close on his heels. He shouldn’t be surprised Thaddeus had found him so quickly, but he was surprised at how much he didn’t want to see his cousin. Not now, not when everything was still fresh and raw.

  But that wasn’t Thad’s fault.

  He took a deep breath as they entered the room. Empty as promised. The tables were neatly arranged in rows, the room looking a lot larger with nobody in it.

  The table he’d apparently stumbled over was at the far end, a dark stain on its surface testament to the earlier fracas.

  He shut the door behind them, then turned to face his cousin. “Why are you here?”

  Thaddeus gazed steadily at him. But Sebastian wasn’t one of his troops, and he wouldn’t be cowed by Thad’s implacable stare.

  Eventually, Thad sighed, raising his eyes to the ceiling. “I should have been here before. I shouldn’t have let you leave that office the other day. Why am I here? Because we’re family. Because this is a terrible situation, and I want to make certain you’re all right.”

  “Because you feel guilty.”

  Thaddeus shook his head, then paused and nodded. “Yes. I suppose I do. This is too sudden. We need time to arrange things. To adjust.”

  He’d said something similar in the solicitor’s office. “Are you saying that to me or to you?”

  “I am here because I’m concerned about you.” Thaddeus spoke through gritted teeth. “I had to take care of some things before coming to speak to you. I also knew you would be completely annoying.” At least one thing hadn’t changed—Sebastian still knew how to most efficiently aggravate his cousin.

  Another skill he could add to his list of post-duke qualifications.

  Sebastian spread his arms out wide. “I’m fine.” He paused. “Not to mention annoying.”

  Thaddeus did not laugh. “I’ve spoken to Ana Maria. She’s worried, as well.”

  “Of course she is.” Sebastian’s tone tightened. “As are you. Thank you for coming. But I promise, I am fine.”

  “I was hoping you’d come back to your—that is, the town house.”

  “Your town house.”

  “This doesn’t have to be an argument, Seb. We’re family. We can work together to get through this.”

  “Get through what?” Sebastian shook his head as he started to pace. “It won’t do either of us any good to pretend things are as they were.” As of just—how long? Had it only been two days? “You need to learn your new responsibilities, and I need to learn how to survive.”

  “What if we could do both? But together?”

  “I won’
t live at the town house, Thad.” The thought of his being there but not belonging would make his skin crawl. He’d grow to resent his cousin as much as he resented his circumstances.

  “You could go to the country. I’m certain one or another of the houses could use a Dutton in residence.” Thad’s tone was as close to pleading as Sebastian had ever heard it.

  His cousin truly cared for him, was worried about him, he knew that, but his proposed solution was not what Sebastian wanted—charity in the guise of familial obligation. Hadn’t he vowed not to be dependent on the new duke’s largesse? Even if it were Thad dispensing the charity, it would still be charity.

  The idea he’d had when he’d spoken to Ana Maria, the one about investing. He snatched that glimmer of hope and held on to it—he had to make something of himself somehow. He would make something of himself. He just needed time and money. The former he had, the latter would come . . . in time.

  Sebastian had skills, skills beyond his renown in the bedroom. And he could turn to those as a last resort if necessary.

  Though advertising his services might be awkward.

  Available for a Fee: A Gentleman for Profound Pleasure. 100% Satisfaction Guaranteed.

  “I’d want to pay you, of course,” Thad continued, unaware of Seb’s wayward thoughts. “You’d be doing me—that is, the dukedom—a great service.”

  Thaddeus’s tone sounded convincing. No wonder his men followed him wherever he ordered. If Sebastian hadn’t already been decided on his course of action, he might have almost been persuaded. After all, it wouldn’t be the worst thing to go work on one of the duke’s estates. He knew most of the properties, he’d have authority by proxy as well as by knowledge. He could likely find some measure of happiness there.

  But it wouldn’t be his choice. It wouldn’t be something he had found on his own, something that relied on who he was and what he could do, but rather who he was related to. Or who cared for him.