In the Bed of a Duke

by Cathy Maxwell

  “Marriage,” he murmured, clearheaded enough not to commit to a direction. Instead, he punctuated the word with a deep, soul-drinking kiss.

  He knew what Charlotte liked in her kisses. He knew she wouldn’t resist. She didn’t. With a soft sigh of contentment, her body melded with his. He slid inside her, and conversation was forgotten.

  Charlotte fell back to sleep.

  Phillip raised from the bed carefully, not wanting to disturb her. She slept as if exhausted, and he needed a moment to speak to his brother alone.

  It had been over an hour since he’d sent Justin downstairs. He dressed in shirt, breeches, and boots and took the backstairs leading to the outside. The cold rain barrel water felt good. He washed the best he could. His whiskers irritated him. He rubbed his jaw with his hand and went in search of the innkeeper, whom he found in the taproom cleaning the tables.

  Justin was there, too. He sat with his arms crossed, his chair tilted back against a wall. “Did you have fun?” he asked Phillip, his eyes alight with anger at being made to cool his heels.

  “It took a while to get dressed,” Phillip answered without apology, thinking to himself he needed to school his twin in manners—although he would not do it with the innkeeper present.

  “I imagine,” Justin said with a doubtful snort, one the innkeeper echoed.

  Phillip was going to have to do more than “school” his brother. He may need to beat him.

  Giving Justin his back, Phillip said to the innkeeper, “I need a razor and shaving soap. Do you have any?”

  “I can get that for you,” he answered. “It will cost you.”

  “Whatever. I need it now. And,” he said, catching the man before he left the room, “I’ll also pay for your guest who made a complaint this morning. He sounds like a mean one. I’ll not have you inconvenienced on my account.”

  The innkeeper raised his eyebrows to his hairline, a new sense of respect easing into his attitude for Phillip. This time, when he started to leave the room, he gave a short bow.

  Phillip turned to his brother, who said, “You didn’t ask how much the man would charge you.”

  “I have the amount to cover a razor,” Phillip answered and decided he wanted an ale for breakfast. He felt good, better than he had in ages. He went behind the bar and helped himself to tankard and ale from the barrel. “Do you want one?”

  “Aye.”

  “Have you had anything to eat?”

  Justin’s gaze narrowed. “No.”

  Phillip carried the two tankards to the table just as the innkeeper returned with a well-used, but sharp, razor and a cake of soap. “What do you have to break our fast?” Phillip asked him.

  “Depends on what you want—my lord,” the innkeeper added the title with caution. Phillip didn’t correct. Let the education of Justin begin. “I have some sausages.”

  “And bread?” Phillip wondered.

  “Aye, the wife baked it fresh yesterday.”

  “Good,” Phillip said. “We’ll take that and some cheese.”

  “No, we won’t,” Justin said. He brought his chair down to the floor. “I don’t like cheese, and I can order for myself.”

  Phillip had never heard of anyone not liking cheese. It was one of his favorite foods. However, he didn’t want to start a quarrel with this difficult, surly, ill-mannered fellow who just happened to be related to him. “Order, then,” he said, and took a chair opposite Justin’s at the table.

  “I’ll take bread and a sausage,” his brother said. He lifted his tankard and drained it down in one smooth gulp. “And another ale.” There was an unmistakable challenge in his voice. Perhaps he thought to school Phillip…?

  He wouldn’t.

  Phillip drained his own tankard, proud to take less time than Justin. He set the tankard down. “I’ll have another, too.”

  The innkeeper looked between the two men as if confused by the undeclared contest between them, and then understanding dawned. “Are the two of you brothers?”

  Phillip could have said yes. He didn’t. He waited to see what Justin would say—and that was nothing. His brother hunkered down as if trying to ignore Phillip’s presence.

  Silence stretched a long moment with neither Phillip nor Justin speaking. The innkeeper made an annoyed sound. “You’ve already helped yourself to the ale. You can do it again. I’ll be back with your sausages and cheese.”

