Page 34 of Ruthless with a Rogue
“I’ll leave the marrying to you,” he murmured and threw back more whisky.
Rafe snorted.“A woman would have to show up with a pistol to drag me to the parish.Or Grandmama would have to hog-tie me to the altar.I’ll remain a bachelor far longer than you.”
The absurd image, Rafe roped to an altar, Dorothea triumphant by his side, was ridiculous enough to push away some of the darkness.He forced a smile and tilted back in his chair.“And you think the dowager won’t resort to that?That woman is Machiavellian.In the best of ways, naturally.”
A rare, bemused expression crossed Rafe’s face.“The Dowager Duchess of Ironcrest?Machiavellian?I would never describe her in such a way.”
“You’re right.Much too tame a word,” he said fondly.
Rafe’s gaze dropped to his whisky, and his lips pulled back like he’d tasted something foul.“I…” Rafe’s throat worked as he struggled for words.
All levity evaporated from Derek.His chair dropped to the floor with a thud, and he leaned forward.“What is it, Rafe?”
“I have to go to Ironcrest Castle,” he said quietly.
Derek jolted, eyes widening as his stomach twisted.Even though it was barely discernable, Derek didn’t miss the tightening at the corners of Rafe’s already down-turned mouth.The flex of the muscles just beneath his jaw.“Why in the sodding hell do you need to return to that place?When?”
Rafe cracked his neck and drew in a slow breath.When he spoke, his voice was devoid of all emotion.“There was a large fire.Burnt up much of the tenants’ properties.I need to assess the damage and determine how to proceed.Ironcrest’s fortune is heavily tied to tenant farming.Theo, my steward, has some ideas on how we may salvage the estate and some of this year’s income.This setback will be substantial.”
Rafe saluted Derek with his drink.“Thanks to you, nothing we won’t survive.If it weren’t for you and your persistent nagging regarding investments, I might be destitute.Well, by a duke’s standards.And you know the measly widow’s portion mywonderfulgrandfather left Grandmama.We’ll weather this, and I can continue taking care of her.”
“When do you leave?”Derek asked quietly.
“Tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry, Rafe, I truly am.Is Dorothea going with you?”
“No.” It might have been a single word, but it screameddefinitely fucking not.“Why subject us both?”he said stiffly.“She will remain here.I would appreciate if you checked in on her on occasion while I’m gone.”
“Of course.We both know I’m Dorothea’s favorite grandson, anyway.”
Rafe grunted.
Chuckling, Derek signaled to a passing footman.“Another bottle of whisky.And send for Shelley and Rose.”He paused, deliberating.“And Kitty, if she’s in.That’s all.”The footman nodded and trotted off.
Rafe’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline.
Derek spread his arms wide.“You need cheering up.I am being a good friend and obtaining said cheer.”
Rafe shook his head, his lipsalmosttwitched.“I certainly won’t complain about whisky and wenches.”
Derek snorted.“Sounds like an advertisement for a cheap brothel.”
A half-hearted huff of laughter fled Rafe, but the moment of levity was gone as quick as a flash of lightning, his face twisting in what looked like pain.“Derek…”
Derek visibly tensed.“Rafe…?”
His gaze skirted away from Derek.“I can no longer fund the expansion for a second foundling home.”
“Bloody fuck.”Derek’s exclamation rang through their small corner of the club.He should have already put two and two together on that one.Rafe was funding the entire expansion himself.And now…Rafe barely had enough to keep himself afloat.Ballocks, ballocks, ballocks.
Rafe gave a clipped nod.“We’ve already promised forty children a spot in this home.And now…”
“No,” Derek said sharply.“We’re not sending them back out on the street.Wedo not abandon.We promised them a home and food in their bellies, and we will give them that.We will.”
“And these funds will just magically appear?”Rafe arched a brow.
Rafe’s words from a moment ago came back in a rush.Let me play devil’s advocate.Who would complain about more money?
