Page 73 of Dukes Do It Better
Except for the service to the king part. Thanks to Calvin, those days were behind him. Or they would be once the dust settled after the court-martial, and Malachi found himself with the options of working behind a desk in a cramped office or bowing out of the Royal Navy with a tattered reputation.
“Beg your pardon, Your Grace,” one of the staff said from the doorway. “Messenger arrived with this.”
Damn the flare of hope that roared to life at the sight of the missive. He inspected the wax blob seal.
“Will you be needing anything else before you leave for the evening, Your Grace?” the servant asked.
“No, thank you.” Malachi searched his memory for the man’s name. “Perkins, you may dismiss the crew for the night.” He caught himself. “Staff, I mean.” Not crew. Old habits die hard. When he was home, he tended to stay in his chambers. After so many years on board a ship, having an entire house to ramble about in felt strange. How much room did a lone man need, anyway?
Malachi blew out a breath and turned over the letter to examine the handwriting. Hope dashed on the rocks. It wasn’t from Emma. At this point, he’d take a letter full of damning accusations against his character over this deafening silence. He just wanted to talk. Not even explain necessarily, because he had no idea why she’d left. But talk. Hear her thoughts, let her say whatever she needed to. He’d stand through any emotion she threw his way if she would fucking talk to him.
They’d agreed to grow their relationship. Didn’t that imply they’d work through things? Not if her complete abandonment was any indication. Maybe he should have brought up marriage. At least then they’d be stuck together and have to talk this out.
A bittersweet smile curled his lips. Emma would tease him about that. He could hear her mocking laughter. Such a romantic, Malachi. How could a woman resist you when you put it so sweetly?
The idea of marrying Emma didn’t strike dread or fear into his heart. Quite the opposite. He missed her. Not just the sex, although they’d worked so well together physically, it would be hard not to miss that. But the quiet times. The conversations on the pillow, one precious memory of watching her take over his kitchen. The patient way she dealt with Alton, how she loved him so totally and could be a disciplinarian, while also keeping hold of her sense of humor. He missed his friend. He missed his lover. He missed the pieces of himself she’d taken with her when she left, that he hadn’t even realized he’d handed over. Malachi rubbed at the hollow ache under his ribs.
This silence was killing him.
Sliding a finger under the wax blob, he opened the letter and began to read. He had to read it twice for the contents of the letter to sink in. “Son of a bitch.”
Without bothering to gather proper outerwear, Malachi charged out of the room, down the stairs, and out the door. In a hack, he examined the note again and seethed all the way to Hill Street.
The absolute stones on Calvin to take things this far. Reporting him and bringing about a court-martial was bad enough, but this? Malachi was glad he hadn’t grabbed his gloves before leaving the house. Punching Cal’s perfect face with a bare fist would make such a satisfying sound when the time came. And the time was coming soon. A gentleman’s resort might be to challenge the man to a duel, but Malachi didn’t have the patience for all that pomp and circumstance. Not when he could simply smash Cal’s nose and feel better right away.
The note was a crumpled ball in his fist by the time he knocked on the door and scowled at Higgins.
“Tell Lord Eastly the Duke of Trenton is waiting in his library.” Malachi stormed past the gape-jawed butler and down the hall. It felt good to throw the title around for once. Because this—he clenched his fingers around the paper once more—would not stand. If Calvin thought he could manipulate Malachi, he was sadly mistaken.
“What the devil, Mal? How dare you show your face here?” Cal said from the doorway, a moment later.
Phee hurried to her husband’s side within seconds, but she didn’t stop at the door. With murder in her eyes, she already had her hands fisted. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t bloody your nose right now.”
Malachi raised a brow at the threat, even as he drew up to his full height and prepared to take a punch. Phee was a little thing, slender to the point of looking fragile. But she sounded like she would actually do it.
Calvin shot a hand out and slipped it through his wife’s arm to stall her. “It’s not an empty threat. She blackened my eye once,” he said. Phee shifted her glare from Malachi to the hand holding her back. “Wait a moment, love. Let’s see why he’s here.”
Malachi held up the paper. “This has to stop. You’re hiding behind anonymous notes like a damned coward. Doesn’t anyone in your family talk when there’s a problem? What is wrong with you people?” Hurt and frustration over Emma mixed with this situation, until the hot emotions boiled over. “I demand an explanation. You claimed to be my friend, all the while plotting to destroy my career. Now this. You’re not getting a single penny from me.” There were more accusations to hurl at the man, but Calvin marched forward and snatched the paper from his hand.
“You’re raving like a madman and making no sense at all.” Cal glared, then read the letter. “Where did you get this?”
“Messenger. Why are you both looking at me like that?” Malachi said, questions breaking through the volcano of emotion.
“Mal, I didn’t send this. Why would you think I did?” Cal handed the note to Phee to read.
“Is this the first letter they sent you?” The way Phee asked the question, Malachi sensed she already knew the answer.
“The second. Although the other was only a single word, and I haven’t compared the handwriting. But I think it’s the same person. The other message matched events Calvin brought about, so I thought he sent this as well.”
“You’re the third. Our note said one down, two to go. Then the fire happened. You’re the third. Oh, hell,” Phee said.
“What am I being blamed for? The writer mentions a court-martial?” Calvin asked.
Bafflement was so clear on the man’s face that the wind went right out of Malachi’s sails. “I need a drink,” he muttered. None of this made sense if his initial theory was wrong. He rubbed his thumb at the aching pressure between his eyebrows. “You didn’t talk to the Admiralty about our business from a few years ago?”
“And implicate myself and my best friend? Why would I do that?”
“Your part in the transaction was conveniently left out of the anonymous report.” Malachi sent him an arch look.
