Page 83 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
It was too much, far too much. He wasn’t worthy. He needed to explain that to her, but then he heard Phee’s insistent tone,You’re not your father. Still, he shook his head. “I can’t take from your own children.”
“You’re my child.”
“The law does not recognize me as such.”
She glowered at him. “Do you think I give a fig about what the law recognizes? I was a thief and a forger long before I was a duchess.”
“And stubborn,” Claybourne said. “Accept her gift with grace, lad.”
Drake looked at the duchess. “You’ve given me so much.”
She smiled softly. “You’ve given me more.”
“Then I welcome your generous gift with more gratitude than I can ever express.”
He negotiated with Claybourne and Jack for their shares. They seemed surprised by his shrewdness, but part of his preparation for the meeting had involved anticipating that he would make an offer for the business.
Whiskey was poured to seal the deal. Drake stood. “I am quite overwhelmed. I had hoped to convince you not to close Dodger’s. It has a reputation tied to you. I will change it to fit the times. If you’ve no objection, I’d like to change its name in order to truly make it myown.”
“You are now its owner,” the duchess said. “You are to do with it as you please.”
“I’ll make you proud,” he promised her.
“My darling son, you have made me proud since the moment you became mine.”
It was silly for Phee to sit on the edge of the windowsill in the parlor and gaze out on the street waiting for Drake’s return. He’d said he would come to the residence after the meeting, but she had no idea how long it would take or how soon after he would come. For all she knew he would stay at the club to work for a spell, to see about his business there.
She wasn’t his wife, his lover, his friend. She was his housekeeper, his servant, his laundress, his boot polisher, his back scrubber. Even if she’d only had the pleasure of doing the last once. Her hands were healed enough that she could wash his back again. Although maybe she would wash a tad more: his hair, his arms, his chest. She would probably stop there. The remainder of him far too intimate, but maybe...
She’d braved a park that for some reason terrified her. Why would she not brave exploring him? She thought it would be a far more pleasant task.
Sighing, she pressed her forehead to the glass. She had chores that needed to be attended to, although at the moment she couldn’t recall a single one; cooking lessons to be attended to, although at the moment she didn’t know if she would ever eat again, her stomach was such a knot of nerves.
She didn’t want them to rebuff him or scold him or make him think he couldn’t accomplish what he most certainly could. She didn’t want them to hurt him, undermine his confidence. She wanted to be in that room and shake anyone who made him feel less.
Not that he needed her to stand as his champion. He was perfectly capable of handling the matter on his own. It was simply that she wanted to be his partner, wanted to be involved in his life, his plans, his dreams.
Good God, she sounded like Marla with her romantic tale of servants and masters of the house. The next thing she knew she would be imagining Drake declaring undying love for her.
Silly, foolish girl.
She saw a hansom cab pull to a stop in front of the residence, saw him leap out—
She rushed to the door, opened it, and nearly rammed into him when she darted outside. His quick reflexes, folding his hands over her shoulders, were the only things that saved her nose, his chest. She looked up at him, studying him as she tried to decipher the answer in his eyes but he was closed up as tightly as shutters during a storm.
“Well?” she demanded.
“You’re looking at the new owner of Dodger’s.” Laughing, picking her up, holding her tightly, he swung her around until she was dizzy.
When he finally set her down, she asked, “But how?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll explain later. We’re going out to celebrate.”
She wished she had something in satin and silk to wear but at least she’d been saving the skirt and blouse that he’d brought her that second morning for a special occasion. The sleeves were long, the buttons of the bodice went to her throat. She felt rather plain and unadorned. No jewelry, no pearl combs for her hair. Even though, with the help of Marla’s attentive hands, the blond locks were pinned up into an elegant style that she thought was befitting any ballroom ... or tavern.
She couldn’t recall ever being to a place where people were quite so boisterous, but surely she had. She and Drake were sitting at a back table in the corner, each with a tankard of ale, waiting for their shepherd’s pie to be brought out.
“Sorry it’s not very fancy,” he said.
