Page 33 of Dukes Do It Better
No, best to focus on finding Father’s bloody bank book, enjoying the time with Emma, and then going back to the life he’d been building for so many years.
Thankfully, the solicitor yanked him from his thoughts and back to the matter at hand.
“I have a map of the properties somewhere. One moment, while I find it.” More shuffling and shifting of papers, opening drawers, and muttered commentary from Hartfield as he located the information in question. A few minutes later, he said, “Here we are. This map notes all of your properties. And this more detailed map—” More shuffling, and Hartfield nearly upended his inkpot. “Ah, here. This shows the location of the Offred Cove property.” Malachi handed back the paper from the property manager and exchanged it for the one in the solicitor’s hand.
“Olread Cove,” Malachi corrected absently, examining the map. By habit, he followed the squiggly line of the coastline, tracing the familiar dips and curves to find his inlet. There, the beach he knew so well, where he’d returned time and time again over the years. According to the map, he owned the property directly above it. “I’ll be damned. The house is on the cliffside.”
“If that’s what the map says, then yes. I’m sure it’s a lovely view.” Hartfield referenced the paper in his hand. “The same tenant has rented for several years. They’ve kept the property in fine repair, and have made a generous offer of purchase.”
Malachi stared at the paper with the dashed line detailing his ownership of the land above his stash of investment goods.
“They have cash in hand, Your Grace. I suggest you take it.”
“Out of the question. Whatever the usual timeline of eviction is, double it. I don’t want to greatly inconvenience the tenant with a short notice move. But please notify the property manager. I will not be selling this particular house, and the current resident needs to leave. This will be my primary residence.”
Hartfield gaped. “Are you sure? It’s several days’ travel from London.”
Malachi handed the map back. “Quite sure. Is there anything else?”
The solicitor collected himself, then rose and offered his hand. “As always, it’s an honor to serve the Trenton estate.”
Malachi barely stifled a snort. An honor indeed. Donning his hat, he closed the door behind him and made his way back to the busy street. Carriages rolled by in a congestion of humanity and wheels, while people surged on the street, mixing fine tailoring and ratty handknit shawls.
Olread Cove sounded like heaven right about now. Malachi sighed. If he had to, he could make a home there, and never set foot in London again.
See? He could adapt to life on land if needed. He just didn’t want to.
Chapter Ten
Sweep me off my feet with passionate kisses, kind words, gentle touches, and genuine laughter. With these things, I vow I’ll be content.
—Journal entry, October 5, 1824
The Duke of Trenton’s residence wasn’t what she expected.
Emma stood on the street looking up at the house, careful to not let her cloak hood slip off her head. If he’d been plain Captain Harlow, this house wouldn’t raise any questions in her mind.
But this? Not in Mayfair. Not ostentatious or even particularly grand. A black painted door with a shiny brass knocker gleamed in the lamplights lining the quiet street. This was a perfectly respectable neighborhood, sure. But an odd choice for a duke. She checked the address he’d written down for her once more.
“Everything all right, miss?” the hackney driver asked.
“Yes. Apologies, I was wool-gathering.” Emma paid the driver, then stepped away from the carriage wheels as he set off down the street. Well, now she’d done it. Gone and committed to this. She took a deep breath and climbed the stairs, then clanged the knocker against the door.
It wasn’t fear or doubt making her quake in her walking boots. More like realistic optimistic caution. If such a thing existed in conjunction with excitement.
Back in October, she’d spent the night with him on a whim. A delicious impulse. This was planned. Deliberate. She’d rubbed vanilla on her inner thighs, for him to find later, for goodness’ sake. Their first night could be explained as a heat-of-the-moment fluke.
Tonight was a choice.
The door opened, and there he was, in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat.
“Don’t you have a butler?” What a silly question. “I’m sorry. That sounded snobbish.”
Mal leaned against the door to open it wider, inviting her in. “I keep minimal staff, and gave them the evening off. We can fend for ourselves.”
He closed the door behind her as Emma looked around the snug entryway. Honey-gold wood, cream plaster walls, and a stained-glass chandelier nearly took her breath away. “Why, this is lovely.”
“You sound shocked.” Mal chuckled.
