Never Kiss a Duke

by Megan Frampton

  He followed her down the hall to the sitting room, a room he’d seldom used. It had been the late duchess’s, the one she called him in to discuss his most recent outrageous behavior—beginning from when he would dodge his lessons by taking a horse from the stables to when he would dodge his responsibilities by bedding a widow instead of courting a debutante.

  He wasn’t dodging anything now.

  Ana Maria held the door open, and his eyes widened as he walked in. She’d changed the room completely. Gone were the staid colors his mother had favored. Now the room was a riot of color, various shades of red mixing with gold and purple. It was lush and opulent, and it had a startling effect. It was also far more in line with his sister’s natural energetic exuberance. It suited her, and he hoped it would continue to emerge. She had squelched it in response to his mother, but there was no need for that now.

  “Do you like it?” she asked. She didn’t wait for his reply before continuing. “I wanted something that would make me comfortable to be in. Thaddeus refused to let me see any of the bills, and then he kept asking about each item in the room. ‘What about the credenza? You’re going to change the color of the settee.’” She lowered her voice in a reasonable Thaddeus imitation. “So finally I just gave up and made the room precisely as I wished it. And,” she said in a pleased tone, “it seems I have a talent for matching colors. A few of the other customers asked for my advice.”

  The room was remarkable, and the colors went surprisingly well with one another. Perhaps his sister had as many hidden talents as it seemed he did.

  He walked around the perimeter of the room, taking note of the stuffed bookshelves, the two excessively upholstered chairs, the low table cluttered with scribbled-on bits of paper and invitations, two broken fans, and a wilted bouquet tied with a green velvet ribbon. All signs that Ana Maria was finally able to express herself.

  “I love it,” he said, lowering himself into one of the plush chairs.

  She sat next to him, a wide smile on her face. “I am so glad. Thaddeus makes this odd face when he comes in, so I don’t think he’s all that fond of it. Even though he paid for it,” she added with a chuckle. She glanced around, sighing deeply. “I feel comfortable here, Sebby. I don’t feel comfortable many places, but I do here.”

  Sebastian leaned forward to take her hand. “Tell me about that. What is making you uncomfortable?” He narrowed his eyes. “Who is making you uncomfortable?”

  She shook her head, taking her hand back at the same time. “It’s not anyone but myself. I know you and Thad want me to find a gentleman and get married, but there isn’t anyone who likes me in that way that I like.”

  He rolled her words around in his brain. “So—there is someone you like in that way who doesn’t see you that way?” He wasn’t accustomed to obfuscatory language, so it was difficult to parse her meaning.

  Her cheeks blazed pink, and he knew he had somehow managed to figure it out.

  “Never mind that,” she said hurriedly. “How are you? We miss you. And I have to admit I don’t entirely understand why you can’t come back.”

  Sebastian took a deep breath before he spoke. “I’m not certain I can explain it to you.” He gave her a smile. “Mostly because I am not entirely certain myself. Just that it wouldn’t be right for me to be here, having been who I was, and have Thad here, as well.” He leaned against the back of the chair. “It’s like you doing what you used to do before—cleaning, and managing the staff, and everything else my mother demanded. It’s not that you can’t do it anymore. It’s not even that you despised doing it, since I know you actually enjoyed certain parts of it, you perversely cheery person. But it wouldn’t be right.”

  She tilted her head in thought. “I suppose that makes sense.”

  “Tea, my lady.” Fletchfield walked into the room holding a tea tray, setting it down on the low table in front of them. “And may I say it is a pleasure to see you, Your—Mr. de Silva.”

  “Thank you, Fletchfield. It is a pleasure to be seen.”

  The butler smiled at Sebastian’s wordplay, then nodded toward Ana Maria. “Is there anything else?”

  She shook her head. “No, thank you. I just want to visit with my brother awhile.”

  “I will remind you that the Duke of Malvern is coming to take you riding in an hour.”

  “Thank you, I will be sure to change before then.”