  When they were alone, Justin snorted, and said in his rolling brogue, “Funny how you didn’t speak up and answer the man’s question. I thought you insisted in being in charge of the world.”

  “Me? I was waiting for you.” Phillip lifted his tankard, and then remembered it was empty. He set it back down. The brew had been a bit flat to his taste, much like his reunion with Justin. His brother was turning out to be the most obstinate, annoying man ever. He didn’t even like cheese. “Everyone likes cheese.”

  “I don’t,” Justin answered, rising to get more ale. He didn’t bother to take Phillip’s tankard.

  “Perhaps,” Phillip suggested, “you would have been happier if I’d left you with MacKenna.”

  Justin ignored him until he returned to the table. He tilted back in his chair again, his gaze shifting away to a far corner of the room.

  Phillip was tempted to tell him he was being a complete horse’s arse. However, he reminded himself that he was a diplomat. He’d negotiated with hordes of irritatingly rude people. He should be able to manage a one brother.

  “So what brought you back?” Phillip asked. He rose from the table with his tankard. He stared across the room toward the bar.

  “The money.”

  Of course. Phillip stopped dead in his tracks. Outrage flowed through every vein in his body. He’d risked his life for this man, a man who was turning out to be alarmingly common.

  “I am the oldest,” Justin said, “and that makes me a duke.” And then, to add emphasis to his words, he belched, the sound carrying in the stillness between them. His gaze met Phillip’s. Almost gleefully, he said, “Having second thoughts yet?”

  His belligerency tested Phillip’s calm veneer. “Perhaps you’d prefer staying in Scotland.”

  “It’s too late,” Justin said. “You’ve convinced me. I want what you have. Perhaps even take a gander at Miss Cameron since she seems fond of dukes.”

  That was it.

  Phillip calmly walked over to the table, set down his tankard, and grabbed his brother by the throat, shoving the table and chairs that were empty aside in the process.

  But Justin wasn’t in the mood to take being throttled. He kicked chair out of the way so that he could get free, and then threw his fists at Phillip. In a blink, the two of them were battling it out across the taproom.

  Charlotte heard a crash and the grunts of exertion. She knew what was happening. She’d witnessed far too many fights on the frontier not to know the sounds.

  The twins were at each other again.

  She’d napped a few minutes after Phillip had left but had realized she’d rather be with him. Her toilette had been hasty. She’d brushed her hair with her fingers the best she could.

  Now, hurrying to the taproom door, she was stunned to see tables and chairs being tossed aside as they pounded away at each other.

  Phillip was actually the more disciplined fighter. He belonged to that set of Corinthians who enjoyed training with pugilists. He was quick, clever.

  Justin was not trained, but he held his own. He was stronger.

  And might would win every time.

  Charlotte let Justin get a good, meaningful punch in before she started shouting at them to stop. It was at this time the innkeeper also came charging in. He blinked in horror at the shambles they were making of his taproom and grabbed fistfuls of Justin’s shirt to throw him off Phillip. Charlotte hurried to put herself between the two brothers.

  “Stop this,” she said to Phillip. “Now.”

  Phillip’s eyes were bright with anger, but he pulled back.

  She t
urned to Justin and was suddenly stuck by how similar his eyes were to Phillip’s.

  And she suspected they were going to learn they were more alike than either would care to admit before this day was done.

  “What have you done to my taproom?” the innkeeper said. “Who’s going to pay for these damages?”

  “He will,” both brothers said at the same time, pointing to each other.

  “I will,” Charlotte said. Upstairs, she’d tucked Phillip’s coin purse in her bodice for expediency’s sake. She hadn’t wanted to leave it in the room alone. She now turned and pulled it out, handing it to the innkeeper. “This should cover the damage, and I’d like a pot of tea.”

  The innkeeper didn’t take her word for it but poured the coins into his hand. The gleam of gold made him happy.

  “Is that enough?” Phillip demanded, a ducal sneer to his tone.

  “For that price, we should break a few more chairs,” Justin answered. Picking up a chair leg, he splintered it into pieces over the nearest table.

  The innkeeper was not amused. “You shall leave after breakfast.” He turned and walked out, the money tightly clutched in his fist.

