Page 49 of Dukes Do It Better
Being honest, he’d done some shady things in the past. Illegal things. Forging papers, smuggling goods as well as the occasional person, and anything else required of him to feed, clothe, and pay his crew. Those actions probably precluded him from ever being a genuinely good man. At least, in the strictest sense. In his mind, he usually termed those events as “adventures” to downplay the potential consequences on his soul.
Grave robbing his own brother was a new “adventure.” God help him. Malachi let his head loll to the right and stared out his window. Across the street, the barrister’s wife closed the door behind her while holding the hand of her son, who tugged impatiently. The boy appeared to be around the same age as Alton, which made Malachi smile.
Emma and her family had invited him to join them at the Ballymores’ picnic today. A note from Simon confirmed he’d received a similar invitation, and he expected to make his interest in Miss Martin clear by staying by her side all day. Seeing Simon caught by the tall brunette made Mal happy. It shouldn’t be a surprise to see his friend fall so quickly. Simon had a way of making up his mind and never turning back. Once, Simon had spent an entire year at Tattersalls looking at horses, only to purchase a bay mare after catching sight of her out of the corner of his eye. One look, bought. He loved that horse. Apparently, shopping for a bride was a similar endeavor. Who knew?
A picnic with Emma’s whole family and friend group was a gesture. A legitimizing of their relationship. Moving it beyond the bedroom. Because she was a widow, no one would automatically expect a wedding announcement, but it was still a huge step. Essentially, her family was publicly accepting Malachi’s interest in Emma, which, until he received the invitation, he hadn’t realized he wanted. The fact that she wasn’t hiding him from her family like a shameful secret was something he hadn’t known he craved. After their evening in the kitchen, the idea of sitting with her family and being, well, accepted, appealed more than it had a few days before.
Normally, thoughts of seeing her would ignite excited tingles in his blood, but damn, he was exhausted. A nap would have to happen between now and then. Otherwise, his first outing with her family would entail her sitting on the grass watching him drool on himself while he snored like a great bear. So attractive. She deserved better, and her brother would never let him live it down.
When he shifted in the chair, stiff muscles protested. Setting aside the cold coffee, he rose and crossed to the writing desk. It took a moment to jot a quick note to Simon, apprising him of last night’s events and of his plan. If anyone would understand the gravity of the situation and the need for extreme action, it was Simon.
He set aside the pen and sanded the note. There. One grave-robbing expedition in the works. Between them they could open the crypt and handle whatever was inside. Malachi’s brain tried to supply images of dead bodies, and he shuddered. No. Best not consider the details right now. No good could come of that. The important thing to focus on was getting the bank book, handing it over to the king, and eliminating the threat to his mother’s pale, bejeweled neck.
Sometime soon, he’d need to retreat to Olread Cove and check on his cave stash. Ensure the crates were still secure and protected from the elements. At the memory of the cave and the beach where he’d found the book that had kept him company on so many nights, Malachi glanced over at the journal on his dressing table.
Sliding a drawer open, he placed the book inside and closed it away. Last night would have been the perfect time to return it. In the warm kitchen, he’d kept his mouth shut, though. The night had been oddly delicate, created for intimate confidences. During their time together, he’d hoped she would open up and tell him some of those secrets herself. And last night she had. Was it cowardice keeping him mum, or had it been not wanting to invalidate Emma’s decision to finally tell him something of herself? There was no point in wondering about it now. He’d missed the opportunity.
With exhaustion tugging at his limbs, Malachi shucked his shirt and let it fall in a heap next to the bed.
Sleep first, violate his brother’s eternal resting place later, and picnic in between. Then forget about all of it while in Emma’s arms.
Oblivion could be found more than one way, and Emma was fast becoming his favorite.
Chapter Fourteen
Everyone lies. It’s human nature. We protect and prevaricate with anything within our grasp, even if it means bypassing honor.
—Journal entry, October 1, 1824
I didn’t think this through,” Emma murmured to Adelaide. Beside her friend, Lord Marshall muffled a laugh.
“I think it’s fascinating. Like watching two peacocks prancing around one another.” Adelaide sipped her lemonade, but didn’t bother lowering her voice to hide her response from Calvin and Mal, sitting a few feet away.
“Saucy,” Lord Marshall commented with a wink toward Adelaide. She grinned, then returned to what everyone else was watching—Emma’s brother and her lover getting to know each other.
Both men had used those words in separate discussions with Emma. Getting to know each other.
Mal because he (correctly) thought things would be awkward if he accepted Cal’s invitation to sit with them at the Ballymores’ picnic but didn’t speak to her brother all day.
Calvin, because he’d resigned himself to Mal’s being part of Emma’s life for the next few weeks, and he admitted he might need to converse with the man a bit more before deciding he definitively hated him.
“I never should have told Phee about Mal.” Emma picked a strawberry off Adelaide’s plate and nibbled the sweet red flesh down to the stem. Almost immediately, Emma stopped chewing. The memory of the night she’d crawled in with Phee and Cal after her nightmare made her shoulders slump. Emma herself had let this particular nugget of information slip. Her and her damned determination to be honest with her family and deviate from her old ways.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Adelaide asked, concern making a groove between her eyebrows.
“I remembered that I can’t blame this on Phee’s big mouth.”
Just then, Phee returned from the duck pond with a little boy clinging to each hand. “What’s this about my big mouth?”
“That,” Emma said, jerking her chin toward the two men who seemed determined to ignore the ladies’ commentary as they swapped stories of their manly endeavors—otherwise known as foolish youth—and subtly tried to outdo each other.
“Oh, that. No, you’re to blame. These are the rewards honest women reap, my dear.” Phee swung one child-laden arm toward her, and Emma caught Alton around the waist, then pulled him down to her lap.
“Mama, I fed ducks. Four of them. They fought over the bread and squawked at each other and made us laugh.” Alton dug around the edges of her skirts like a badger making a burrow.
“Little love, what are you looking for?”
“Food. I’m hungry. I tried to eat the duck bread, but Auntie Phee said no.”