  “Very good, my lady.” Fletchfield bowed again, apparently for good measure, then walked out of the room.

  Sebastian’s eyebrows rose. “Riding with Nash?”

  Ana Maria immediately began fussing with the tea things. “It’s nothing. He’s merely doing a kindness, taking me out riding.”

  Sebastian refrained from pointing out Nash seldom, if ever, did kindnesses for anyone. Beyond suggesting he take his newly unduked friend drinking, that is. And even that impetus was fueled by alcohol.

  “So tell me about the gambling house. Miss Ivy’s. Was Miss Ivy the one who said Byron and Keats should stay?”

  “No, that was Miss Ivy’s sister, Miss Octavia.” He couldn’t help but grin at thinking about her. Octavia’s personality was as wildly exuberant as Ana Maria’s newly redecorated room. And already as exuberant as he hoped Ana Maria would be, eventually. “Actually, I think you would like Miss Octavia. She is a bit younger than you, but you are similar to her.”

  He paused as he thought more; Ivy wanted her sister to enter Society, even though she would not. Perhaps he could do her a good turn by encouraging his sister and hers to make their debuts together?

  Although Octavia might not like that.

  “I would like to get to know her. Both of them, since you’re living with them now.”

  He laughed at her expression, a mix of disapproval and avid interest.

  “It just happened, you know. Miss Ivy knew I didn’t have a place to live at the moment, and since we both anticipated I’d be working a lot, and need to be at the club often, it made sense for me to stay there.” Plus I want to be certain she’s safe.

  “Hm.” Ana Maria took a sip of tea. She frowned, then shook her head as though to clear it. “Never mind that. I don’t want to hear about anybody other than you. You promise me you are fine?”

  He considered the word—fine. Fine, when said casually, could mean just fine. Not wonderful, but nothing was currently horrible at the moment. Was he that type of fine? Or was he the type of fine that meant that things were actually good?

  He wished he knew himself.

  But he could answer the question. “Yes, yes, I am fine. Perfectly fine.”

  “Good.” She finished her tea, then glanced at his cup, a wry smile on her lips. “You haven’t changed that much—you still don’t care for tea.”

  “Perhaps that is why I was stripped of the dukedom,” he said in a humorous tone.

  She laughed in response, then her expression got serious. He braced himself for whatever she would say—prior to the unduking, he’d been incapable of refusing any of her requests. She made so few of them, and they were usually something small. Except when it came to living here. That he would not do, not until he had utterly failed in the outside world.

  “I want you to promise me something, Sebby.”

  He took a deep breath. “You know I will try. What is it?”

  She blinked rapidly, and her color heightened. “Well, a few somethings, to be honest.” She took a breath, speaking rapidly. “I want you to come to at least one party with me, and you’ll need to dance with me also.”

  “For you, Ana Banana, I will.”

  Her smile warmed her whole face. “And I want you to try to forgive your mother.” She held her hand out to silence him. “What she did seems unforgivable—”

  “It is,” he interrupted.

  “But she must have had her reasons. They may not ever make sense to you, but you do know she had your welfare at heart.”

  After she’d married her dead sister’s husband. He inhaled sharply. “I will try.�
�� He regarded her steadily. “Have you forgiven her?”

  She returned his gaze, unwavering honesty in her eyes. “I have.” His sister. Kind in the face of cruelty, determined to survive, even if it meant peeling every potato ever dug.

  Forgiving of someone who had done her a grievous wrong.

  “Then I suppose if you can, I should.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly. She nodded in thought. “And I will send invitations for my party to Miss Ivy and her sister, as well.”

  “I don’t think—” he began, thinking of Ivy’s likely response.

  “I don’t care.” Her cheeks were bright red, matching her new curtains. “They are a part of your life, and I am a part of your life, and I want to know them.”

  “Couldn’t you just invite them to tea?” Sebastian asked in a mild tone.

  She made a face at him, and he laughed. “I could and I will, but that’s not enough. It’s obvious that they were gently raised, and I know what it’s like to press your face against the glass, wanting to be invited in.”

