Page 47 of Dukes Do It Better
Malachi grabbed both teacups even as he shook his head. “There’s no time to wash up. I’ll apologize in the morning.”
She shot him a bemused look.
“What?” he asked, leading the way out of the kitchen toward the foyer.
“You’re truly not very good at being a duke, are you? Dukes don’t apologize to maids.”
“They do when the maids did a fine job of cleaning the kitchen and the duke in question left a mess for them after they went to bed.” Malachi smiled and handed over her gloves and cloak. “It’s polite.”
He slipped into his coat and plopped a hat on his head as she drew the hood of her cloak up.
“Would you like to share my coach or catch a hack?” Emma asked.
“I’ll share, if you don’t mind. Mother’s place is only a couple blocks from your brother’s.” Malachi stopped her at the front door before she opened it and dropped a brief, but hard, kiss on her lips. “Thank you for tonight. The pie was delicious, but the company was better.”
In reply, she raised on her tiptoes and kissed him back, with a short peck of her own. There was more sweet friendship in the gesture than there had been before tonight, but Malachi didn’t have time to dissect how he felt about that.
Across town, he kissed her goodbye again in the carriage as it drew up to Calvin’s house on Hill Street, before jogging to the family townhome.
Breathing heavily from the run, he stopped short when the door handle remained stubbornly closed. Malachi raised his fist and pounded on the wood.
When summoned by a messenger after two in the morning, one expected to see every window ablaze with light. Perhaps even on fire. But no, the door was locked tight, and the house appeared quiet.
The door swung open to show his mother, more frazzled than he’d ever seen her. Her dark, silver-threaded hair was in a long plait over her shoulder, and she wore a wrapper cinched tight at her waist. “Hush! Do you want to wake the servants?” she hissed.
Malachi raised a brow. “I assumed the servants were already awake given the note claiming an emergency. What is this about?”
She stepped aside for him to slip by, then carefully closed and locked the door.
A single brace of candles illuminated the foyer from the narrow table along the wall. She grabbed the candelabra and whispered, “This way.”
“Why are we whispering?”
Eerie silence enveloped the corridor as his mother led Malachi toward the library. Their footfalls echoed against the marble, sharp and obscene, like a slap in church. No servants appeared. Not even the usual night staff. Unease slithered along his collar.
“Exactly what is happening here, Mother?”
Instead of answering, she opened the library, which proved to be well lit.
“Where are the servants? What’s this about?” he asked again, closing the door.
“You and your questions, Malachi.” Mother set aside the candles in front of a bookcase. Oh, good. Five seconds into the visit and he’d already been chastised.
Malachi rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Your messenger said there is an emergency. What are you doing? It’s the middle of the night, if you hadn’t noticed.”
Mother finally took a seat on the sofa, gesturing for him to sit as well. “I’m afraid I need your help.”
His face felt…strange, like it was experiencing an entirely new expression. Mother never needed his help. Ever. He couldn’t remember her asking anyone for help, nor could he recall a single time she’d ever apologized or admitted she was wrong. Not even when she’d forced him to get rid of the puppy he’d rescued, claiming it was a filthy animal, only to turn around and give a dog to George the next month.
He slowly eased into a wingback chair, prepared to flee at any moment. “So there is an emergency.” One involving meeting in the wee hours of the morning without servants to bear witness.
“Ivan was doing his rounds before retiring for the night, like he always does. He caught a prowler in my bedchamber. Although he chased the man through the house, the intruder got away through this window.” Mother spoke, utterly stone-faced. However, her fidgety fingers and a tremor in her voice sent a ripple of alarm through him.
“Is anything missing? Did the butler see anything to help identify this person?”
Mother shook her head. “A man. Fair hair under a dark cap. I don’t think anything is missing, because this wasn’t a typical burglary.” She stared across the room at the fireplace, composed as a statue but for the restless fingers in her lap.
A growing ache throbbed at his temple. “What aren’t you telling me? What the hell have you done now?”
