There was meaning behind those words. Lord Steele’s offer wasn’t so much one of being a convivial host, but rather subtly enquiring as to whether he would need a stiff drink, or two once Harry revealed the purpose for his visit.
“Thank you, no. I have had a morning of champagne, and that was plenty enough.”
“Champagne? You are a strange one, Harry Steele. If I wasn’t sure that your mother has always been true to me, I would think you might be someone else’s by-blow,” replied the duke.
At times, Harry suspected it might have been easier for his father to deal with him if had thought he might not be his son. The nobility was not known for keeping to the marital bed, but in his parents’ case, they had. A rare love which had blossomed from an arranged marriage had seen the duke and duchess happily wed for almost forty years.
“I was celebrating with my future bride and her family; that was the reason for the champagne. I am getting married, Father,” said Harry.
Genuine surprise registered on his father’s face. Both eyebrows raised toward the ceiling. “Well I’ll be. You are one for keeping the ton guessing. I take it you have come for money,” replied the duke.
Harry shook his head. “No. I have come to give you my news and to ask for your blessing. Nothing more.”
Lord Steele nodded toward the door. “Let us go sit in the formal drawing room. This calls for a more friendly place in which to chat.”
They crossed the hallway, headed for the door opposite. The head butler was waiting a little distance away.
The duke waved him over. “Could you please bring us up a pot of strong black tea and some thin toast with anchovy paste?”
Anchovy paste. His father might well have thrown him out of the house, but he still remembered his youngest son’s favorite food.
“My son will be staying for refreshments.”
My son. How long has it been since you used those words kindly toward me?
The butler smiled and bowed. “Very good, your grace.”
They made themselves comfortable in the cozy, warm drawing room. The overstuffed purple floral couches, which his mother preferred to the more formal sofas, had long been some of Harry’s favorites. They had been the reason for the big, puffy ones he had purchased for his own home.
“Now, tell me all about this chit,” said Lord Steele, settling into his comfy couch.
Alice was many things, but a chit she most certainly was not. The future Lady Harry Steele was a strong young woman.
“Her name is Miss Alice North. Her father deals in textiles and trade,” said Harry.
His father’s eyes lit with delight. He clasped his hands together loudly and shook them. “Huzzah! Well done, Harry! You’ve gone and landed yourself an heiress. I didn’t think you had it in you, but that’s capital news.”
Harry waited until his father’s gleeful celebration simmered down a touch before replying, “She has a watertight marriage settlement, so there will not be a big fat dowry coming my way. Alice and I will live comfortably on an annual allowance from her father, plus the money I bring in.”
“Pfft. Damn new money. They might not have the breeding or titles, but they know their way around a contract,” replied his father.
The butler finally reappeared in the doorway bearing a tray, which he set down on the table between the two couches. After pouring both the duke and Harry a cup of tea, he bowed and left, closing the door behind him.
Harry’s stomach growled as his nose picked up the spicy aroma of anchovy on warm toast. How long had it been since he had tasted heaven?
“I understand you have established a business of sorts with the Duke of Monsale and some other chaps. It is going to be enough to support you and a family?”
Of course, his father wanted to know how he was going to go for money. The whole question of funds had been the cause of their massive falling out; Harry had refused to take up a respectable but low-paying career just to placate his family.
“The coaching company is still in its infancy, but I have had another money-making venture operating over the past year,” he replied.
Lord Steele picked up his steaming black tea and downed a mouthful. How the man could do that and not wince as it burned his tongue Harry had never been able to figure out.
“Yes, I managed to get something of the truth about your peacock act from your mother, not that I approve of dabbling in other people’s misfortunes. Though I do have to ask how you expect to keep that going once you have taken on a wife.”
The thought had already occurred to Harry. He was not going to be able to flounce into balls and parties garishly dressed when he had Alice on his arm.
“Of course, if you came back to the fold, I could speak to someone about a job for you. Something in a government ministry. Solid, respectable, and money which you could count on.”
Harry shuddered. He could never do that—not now not ever. “Alice and I shall manage. You know I couldn’t do a ministerial role. Sitting at a desk, pushing paper all day would kill me.”
“So, you are determined to remain outside of the family. Is that what you are saying?” replied the duke.
As he and Alice had lain sleepily together in the bed the previous afternoon, Harry had considered what he wanted from seeing his father. Money hadn’t even come into the equation.
“I want to be a part of this family again, but it has to be on terms which suit the both of us. Christmas is coming soon, and I don’t want a repeat of last year when I spent Christmas Eve getting drunk in a dirty pub instead of sitting down to dine with my parents and family. Can’t we just be father and son, and not at each other’s throats?”
He picked up a piece of the toast and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing quietly while he waited for a response. If the duke said no, he was no worse off than he had been an hour earlier.
“You know your mother huffs loudly every time our carriage passes the front of your house. She blames me for this schism, says I am too hard on you.”