  He didn’t think Ivy had ever pressed her face against the glass. And if Octavia had, he would have wagered her subsequent action would be to smash the glass, but he didn’t tell Ana Maria that.

  “If that is all, I believe you have a riding habit to change into. For your ride with Nash?” he said, watching her closely.

  Her reaction did not disappoint. He saw her catch her breath and her fingers tighten around her teacup, and then she swallowed.

  Hm. He would never have thought his older sister and his close friend would be suitable for one another. They seemed more like brother and sister, at least in his view. He’d have to observe to make sure Ana Maria didn’t get her heart broken. Because if she did, Nash was going to have his nose broken. Possibly also a few ribs.

  “Yes, well, thank you for coming.”

  She rose, holding her arms out for a hug. He wrapped her in his embrace, wishing he could just settle and return here, the not-duke living in the glory of his former title. It would make both his sister and Thaddeus happy.

  But it wouldn’t serve him. He wondered if this is how his mother had felt when confronted with her possible futures. If it was, he might understand a little better why she had made the choice she did.

  “I love you, Sebby,” Ana Maria said, her words muffled in his chest.

  “I love you, too,” he replied.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “If you’re going to work on the floor—”

  “Since I’ll be working on the floor,” Octavia said, interrupting.

  Ivy gave an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Since. Always with a mask on. Can I keep speaking?”

  Octavia waved a lofty hand. “Go on.”

  The two sisters were in the sitting room, it being teatime. Ivy had been too busy with work to speak with Sebastian, and then they’d both been too busy at the club to do more than interact about club logistics.

  Still, she’d noticed he seemed quieter than usual. She hoped nothing was wrong. She also hoped, perversely, that nothing was right—that his sister hadn’t come up with a plan to have him return to the family fold. She’d miss him, not just because of that, but also because he was so good at engaging the customers, and they were already working on his next idea—Special Wager Night.

  She shivered in anticipation as she thought about it.

  “You were saying?” Octavia prompted impatiently.

  “Yes. Of course.” Ivy took a sip of tea, trying to settle her thoughts. “Since you’ll be working on the floor, I have a few rules to insist upon.”

  Octavia rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.”

  “First, always wear a mask. The second rule is that you are not to flirt with any of our customers.”

  Octavia smiled. Flirtatiously.

  Ivy pointed an accusing finger at her sister. “That is just what I am talking about. You will be working, Octavia. You cannot spend time flirting.”

  Octavia blinked her eyes in an innocent manner. “But you and Mr. de Silva, what do you call that?”

  Ivy froze, wishing she didn’t feel her face flush. Knowing, by Octavia’s shrewd expression, that her sister had observed her reaction.

  “Ha!” her sister crowed. “You are so easy to read.” You’d make a terrible card player. Her tone grew teasing. “Did he do something to divert your attention?”

  Besides manhandling me on my desk? Manhandling I very much enjoyed?

  “Uh—”

  Octavia clapped her hands and bounced in her seat. “I knew it!”

  “Octav—” Ivy began in a warning tone, when there was a knock on the door.

  Thank goodness.

  “Come in,” she called.

  Carter opened the door, Henry lurking behind her. If such a large man could be said to lurk.

  “I know this is teatime, Miss Ivy, but Mr. Henry has something urgent.”

  “Come in, Henry. Thank you, Carter.”

  Carter’s gaze darted between Ivy and Henry in avid curiosity.

  “You may shut the door behind you,” Octavia said in a firm tone.

  Ivy was impressed—Octavia was usually the sister who indulged the staff in whatever it was they wanted. Apparently she was changing with the news she would now be an employee herself.

  Henry waited until they heard the door click closed, and then he addressed Ivy.

  “You know it’s Whist Night.”

  Yes, the one night during the week that Ivy let her staff manage the club. The clientele was generally older, the patrons appreciating the club’s quiet so they could play their games.

