“No wonder they tore in here like that,” Ana Maria said. She glanced from Sebastian to the ladies, her eyes wide in interest. “They must have smelled you. I was just on my way to the dressmaker’s, and I thought they needed a walk. And here you are.”
Sebastian suppressed a groan at his dogs’ keen sense of smell. And his sister’s blatant curiosity.
“These are yours?” Miss Octavia asked, bending down to scratch behind Byron’s ear.
“Good evening, I am the du—that is, Mr. de Silva’s sister.” Ana Maria stumbled over his name as she held her hand out to Miss Ivy.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Ivy replied. She glanced at Sebastian, an amused expression on her face. “Your dogs are very excited to see you.”
He looked back down at them. Byron’s tongue was lolling out of her mouth, while Keats was turning in a circle preparing, Sebastian knew, to sit on his feet.
“But now they’re here, and so are you.” Ana Maria tilted her head in thought. “I wonder, could you take them? You must be living somewhere, I know you’re not with Nash. Just look at them, they’re so much happier now.”
The sisters both looked down at the dogs, who were staring adoringly up at Sebastian.
“Take care of them?” Sebastian repeated. “I don’t think that’s—” he began.
“Of course he can,” Octavia interrupted. “Dogs should be taken care of by the person they love most in this world, shouldn’t they?”
“Octavia,” Ivy said in a warning tone.
“I agree,” Ana Maria said, beaming at Miss Octavia. Two meddling peas in a mischievous pod. She turned to Sebastian. “Can you give me your address? I can bring them over after my appointment.”
“He’s living here,” Octavia answered before Sebastian could, and he suppressed a wince as he realized that everyone in the room had heard that, and all of them likely had a strong opinion about his proximity to Miss Ivy.
Ana Maria blinked a few times, startled, then took a deep breath. “Well, then. No need for me to wait after all, you can just take them.” She stepped forward, giving Sebastian a quick kiss on his cheek. “And I will leave, I can tell I’ve interrupted something important.” Her eyes twinkled as she spoke, and Sebastian wanted to curse his sister for her keen skills of observation.
“No, wait.” Ivy and Sebastian spoke at the same time, then met one another’s gaze.
“Goodbye. I am late for my appointment. The dressmaker is working on a gown for my party.” She wrinkled her nose at that. “It was a pleasure to meet you all,” she added hurriedly, edging toward the door.
And then she was gone. Leaving Sebastian with his two dogs, an interfering younger sister, an outraged staff, and a discombobulated boss.
Dogs. Not only had she rescued an ex-duke, it appeared she was also going to rescue the ex-duke’s two dogs, neither of whom seemed to be sufficiently meek about their imminent rescue. And they’d just managed to get rid of the cats. Drat.
One of the dogs was walking around the perimeter of the room, sniffing everything and everybody, glancing back at Mr. de Silva every few feet. The other dog was curled up on Mr. de Silva’s feet, occasionally raising its head to sniff its owner’s knees.
“I apologize for this,” Mr. de Silva said, making a vague gesture. “My sister is so softhearted, she probably has been hearing them whimper and is worried about them.” He gingerly removed his feet from underneath the now-sleeping dog. “I’ll find other arrangements.”
Ivy shook her head. “No, you don’t have to do that.” She gave a weary sigh. “Octavia wants you to have them here, and I won’t get any peace if I reverse her position. So I should just cede the battle and let them stay.” It was the same way with the kittens. Thank goodness Carter had come to the rescue.
Mr. de Silva’s mouth tightened. “I don’t want to impose on you. You’ve already done so much for me, giving me employment and a room. You shouldn’t have to do anything you don’t wish to.”
Ivy’s mouth curled in a wry smile. “All of us have to do things we don’t wish to.” She held her hand up to stop him when she saw he was about to speak. “And honestly, this is one of the least onerous things I’ve had to do.” She looked over at the dog who was currently staring at Mac as though he had something tasty hidden in his pocket. “Besides, they’ll offer a warning if anyone tries to break in, won’t they?” She looked back at him, raising one eyebrow. “Far better than a cribbage board, don’t you agree?”
He gave a reluctant smile. “I suppose. Although I don’t like the idea of anyone taking advantage of you, even if that person is me.”
“It was your sister,” she pointed out. “And I know how sisters can be.”
Both of them looked over at Octavia, who had gone to stand behind one of the tables and was obviously practicing her dealing skills, while Caroline watched over her.
“She wants to work in the club,” he remarked.
Ivy sighed. “Yes, she actually donned a mask the other night and snuck in. The night you first came here, as a matter of fact. I have been trying to keep her away from it—”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because she deserves a reasonable future, away from all this.”
He gave her an incredulous look. “But all this is good enough for you? You undervalue yourself, Miss Ivy. And,” he continued, lifting his chin toward Octavia, “you have to give your sister the same choice you took yourself.”
Ivy felt her chest tighten. “I didn’t take my choice. It was made for me.” The resentment was always there, even though the club was doing well. Resentment that she had to be intelligent enough not to end up with a future she didn’t want—what if she had been less fortunate? An irony, given her profession. But still.