  “Did you notice he took your purse, too?” Justin asked Charlotte. “Do you want me to go fetch it for you?”

  “You aren’t going to do anything for her,” Phillip flashed back, the heat in his temper surprising Charlotte. “Stay back.”

  Phillip’s tone obviously struck a nerve with Justin. “Oh, I will,” Justin informed him. “In fact, I’ll stay so far away you’ll never see me again.”

  “You said that last night,” Phillip reminded him.

  “I mean it now.”

  He started for the door, even as Phillip said, “Good.”

  It was up to Charlotte to grab Justin’s arm and swing him back. “You’ll do no such thing. At least, not until after breakfast.” She pushed him toward the lone standing table. “Sit down. And you, too, Phillip, while I see if I can order some breakfast.”

  “We’ve ordered it. And paid for it, too,” Phillip said.

  “You paid too much,” Justin muttered, but he was lifting a chair that still had all four legs off the floor.

  “It’s my money,” Phillip answered. “She can spend it how she wishes.” He set a chair in place for her.

  Charlotte sat and waited for the two men to do so also.

  The innkeeper entered with her tea and the men’s plates. “That looks tasty,” she said, looking over Phillip’s plate, more for the innkeeper’s benefit than Phillip’s. “I’d like to have that, too,” she said to the innkeeper.

  “See?” Phillip said to his brother. “She likes cheese.”

  “No, I don’t really,” Charlotte answered, a bit distracted. She amended her order. “I don’t care for cheese.”

  “How can you not like cheese?” Phillip said.

  “I’ll eat it if you wish me to,” Charlotte answered, “but I’d rather not.”

  “He has trouble understanding any desires but his own,” Justin grumbled as he picked a tankard off the floor close to his feet. He rose. “I’m getting ale. Do you want one?” he asked Phillip.

  “You’d drink off the floor—” Phillip started but was stopped by Charlotte’s heel coming down hard on his toe.

  He looked at her in surprise. She sipped her tea, giving him a “meaningful” look over her cup.

  Leaning toward her, he said in a low voice meant for the two of them alone, “I like your hair down. It looks lovely. But no one would suspect that such a calm and serene creature as yourself has just crushed my toe.”

  She almost spilled her tea laughing. He smiled back. “You are beautiful in the morning, with or without clothes.”

  Charlotte glanced to see if Justin overheard them. “This isn’t the time.”

  Phillip frowned. “I don’t want to deal with him,” he confessed. “He’s rude and obnoxious.”

  “Who is?” Justin asked, setting an ale he’d poured for Phillip in front of him.

  “You,” Phillip answered brutally.

  He picked up his tankard, but his hand was stayed when Justin said, “I picked your cup off the floor and wiped it off on my breeches—”

  “Stop it,” she said. “Don’t you understand? The more you do this, the more Laird MacKenna wins. I’d wager he isn’t even looking for us. He’s done his damage.”

  Justin gave a brittle laugh. “Exactly. I’m his revenge. Me with my big callous and hard ways. They are probably all sitting around the banquet hall table laughing at me right now.”

  “Then don’t give them something to laugh at,” Phillip replied.

  “And what do you imagine I should do?” Justin lashed back. “Eat cheese?”

  “Please,” Charlotte said, wanting calm. “I know how you feel, or believe I do,” she told Justin. “It isn’t easy to be between and betwixt, but you have no choice. I thought I knew what I was doing when I uprooted my sisters from the Ohio Valley to come to London. I won’t lie to you, Justin, it hasn’t been easy. People are cruel there…but then, they’ve been cruel to you here. All I know is that one doesn’t have any choice in life other than to go forward. Even when you aren’t certain it is the direction you want to go, there is no other. And you aren’t alone. Not anymore. You have Phillip.”

  “That seems to be the problem,” Justin answered tightly.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him not to be so sensitive. She could understand Phillip’s exasperation with him. But then she noticed a razor on the floor. She rose from her chair and went to pick it up. “What is this?”