Harry swallowed the toast. “I have to admit to taking some comfort from her telling me that whenever I see her for lunch in town. I am her sweetest little birdy, and you have thrown me out of the nest.”
Lord Steele rolled his eyes. “I swear, the pair of you have been sent to try me. But let us set our differences aside and try to be kind to one another. You and your new fiancée are invited to Christmas Eve supper.”
Huzzah!
This was a major victory. He didn’t consider it a win over his father—rather a step forward for the entire Steele family. He had missed too many celebrations and occasions already. “Thank you, Papa. I shall speak with Alice and let her know that Christmas Eve is planned.”
“Good, and you can also tell her that the two of you will be visiting Redditch Hall for your honeymoon. You still have to deliver Milton number ten to the breeding program. He is now old enough to do the job,” said the duke.
“As long as Alice and I can bring Milton number eleven back to London with us,” replied Harry. However small that it was, he was keen to maintain his role with the family estate.
But before he and Alice formally announced their betrothal, there was one last major hurdle for him to clear. He had to convince Mister North to amend the marriage settlements so he could have the funds to set up the RR Coaching Company with a new coach and team of horses. That had been Alice’s bright idea.
The only way he was going to be able to give Alice the life she deserved, was to give up his scandals business and do his all to make the RR Coaching Company pay its own way.
As he set foot out into Grosvenor Street an hour later, his stomach gently sloshing from tea and toast, Harry stopped and glanced up at the sky. God may not have wanted him for the church, but he clearly still had plans for the life of Lord Harry Steele.
“An honest businessman? This is going to be interesting,” he muttered.
He headed homeward, looking forward to a future with Alice—one which would allow the both of th
em to be free of their cages. One where they could truly be themselves.
EPILOGUE
LADY NAOMI STEELE tracked the slow, almost nervous, progress of the Duke of Monsale as he made his way along the aisle of St George’s church. She tittered into her hand. Anyone would think he was the chap getting married today, not her brother.
Tall, tawny-haired, and stubborn. Yet from the moment she had first become aware of herself as being a woman, her marital sights had been set on him.
Her mother elbowed her gently in the ribs. “Stop staring, Naomi. It isn’t polite.”
She gave her mother a tired glance. “The only thing, which is impolite here, is his reluctance to marry,” she whispered.
The Duke of Monsale was one and thirty—well past the age when he should have taken on a wife. The man was impossible. Had she mentioned stubborn?
There is only seven years between us—not too much for it to appear out of sorts for us to marry. You just have to give me a chance. Give us a chance. If Harry can marry, then so can you.
Naomi’s gaze now settled on her brother. Harry was dressed formally for church but still had his personal flair about him. The silver pig charm which hung from a pocket-watch chain had her smiling. She silently gave her approval of his delightful salmon and silver striped waistcoat. It was wonderful to see him happy and back in the family fold.
Harry was stupidly in love with Alice North, the girl he was about to wed. From what she could gather, Alice’s affections were not much different.
Ah, love.
An early-January wedding was perfect timing. It gave the members of the ton still in London something to do during the long, boring days after Christmas and New Year’s. Though from the way her mother spoke, you would think it was the only event which would matter all the new year.
The minister at the front of the church lifted his hands, and the congregation all rose. Heads turned. The bride and her father began to make their way toward the altar. The bride wore a long cream gown, matched perfectly by one of the Steele family heirloom sapphire tiaras. The smile on Alice’s face was more breathtaking than the priceless jewels; Naomi blinked back another tear.
I am going to be a blubbering mess before this is over.
As the bridal procession passed by the Duke of Monsale, he bowed his head. Naomi was pleased he approved of the union.
Now if someone could just get you to start thinking about the need for an heir or two.
His gaze followed the bride, then drifted to the left. It fell on Naomi and lingered. She swallowed deeply, her heart thumping in her chest.
You look magnificent in your black formal attire. But you are stunning in anything.
Andrew McNeal always had this effect on her. Whenever he was near, she found herself reduced to a tongue-tied fool. Even from this distance, she was drawn in by his grey eyes. Those clear pools of lust . . .
You are in a church for heaven’s sake. Stop thinking like that!
And then he smiled. A slow, salacious grin appeared on his face. The rogue knew exactly what he was doing to her. And what she would love him to do.
Naomi blinked slowly, then licked her bottom lip.
Two can play at that game.
The Duke of Monsale might well consider himself the King of Rogues, but Lady Naomi Steele was determined that one day she would be his queen.
The Rogues of the Road will return…
ABOUT SASHA COTTMAN
USA Today bestseller Sasha Cottman was born in England but raised in Australia. Having her heart in two places has created a love for travel, which at last count was to over 55 countries. A travel guide is always on her pile of new books to read.
She writes novels set around the Regency period in England, Scotland, and Europe.
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
About Sasha Cottman
Rogue for Hire Page 13