There were other women out there who were never given a choice. Ivy couldn’t rescue them, but she could hold out the possibility for her sister. But not if her sister foreclosed on a respectable future, and that future would only be gained if Ivy could get Octavia safely away from London and the club before she turned eighteen.
“You have to trust her. You have to trust yourself,” he replied softly.
She turned on him, the words spilling out before she could pull them back in. “I only trust myself, Your Grace. I can’t depend on anyone but myself. Not anymore.”
She swallowed, hard, then stood there, trying to regain her usual measure of aplomb. The cool demeanor that was required for a woman who owned her type of establishment.
“Who hurt you, Ivy?” His tone was low, but fierce. As though he wanted to go assault that person with far more than a cribbage board.
She shook her head. “No. No, you don’t get to hear my secrets, not when you’re a person I only met a few days ago. Not when you’re my employee.” Not when you might leave with my secrets at any moment.
And then she froze, knowing those words would cut anybody, never mind it was an ex-duke she was saying them to.
His expression stilled, and he dipped his head in a brief nod. “I see. If you will pardon me, I will go work on some plans.”
He turned and walked away, his entire bearing rigid, Ivy watching his back recede and his dogs follow him, resisting the urge to run after him and apologize.
They’d just met. He was working for her. She didn’t need to apologize for anything. She was in charge. He didn’t get to ask those types of questions. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
So why did it feel as though she’d done irreparable damage?
Chapter Nine
If he were still a duke, Sebastian wouldn’t have left. He would have squared off against her, continuing to press his point until the inevitable happened—they fell into bed. And then they would have taken their anger out on each other with vigorous fucking on satin sheets.
But he couldn’t. And what’s more, even only a few days later, he could see that he didn’t want that any more either. Granted, he knew he was charming and handsome. That wasn’t going away with the dukedom.
Now, if
he wanted to coax a woman into bed following a heated argument, he was going to have to rely entirely on himself.
Game on, he vowed as he strode back to his room, Byron and Keats at his heels.
“Your Grace.” He stopped in his tracks and began to turn around.
This time, the honorific wasn’t said in her teasing voice. This time, it came from the largest of the disgruntled men Ivy had introduced him to. The other one, the Black man who had spun the roulette wheel that first night, stood beside the large man. Both of them were wearing matching expressions that were . . . not friendly.
“I am sorry,” Sebastian said, glancing between them. “I don’t recall your names.”
“Of course you don’t,” the first one said. He gestured toward his companion. “He’s Samuel, I’m Henry. We’ve both been with Miss Ivy from the start. We know she’s determined to have you work here, but we wanted to warn you.”
Samuel nodded as he spoke. “You might have been a fancy gentleman out there, but here? You’re just another employee. And all employees, even former dukes, have to work hard. Especially former dukes,” he added, folding his arms over his chest.
“I intend to,” Sebastian replied through his clenched jaw.
“You might intend to,” Henry said. “But things for the rest of us are different than they are for you lot.”
“You do know I’m not part of that lot any longer.”
Henry snorted. “Right, or why else would you be here? Slumming in a gambling club, and not even the biggest one?”
“But just because you aren’t still one of them doesn’t mean you know all about what it’s like here. For one thing,” Samuel said, staring Sebastian straight in the eyes, “we all do the work. We don’t just call for someone else to take care of unpleasant tasks. And we don’t favor certain people over others.” He lifted his chin. “What’ll happen when one of your lord types comes in and breaks club rules?”
Sebastian’s chest tightened. He’d barely spent a thought on what would happen when one of his former peers saw him working. That was a failing on his part. The ignominy of the scene washed over him, immediately followed by shame that he wouldn’t be proud of who he was now. But he wasn’t. Not yet.
“I’ll do my job,” he replied stiffly.
“Of course you will.” Samuel’s tone belied his words.
“Miss Ivy doesn’t deserve to be betrayed by her own employee,” Henry said. “You’d best remember that.” Now he folded his arms over his chest, as well. He certainly was a large man. “There’s no changing her mind, and for some reason you want to be here, but let me tell you, you won’t be staying.”
“Is that a threat?”
Henry slowly shook his head. “No. Not a threat. A prediction. You won’t be able to stomach it here, working as you’ll have to. Just make sure you give her enough time before you leave. And you will leave, we know that. But while you’re here, you’d best behave.”
Exact words he had spoken to his dogs.
Did she think that also? That he wouldn’t be able to stomach it here?
“I will take your advice into account,” Sebastian said, unable to keep the cold, duke-like tone from his words.
“You do that.”
And then the two men turned and walked away, leaving Sebastian even more keenly aware of the discrepancy between who he had been, who he was now, and who he hoped to be.
Byron was settled against his hip as he worked. There was no desk in his temporary room, so he was sitting on the bed—still unmade because of course there were no servants to take care of it, and he hadn’t figured out how to do it himself yet—and he was propped against the headboard, already feeling the strain in his neck.
Not to mention the strain of being viewed with suspicion by at least two of his fellow employees.
And yet, somehow, he’d never felt better. More useful.
