Page 5 of Dukes Do It Better
“Thank you for stepping in. Roxbury overstayed his welcome.” Moving from the solid heat of his body hit her as a loss the instant she shifted. The day was clear, with blue skies and fluffy white clouds, showcasing brilliant spring weather. She shouldn’t be cold. And yet. Wrapping her arms around herself did little to retain his warmth.
The big man in front of her seemed to suffer the same momentary awkwardness, if the way he shifted his weight and twitched his hands was any indication.
His fidgeting made her smile, as if his discomfort soothed hers. Of course there would be a few moments of not knowing what to do or say. After all, the last time they’d seen each other, they’d been naked and dewy from a final bout of enthusiastic sex. Now here they were, in Hyde Park, facing one another in the light of day under rather strange circumstances.
“Mama, who’s this?” Alton’s voice came from behind them. Emma turned to see Phee chasing Alton and mouthing “Sorry.” Little legs must have outrun his aunt.
Emma glanced at Malachi, assessing. How a man interacted with a child said so much about him. Did he squat down to their level or raise his voice into a higher octave? Did he ignore the child entirely or frown at the interruption?
Malachi did none of those things. He held his hand down for Alton to shake and looked him in the eye. “I’m Lord Trenton, but you can call me Captain.”
Alton shook hands with a serious expression. “Pleasure to meet you, Captain. I’m Alton Hardwick and I’m five.” Still holding Malachi’s hand, her son looked to Emma. “Did I do it right, Mama?”
Emma couldn’t contain the smile. “Yes, little love. Very well done.”
“This is Aunt Phee, but you have to call her something different,” Alton said, pointing to the redhead behind him.
Phee sent Malachi a nod, but the blatant speculation in the look she shot Emma made it plain there would be a conversation happening at the first opportunity. While Emma had written about her torrid night with the captain, now that the man was present, Phee clearly had thoughts on the matter.
“Your Grace, this is Lady Eastly, my sister-in-law. Phee, may I introduce the Duke of Trenton,” Emma said, her finishing school training coming to the rescue.
“Your assistance was well-timed, Your Grace. Thank you for helping with Roxbury,” Phee said.
The captain glanced down the path Roxbury had taken. “Happy to be of assistance. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Eastly.” He turned to Emma. “May I call on you soon, Lady Emma?”
Almost against her will, Emma’s lips quirked into a smile. Playing at manners seemed a little ridiculous given their history, but she dipped a shallow curtsy. “I’m staying with my brother on Hill Street, off Berkeley Square. You may call on me there.”
When he bowed over her hand, his pale gaze flicked up to hers at the last minute. Malachi placed a light kiss on the sliver of skin above the cuff of her glove. A shiver, followed by gooseflesh, raced up her arm.
Emma smiled in response to the kiss. The manners were purely superficial, but her response to him was far from it.
* * *
The next day, Malachi was at his wit’s end. His first lieutenant had written this morning, briefing him on the status of the Athena’s dry dock repairs and news of the crew. Not that the officer had to, but the man had become a friend, and knew Malachi’s desire to resume his place on board ship.
When they’d returned to England, luck had been on his side in one way—the Athena, while technically no longer his responsibility, would remain for a while in England for repairs and maintenance. If Malachi could convince the unexpected luck to remain long enough to see him back to command and his men, it would be a miracle. But he had to try.
After the encounter in the park the day before, he’d tried yet again to meet with the Admiralty.
When he’d reported in upon his return to London, the Admiralty hadn’t outright denied the request to reinstate his command of the Athena. But there’d been clear reluctance on Admiral Sorkin’s part to consider the matter further. The disheartening meeting left Malachi with endless piles of paperwork and an appointment two weeks hence.
Today, he’d gone to what was no doubt the real source of the order to relinquish his command.
Which turned out to be a mistake. Because only one person could so thoroughly ignore a question while evoking this unique blend of frustration and emotional impotence. His mother—who had somehow managed to shove the Admiralty of the British Royal Navy into her pocket, but damned if he knew how.
“Your brother was prepared to do his duty to the title by marrying and siring an heir. It’s not unreasonable to expect the same of you.” Marjorie Harlow, Dowager Duchess of Trenton’s tone signaled both her conviction of her position on the side of moral right, as well as her refusal to be swayed by things like common sense or another person’s free will.
Malachi stifled a groan. “George was raised to hold the title and had settled in this role. He had everything in order. You can’t judge me by his life. Frankly, I have too much going on right now to bother with chasing some skirt.” He caught himself too late to call the words back. A pair of dark chocolate eyes and gold hair flashed through his mind and Malachi cleared his throat of an unexpected lump of guilt. Calling Emma a skirt didn’t sit well. “Pardon me. I meant I have other priorities at the moment. Dealing with the dukedom is more important than finding a wife.”
“You’ll never find a wife with such a mouth. Please remember you aren’t on a ship anymore,” Lady Trenton huffed, setting her teacup down with the faintest clink.
Oh, the things he could say in reply. His mouth had won him quite a few fans in several countries, but some comments weren’t for a mother’s ears.
The bitter reminder that he wasn’t on board the Athena or in command of anything—much less his own life—slapped him in the face, yet again. Malachi clasped his hands behind his back and turned to stare out the window at the square of green below.
Outside, a maid in a starched uniform walked a puff of hair one had to assume was a dog, stopping along the wrought iron fence bordering their green grass. It was hard to tell given the indeterminate body parts covered in fur, but judging by the maid’s expression, he was pretty sure the dog was relieving itself on their front gate.
A foggy memory surfaced, bringing a smile with it. He’d done the same thing years ago while on a rare week of shore leave. After discovering the full extent of Father’s meddling, he’d drunk to numb the humiliation of his family undercutting his career in such a way. In his alcohol-induced haze, Malachi had thought literally pissing on the ducal home was a grand statement regarding his feelings toward his family.