  “I asked the innkeeper for it,” Phillip said. He rubbed his hand across his coarse whiskers. “I need to get this off. The soap is over there.” He nodded to where a cake of shaving soap rested alone on the floor.

  Inspiration struck. She glanced back and forth between the twins. Was blood thicker than water?

  It always had been for her. She went over and picked the soap up, knowing of only one way that could bridge the gap between Justin’s defensiveness, Phillip’s disappointment, and her own curiosity. “One moment.” She left the room, searching for and finding the innkeeper in his kitchen grousing to his wife, who apparently served as cook. “We need very hot water and some towels. Can you do this for me, please?”

  The line of his mouth flattened, but he said, “Yes, mistress, I can. I’ll be out in a blink.”

  “Thank you, and I’m sorry again for the mess they made.”

  The innkeeper grunted his response, busy pouring hot water from a kettle over the fire into a bowl. He carried it out for Charlotte, who had him set it on the table between Phillip and Justin. The two of them appeared as if they’d not said one word to each other since she’d left them. Nor had they touched their breakfasts.

  This might be more difficult than she had imagined.

  “Here we are,” she said in her sweetest voice. “Who wants to be shaved first?”

  “What?” Phillip asked.

  “I’m not losing my beard,” Justin answered.

  She held up the razor. “I’m the one doing the shaving.”

  Phillip shook his head. “Charlotte, you don’t need to do this. I can do it myself.”

  However, a crafty gleam had appeared in Justin’s eye. “Come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind losing my beard. And I’d like to be shaved by a pretty lass.”

  Phillip’s hand came down on her wrist before she could take a step. “Don’t go near him.”

  Justin smiled. He had a crooked smile, one that caught a woman’s attention. His voice turned honeyed. “Come here, lass. I won’t snarl and bark at you.”

  Charlotte looked between the two men. “Actually, I am beginning to feel like a bone between two angry dogs,” she said. “What is the matter with both of you?”

  “You are not between the two of us,” Phillip answered. “You are mine.”

  Justin snorted his thoughts on that. “Does she have your name—?”

  He was cut off a
s Phillip rose up over the table, tipping everything. Charlotte managed to save the plates, but Phillip’s tankard went flying, ale and hot water spilling onto the floor.

  “See what you did?” Justin chided as if talking to a child and completely unintimidated. “Miss Cameron will be upset.”

  “I’m tired of you ‘snorting’ at everything I say,” Phillip answered. “If you snort one more time, I shall pull your tongue out of your mouth and tie it into a knot.”

  Justin’s response was to snort.

  Charlotte threw her hands out to Phillip to stop him from attacking. “Please,” she said. “Let’s eat breakfast and be civil.” To Justin, she said, “If you continue to be provoking, I won’t give you a shave.”

  “I don’t want you to touch the bas—” Charlotte cut Phillip off by covering his mouth with her hand. “Ale. Go get ale. And since it hasn’t been mentioned, I’m not your servant. Nor do I have your name. You have no authority over me, Your Grace.”

  Phillip drew back in surprise. Had he thought she hadn’t realized what had made him angry?

  She also doubted if anyone had ever been so direct with him—and then realized there was one other. Justin. He sat watching them with interest, obviously enjoying the moment.

  “I know you aren’t a servant,” Phillip said to Charlotte.

  “Then understand that I shall make my own decisions,” she answered.

  His brows snapped together, but before he could argue, Justin started clapping. “Very good, Miss Cameron. You told him off good.”

  “Quiet, Justin,” she said, and he was wise enough to listen.

  Phillip picked up the fallen tankard and walked in the direction of the kitchen without saying a word.

  “The ale is behind the bar,” Justin called out to him.

  “I won’t drink out of a tankard off the floor,” Phillip answered, and left the room.

  “He’s not one who likes to be crossed,” Justin said. “You handled him well, lass.”

  “So, you know what you are doing,” she said before hitting the back of his chair, a command for him to scoot away from the table. “I don’t want to get hair in the food.” She opened and closed a pair of scissors experimentally. They were sharp. She was going to need them to be.