He’d heard noises in the hallway, and knew she must be out there, bustling back and forth from her office to the club, then upstairs for something, giving orders to the maid, and back down again. He’d resisted the urge to go out and speak to her. Mostly because he didn’t know how he felt, even the next day. Was he upset that she had refused to confide in him? Was he regretting his strong reaction? Did he want to establish that they were employer and employee, nothing more?
And was this the first time he hadn’t been entirely certain?
He could answer that definitively. Ironically, since the answer was yes.
“Mr. de Silva?”
The words were accompanied by a quick knock, then the door opened before he could respond. Miss Octavia stepped inside, her gaze immediately going to Keats, who was lying on the floor next to the bed. She rushed forward to kneel down and place her hand on his head. “He’s friendly, isn’t he?”
“Well,” Sebastian replied dryly, “if he weren’t, you would know by now.”
She glanced up at him, smiling. “How old is he?”
“I’m not entirely sure.” He cleared his throat. “I am not his original owner.” He had gotten the dogs from a local farmer, who’d had them as a deterrent against rodents intent on eating his crops. The farmer had sold his farm to Sebastian’s father, who was going to install a new tenant on the land. A tenant who had a fear of dogs.
The duchess hadn’t cared about what would happen to the dogs, but Sebastian had, so he’d managed to persuade his mother that owning dogs was a mark of a proper English aristocrat.
That was seven years ago, and Byron and Keats had been with him ever since.
“What are their names?” Miss Octavia asked, scratching behind Keats’s ears.
Sebastian paused before replying. “Uh—that is Keats, and this is Byron. Byron is a girl.”
Her eyes brightened, and she smiled. “How did you name them?” She drew her brows together. “You did name them, didn’t you?”
He shrugged. “Yes, I went through a period where all I did was read poetry and dress like the Romantics.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “I would not have thought you to be the romantic type.” She thought for a moment, then spoke again. “In the pining-over-a-distant-love kind of way. I have seen you flirt, so I know you are romantic that way.”
The retort was on his lips, but he didn’t speak. Was he romantic now? He had been, back in those days. He’d thought at the time that his cold mother was merely the product of her upbringing, that there was warmth lurking within. That his careless father was just distracted, not unloving. That his sister actually enjoyed the drudgery she was forced into.
He’d been so naive. No, he wasn’t romantic now. He was realistic.
“But I am not here to discuss your dogs, lovable though they are.” She gave Keats one last pat, then rose. “You have done something to Ivy, I don’t know what.” She gesticulated toward the door. “She’s been stomping around ever since, and—”
“I can apologize,” he said.
“Oh no, don’t!” she replied, shaking her head vehemently. “It is good for her to be ruffled, she is entirely too settled. Do you know,” she continued, planting her fists on her hips, “that she thinks she will never get married?”
I have no expectations.
“Not that I want you to marry her, far from it.” She spoke in a dismissive tone, and he felt immediately argumentative—Why not? he wanted to say.
But of course he didn’t want to marry her either.
“I want someone to argue with her, as it appears you’ve done. Someone besides me, of course.”
“Why?”
Miss Ivy’s younger sister was wasted in the gambling club; she should have been ensconced in Society, dazzling young gentlemen with her mischievous charm and convoluted schemes.
Although he didn’t think she would agree.
“Because everyone here thinks she is absolutely marvelous!” Miss Octavia’s exasperated tone told him what she thought of that. “And she is content to just work on the club. Her goal is to make enough money so she can go
live quietly in a cottage somewhere.” A dismissive snort accompanied her words.
“I take it you don’t think that will suit her?” Sebastian replied amusedly.
“Of course not! Ivy should give herself as much opportunity as she wants me to have. To have fun, to fall in love, to have a marvelous future.”
“And how do I fit into that?”
“You have already challenged her. I haven’t seen her that worked up since the night she won the wager.”
The wager. He would need to discover what that was all about. But he wanted to hear it from her directly, not from her sister.
“So you want me to work her up?” Sebastian replied.
She beamed at him. “Exactly! And it could be fun for you, too. I doubt that you have ever met anyone like Ivy before. She is very smart, you know.”
No, he hadn’t. He’d met smart women, of course, but none he’d deem capable of running a business. None that would ever deign to run a business, in fact. Nor did he think those women—those ladies—would inspire the same sort of devotion it appeared she inspired in her staff.
“I will do what I can,” he replied.
“Excellent.” She gave Keats one last scratch, then turned and whirled out of the room, leaving Sebastian to consider just what he’d agreed to.
A game. A wager. A challenge.
This not-being-a-duke thing was proving to be far more interesting than he’d ever imagined.
Not that he’d ever imagined it.
“I understand your concern,” Ivy said, “but there is no reason to be alarmed, I promise.”
Ivy was sitting in her office, behind the desk, as Henry and Samuel stood facing her. Their expressions had not changed.
So much for her reassuring words.
“The thing is,” she continued, leaning forward to make her point, “Mr. de Silva is here with some interesting ideas. If they don’t work—if he doesn’t work—then I will get rid of him.”
Samuel looked skeptical.
“How long will you let him stay?” Henry asked. She could see his fists balled up, as though he wanted to go punch Mr. de Silva at this very moment.
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