  “And that Lady Massingley is here—”

  “On Whist Night?” both sisters said in surprise. Lady Massingley liked to gamble, a lot, and she seemed to like losing a lot of money. At least, that is what she did when at Miss Ivy’s, and she kept returning, so that was the only supposition they could make.

  “And she brought her nephew with her, too.”

  “So what is the problem? Besides the fact that the play is likely too staid for Lady Massingley.”

  “She and her nephew are talking about what happened the other night with Mr. de Silva and that drunk lord.”

  “What happened? Nothing happened. Mr. de Silva took care of it.” Far better than she would have expected, honestly.

  “He did, but that’s not the story Lady Massingley and her nephew are sharing. From what they’re saying, Mr. de Silva took offense at that lord’s recognizing him, and banned him from the club. They’re saying that they’re wondering who’ll get banned next, since the bast—that is, Mr. de Silva seems to be in charge now.”

  There were so many things Ivy could get furious about that she couldn’t figure out which one to focus on first.

  Fortunately, Octavia was willing to take up the challenge.

  “But that is ridiculous! Sebastian didn’t take offense at all, and he merely sent him home in a carriage. And Ivy is entirely in charge, she has hired Sebastian, not knuckled under to him.” Octavia looked at Ivy, squinting her eyes. “Unless you have?”

  Ivy’s eyes widened in shock. “Of course not! Lady Massingley and her nephew are repeating gossip that isn’t even true.” She rose so quickly she slammed into the tea table, making the dishes clank together. “I’ll just go see what this is all about.” She couldn’t keep her voice from trembling with self-righteous anger.

  “Just a moment, Ivy,” Octavia said, holding her hand up. “I know it is rich for me to say this, but perhaps you want to wait a moment to let yourself settle down?” Her sister gave Ivy an appraising look. “You seem rather—perturbed.”

  “I am perturbed,” Ivy retorted. It was one thing for people to assume things about her because she was the club’s owner, and formerly of the aristocracy, but Sebastian had done everything right and he was still getting maligned? That was intolerable.

  “Then go on.” Octavia made a shooing gesture. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  Ivy walked swiftly out o
f the room, nearly running over Carter, who had been just outside the room.

  She’d probably heard everything, but that couldn’t concern Ivy now. What did concern her was Sebastian—she knew it had to have been difficult for him to keep himself from reacting as his former self would have—arrogantly, rashly, dangerously. That he hadn’t, but was being castigated? Her club possibly held in ill repute?

  No. That would not stand.

  As she strode into the gambling room, she realized she felt as outraged and determined as she had those few years ago when her father had staked his daughter as a wager.

  Then, she’d known if that outcome had occurred that there was no trusting her father not to do the same thing with Octavia when his luck had soured. It had been the thought of that, and not her own future, that had propelled her to act as she had.

  And now she felt that same furious rage.

  “Miss Ivy, the lady and her nephew are just over there.” Henry had followed right behind her, and now was pointing to a table near the front, where anyone going in or out would observe its occupants.

  Wonderful. Perhaps she should have sold tickets.

  “Lady Massingley?” Ivy said as she approached the table. The lady in question turned, revealing red cheeks and bleary eyes, indicating she’d been imbibing more than she usually did.

  Seated next to her was a gentleman, presumably her nephew. His gaze fastened on Ivy, and his lips curled back into a feral smile.

  She did not like this nephew straightaway.

  “This is the proprietor, Aunt?” he said, flicking his finger toward Ivy.

  “Yes, Miss Ivy.” Lady Massingley’s expression faltered, as though she was realizing just what she was doing.

  The lady was a good soul, Ivy had found; she loved to gamble, she didn’t mind losing vast sums of money, and she always had a kind word for her dealer.

  But, it seemed, she was also vulnerable to gossip, especially if it was dealt by a relative.

  “I wish you would explain why Lord Linehan was treated so badly,” Lady Massingley began, shaking her head. “Tossed out on his ear, banned from the establishment—”