Page 29 of Dukes Do It Better
“Not nearly often enough. Feel free to sing my praises until your voice goes hoarse.”
The bedroom door opened and Cal entered, pushing a cart. “Are we done talking about boys?”
“Yes, now we’re discussing dildos,” Phee said.
“Sweet Christ, help me.” Cal shook his head and closed the door behind him. “I brought coffee and irritated the staff by insisting I do it myself. Didn’t want to risk a servant overhearing you two.”
“Annoyed the household staff and talked about boys? All in all, a morning well spent.” Emma flung off the blanket and poured herself a cup of coffee, then took a bracing sip. “Different topic. Any word on the situation with the brewery? The deadline is today, isn’t it? Besides seeing you and Ethan hiding in your library more often, I haven’t heard anything since the Amesburys got the note. What could someone possibly have to hold over Lottie’s and Ethan’s heads?”
Phee and Cal exchanged a look, and a ripple of alarm raced up her spine. “What is it? What don’t I know?”
Cal poured himself a cup of coffee and another for his wife, avoiding Emma’s gaze. “They lost another investor. Three days ago.”
A curl of unease sent goose pimples over her skin. “How big of an investor?”
“Significant,” her brother said. “This blackmailer, whoever he is, means business. As we understand it, the investor received a letter full of accusations and slander, destroying their faith in Lottie and Ethan. Whatever this is about, it’s personal. Ethan and I are meeting with the gentleman today. We will attempt to change his mind. Perhaps then we will have a better grasp of what we are dealing with.”
“You’re going to pay the blackmailer, aren’t you?” Emma asked, already knowing the answer because she knew her brother.
Cal climbed back into bed, holding his coffee cup aloft as he settled next to Phee against his pillows. “Paying to make problems go away and hide scandals is what I did for years. However, this doesn’t strike me as a single-payment situation.”
“But?” Emma moved to the foot of the bed, and Cal shifted his feet to make room for her.
“But, yes. I am going to pay this once. Ethan is livid about the whole thing, but without more time to determine the full scope of what we’re up against, we can’t make it go away. I’m buying us time.”
Emma and Phee exchanged a glance. “Is there anything we can do? We will help however we can,” Emma said.
Her brother smiled, but it didn’t have his usual carefree air. “If I think of anything you can do, I’ll certainly let you know.”
Draining her coffee cup, Emma stood. “Thank you. I’ll go check on our boys.” She crossed the room but stopped at the door. “I love you both, you know. Thank you for everything.”
“We love you too, Em. Once I finish this first cup and kiss my wife properly, we will join you in the nursery. I told Cook to give them only porridge until their bellies are settled.”
Emma closed the door behind her and smiled at the muffled sound of Phee’s laugh coming from the room. Sighing, she returned to the nursery, wrinkling her nose at the lingering, faint odor. Ugh. Fish.
Chapter Nine
I received a letter from London today. How I ever managed without a sister, I don’t know. P— brightens my days immeasurably—even if I do have to share her with my brother.
—Journal entry, August 6, 1824
Malachi wasn’t in a foul mood per se. Because pouting about a woman prioritizing her sick child over shagging him would be the move of a lout. But the disappointment was there. The concern over the sick child was there as well, wrestling with a disconcerting annoyance over the fact that although he knew Emma’s taste, and could recognize the noises she made when she came apart, he wasn’t entitled to know if her son had recovered.
The lad had been with them in Hyde Park for mere moments, a couple weeks ago, but Malachi cared about Alton’s well-being because he cared about Emma. Even though thinking of her in her role as a mother caused an entirely different sensation in his chest from when he merely considered her charms as a woman. The soft ooze of sentimentality was such a striking contrast to how Malachi thought of his own mother. Who, conveniently, had planned to be out most of the afternoon on calls. After Simon sent a note this morning reporting no change in Malachi’s status with the Admiralty, Malachi became even more determined to find that damned book and turn it over to the Royal Navy and leave London in his wake. All of the petitions, urgent requests, and the accompanying stack of paperwork hadn’t moved him any closer to returning to the Athena and his men.
As he searched the house, a gnawing unease churned in his gut. What he’d labeled as disappointment at the canceled rendezvous with Emma didn’t go away. In fact, the longer he tried to ignore it and keep busy, the worse it got.
Sun streamed through the window of the study, spilling gold light over the honeyed wood of the desk. Malachi rested his hands on his hips and surveyed the shelves. But instead of books, his brain rolled over thoughts of Emma. With a sigh, he tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling.
Fine. There was some conflict here, but nothing he couldn’t manage.
Yes, he wanted to get back to sea. Of course he did. The Royal Navy was his life. All he knew, and he was damn good at it—unlike the flailing incompetence he’d likely exhibit as a duke. The men who’d worked in this room for decades had been raised for this. Trained, educated, and prepared to sacrifice their dreams in service to the title.
The fact that he couldn’t imagine spending his days in this room, or sacrificing a damned thing for the dukedom, only reinforced the truth he had already accepted.
He was never supposed to be Trenton. He knew it. His mother knew it. Now if he could convince the Admiralty, that would be grand.
Amid that darkness, the one shining light was Emma. They’d begun something last night.
