All About the Duke (The Dukes' Club Book 4) (3 page)

He eyed Alfred up and down. “Do I make a good master, Alfred?”

“So far, yes, Your Grace.”

“Shouldn’t you like to see what advantages there might be to working more closely with me?”

“Whatever you wish, Your Grace.”

Nicholas nodded. “You’re learning, Alfred. You’re learning. Come up to the house this evening. After the breeding is done. And then we shall see if you suit me. After all, if you can tame Devil, surely you can handle a duke.”

And with that, he turned and strode out of the stable, leaving Alfred gaping. It was a marvelous feeling. And for the first time in years, Nicholas looked forward to the surprises the future might bring.

A
lfred, indeed! Allegra stomped up the hill, delighting in each pound of her booted foot against the perfectly trimmed grass.
Master
? She huffed a breath. Ha! She ought to give him a piece of Lady Allegra’s mind and then perhaps he’d sing a different tune, but stable boys did not go off on tangents to their superiors, let alone a duke of the realm. Even as the daughter of an earl, she might have to pause. But he was bloody insufferable.

Yes. Insufferable. Arrogant! She scowled and focused on the massive castle nestled next to the winding river built just up the steep incline. She supposed the castle had been built in a time when strategic placement in the landscape was necessary and the victor was the man who held the high ground. But frankly, each upward step only raised her ire.

Still, she had to admit the sprawling, towering castle suited its brooding, self-important master. It wasn’t such a stretch to imagine him, hair long and wild about his face, broadsword in hand, riding a powerful charger into battle. It was clear that the Duke of Roth, unlike so many other peers, had not lost the warrior traits that the first duke had to possess to achieve his title and lands.

Warriors were entirely unappealing. Truly. They took. They demanded. They barked. Their bodies emanated command. Yes. Entirely disagreeable.

Hadn’t he invoked his right as her superior and changed her position with a few words? He was ruining her plans and all because he was a fat-headed duke!

“
Boy servant
?” she grumbled.

She belonged in the stables with Gregory and her equine charges. The entire reason she’d chosen a ducal estate was that servants were so below the notice of dukes that she’d need to have little concern about discovery or notice. But His Grace had just had to look at her at the moment she’d moved! He’d just had to follow her into the stables. And he’d just had to insist he
liked
her. 

She could give a tinker’s teapot for his likes and dislikes.

Yes. He was a most disagreeable sort and there was nothing pleasant about his imperious person. Nothing. Not even the way his voice rumbled, caressing her skin with its deep, rich waves. Or the way his scent, combining lemon, leather, and sandalwood, had wafted towards her when he’d towered over her. 

That was unpleasant, too. The way she’d had to twist her neck to look him in the eye? A gentleman would never have done such a thing. A gentleman would have kept his distance and not noticed his servant except for an occasional, vacant inquiry into said servant’s health.

Allegra stormed up to the servants’ entrance, swung the door open and marched in. She kept to herself, generally speaking, but no one could quite avoid Mrs. Thackery. The cook insisted on knowing everyone, giving them a cup of tea, and seeing how they responded to her special scones and raspberry jam. Any disparagement of the offering and one was banished from the kitchen and all promise of delicious nourishment for the foreseeable future.

However, if one passed muster, one could look forward to a cup of tea and a nice sweet whenever one showed up in the kitchen.

It had been quite the trick, playing the naughty young fellow, sneaking a second scone. But whatever she’d done, Mrs. Thackery had approved. And at this moment, Allegra wanted the only thing that might cure her foul temper: one of Mrs. Thackery’s sweets.

She headed into the kitchen filled with two long tables and several kitchen servants bustling about, preparing both the upstairs and downstairs dinner.

Allegra searched for Mrs. Thackery, but didn’t see her. She stopped one of the scullery maids who was bent over an intimidating pot, scrubbing as if her life depended upon it. “Where is Mrs. Thackery?”

The girl didn’t even look up from her task. “In her office,” she said, her voice echoing off the insides of the large, copper pot.

“Thanks.” Allegra headed for the hallway and the head cook’s domain.

It was a bad habit, the cramming of sweets down her throat when wishing to perform murder. But there it was. Ladies had little access to things which might alleviate the temper. And well, nothing quite did the trick like pastry. Even with her ability to go for a quick ride, she preferred the idea of sugar and butter at present. Unfortunate for her middle, but true. Besides, she had gotten a good deal of fresh air and exercise already. Indulging in a sweet to prevent the murder of a peer of the realm was certainly applaudable.

As she neared the closed walnut door, she heard the sound of hushed voices. One significantly deeper than the other. In fact, that deep voice sent another shiver down her spine.

Him
.

Allegra scowled. What power did this man have that he could cause such physical reactions in her being?

It was the duke behind that door with Mrs. Thackery. It had to be because her breath was coming at a suddenly rapid and shallow pace. No one had ever evoked such ridiculous behavior in her. In fact, she’d always been far removed from such earthly things. Escape to the fields on her father’s estate had been her preference, not the presence of the domineering and impossible male sex.

She paused, desperate to ignore the growing knot of tension in the pit of her stomach. It was such a puzzling sensation, pleasurable and yet foreign. She’d felt something similar many years ago when she was fourteen years old and she’d studied the estate’s blacksmith, awed by the power of his arms, and his long, black hair tied back with a simple strap.

Gasping, it occurred to her that the duke had a similar, raw power to his physique. Only far more intense. Those girlish feelings now seemed to be verging on a full inferno. She started to turn. A meeting with the duke was the last thing she desired at this moment. She had yet to cease being irritated by their last encounter and yes, that feeling dancing about her insides was alarming.

The door swung open and Mrs. Thackery jolted to a halt. Her soft, blue eyes widened. “Why, Alfie! You gave me a fright.”

Allegra cringed and stopped in her attempted flight. She drew in a calming breath, determined to speak like a boy before the duke. She couldn’t afford any more slip ups.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Thackery, but I came to say hello,” she said, pitching her voice low.

“Oh.” Mrs. Thackery glanced back over her shoulder at the duke towering like an ancient oak behind her. “Well, now, my lad, that’s nice, but it seems you’ve new duties to attend to.”

Allegra bit back a frown. New duties? He’d told Mrs. Thackery so soon? That seemed odd. Certainly the butler or the housekeeper, but Mrs. Thackery?

Allegra forced herself to hang her head appropriately in lament at the loss of sweets. “Perhaps we can have a chat later, Mrs. T?”

“Mrs. Thackery, you young pup,” the duke boomed. “Show respect to a lady of her talents and take your hat off. You’re indoors for bloody sake.”

His wicked, whip crack voice sent another dose of shivers down her spine and something else. . . Admiration. She whipped her cap off. “Beg your pardon, Your Grace.” She bobbed to Mrs. Thackery. “Beg your pardon.”

Mrs. Thackery swatted at the duke’s arm. “Mind your language, young man.”

And at that playful touch, the duke’s hard face softened. “What kind of rascal would I be without you, Mrs. Thackery?”

“A worse one than you already are!” she countered, rubbing her hands over her crisp white apron. “Now, I’ve got the capons to dress. You go on now and I’ll have the footman bring you up a tray.”

“And a sweet for the boy,” the duke said, his voice rumbling as if with laughter. “That’s what all the boys want when they come say hello to you in any case.”

Allegra began to protest, but Mrs. Thackery tsked.

“Growing boys need nourishment.” The older woman eyed Allegra up and down, this time with a sharper degree of interest than she’d ever shown before. “Especially this one. A bean pole. That’s what you are.”

Allegra gave a tight smile, any temptation to tease Mrs. Thackery as she usually would have done, vanishing under the duke’s continuous stare.

Mrs. Thackery stepped out of her doorway and into the hall, followed closely by the duke, but he didn’t follow her into the kitchen. He stopped, his great coat swinging about his long legs. He lifted his hand and beckoned. “Come with me.”

Allegra pressed her lips together lest she open them to give him that piece of her mind she’d so longed to give on her march up from the stables.

“Did you wish to say something, Alfred?” the duke asked with a slight raise of his dark brow.

She shook her head. “No, Your Grace.”

“Then up we go to my chambers. That’s where you’ll be spending your time. With me.” With those words, he strode down the hall, toward the servant’s staircase which led up into the sprawling castle.

She had no choice but to follow and she ran to keep up with his long stride.

His chambers? She swallowed. More like her doom.

***

M
rs. Thackery knew next to nothing about Alfred except that the boy had come at Gregory’s recommendation and Gregory, of course, was not on the estate today. Nicholas found it damned irritating, not knowing for absolutely certain that his suspicions were correct.

However, Mrs. Thackery had seemed most opposed to the idea of him taking Alfred as his personal servant. Was Mrs. Thackery hiding Alfred’s secret? It seemed impossible. Mrs. Thackery had never lied to him as far as he knew and he had known her since he was four years old. In fact, Mrs. Thackery was the only constant in his life and, perhaps, the only person he trusted.

So, he couldn’t give credence to the thought that she would keep such a thing from him. No, it was likely that she was afraid he was going to use the blade of his tongue on poor Alfred.

But from the way Alfred’s eyes had flashed in the hallway and in the stables, Nicholas had a feeling the
servant
could give as good as gotten. Still, it was damned annoying, all this suspicion. He liked things to be clear. Mysteries never remained mysteries long in his presence.

He was half tempted to order Alfred to take a bath so he’d have to disrobe once they reached his chamber, just so Nicholas would know, without equivocation, but even he wasn’t that much of a cad. Well. . . Only just. 

Nicholas strode up the third flight of stairs, focused ahead, fighting a grin as little Alfred sprinted after him, taking the steps two at a time. If Alfred was a boy, he was quite a lithe one.

Nicholas turned down the landing, his boot steps muffled by the woven blue and green carpet, not bothering to slow his long stride. He certainly wouldn’t for a male servant and if Alfred was a girl, he wasn’t about to start treating her as if her ruse had been spotted.

As they headed up, the light dimmed considerably, the place darkened by the stained oak panel. The castle was remarkably dreary considering the extensive and expensive renovations his father and he had made. But medieval architecture was not meant to be cheery. It was meant to be a bastion of safety in a world fraught with peril.

There were days he wished his estate were a chalet with brightly colored silk hangings, but then he recalled his ancestors. They were men of power who had carved out their positions in society with a sword and political guile. That was who he was. Not a man poncing about in a powdered wig peering through a pince-nez.

“Your Grace!”

Nicholas didn’t even glance back. “Keep up, Alfred! Keep up!”

Somehow his long stride had drastically outpaced her and she was now actually running to keep up. He fought a grin. This was going to be too much fun. At last, he stopped at the winding stair that led up to his turret room. He stopped and turned.

Alfred panted slightly, her chest rising and falling in quick breaths beneath the loose, gray wool coat.

“Now, listen. The staircase wasn’t designed for the faint of heart or ninnies. There is no railing and it’s quite steep. Don’t break your neck. Do you understand?”

Alfred attempted to peer around him and up the stairs. Her face paled, making her red lashes almost golden against her suddenly white skin. “Up- Up there?”

“Yes. Up there.”

It was the furthest room in the furthest part of the castle from the central goings-on. It was his haven. And only Bardwell, the butler, was allowed admittance to tidy up and sort his clothing. He didn’t have a manservant and he didn’t allow footman in.

He loathed the idea of someone in such close attendance.

Long ago, he’d learned the importance of solitude, especially when one was forced by their position to constantly be thrown into the melee that was London society and government.

For one brief moment, he considered sending Alfred back to the stables. Of not allowing the young woman into his sanctuary. But he. . . He’d grown lonely of late, a strange sort of heaviness bearing down upon his chest. He’d thought, after returning from months around the globe, a visit to Rothton would restore him. He’d been mistaken. . . Until now.

“Give me your hand, Alfred,” he said softly.

“That’s not necessary, Your Grace.”

“Who is your master?” he asked. Slowly, he extended his hand, knowing Alfred would take it despite all the prickly determination.

Alfred eyed the appendage as if it were from a demon out of hell. “Really, I can—“

“I shan’t have you tripping and breaking every bone in your wee body on the first attempt. Get to know the stairs and then I won’t hold your hand.”