Never Kiss a Duke

by Megan Frampton

  “If he was banned, my lady, it was not by me. Perhaps his family asked him to stay away?” Ivy tried to keep her tone mild, but it was difficult, what with Lady Massingley’s nephew’s clear interest in stirring things up.

  “I have not met your young relative,” Ivy said, nodding toward the nephew.

  “Yes, this is my nephew, Mr. Charles Jennings. Charles is staying with me for a few days.” She smiled at him. “He is almost like a son to me.”

  Ah, no wonder. Ivy knew Lady Massingley had no children, and if this Charles was expecting an inheritance, it would be in his best interest to separate his aunt from the place where she lost excessive amounts of money. She couldn’t blame him for the attempt, but she also wouldn’t allow him to besmirch the club’s reputation.

  “And there is the bast—apologies, ladies,” Mr. Jennings said, even though Ivy knew he wasn’t sorry at all.

  She felt Sebastian come up behind her, and she took a deep breath.

  “Mr. de Silva,” she said, turning to him. She nearly took a step back—he appeared to be as angry as she felt. No, no, no, don’t say anything, she chanted in her head.

  “Yes, Miss Ivy. Henry says there is some discussion as to what happened the other night?” As he spoke, his gaze shifted beyond her face, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Mr. Jennings. “Jennings.” He spoke as though he did not like the other man.

  “Hasford. Or no, you’re not Hasford, are you?” Mr. Jennings’s tone dripped with disdain. “Mr. de Silva. A bastard, as it turns out. A bastard who is responsible for turning a gently bred lord away from this establishment. Everyone is talking about it.”

  “Are we to be treated as poorly?” a man at a nearby table shouted. Ivy heard the increasing murmurs and hushed conversation with dread, knowing the entire incident could blow up in a matter of moments, ruining everything she’d worked so hard for.

  Sebastian ignored the question, instead walking past Ivy to face Mr. Jennings. Mr. Jennings raised his chin, his expression belligerent. The two men glared at one another as Ivy watched, holding her breath. It would be perfectly within her rights to intercede, but if she did before Sebastian had a chance to resolve the situation, neither of them would know what he would have done.

  Although if she did wait, and Sebastian escalated the situation, Miss Ivy’s would suffer.

  Business that depended on managing men’s pride was very difficult.

  “We moved in the same circles, once. I might not have liked you, but I did not think you would come into my place of employment and make a scene. I suggest you leave.” Sebastian spoke quietly, but firmly.

  Not perfect, but not inflammatory.

  “Who are you to tell me to go? Are you the owner of this place?” Mr. Jennings sneered. “You’ve said it yourself, it is now your place of employment. You presumably draw a salary to obey a woman’s orders. You do not dare to speak to me so.”

  “I dare, Jennings.” Sebastian’s voice held a menace that brought Ivy’s anxiety back.

  “You dare because you have nothing left to lose. Because you have nothing.”

  The club had stilled, most of the patrons not even trying to hide their eavesdropping. Ivy held her breath.

  Sebastian straightened to his full height, his hands curling into fists at his side.

  She’d not actually seen Sebastian as he must have been before—absolutely certain that whatever he did was right. And if it wasn’t, that nobody would call him out on it. She suspected this was what he used to be like, before he was humbled—relatively—by his loss of status.

  “If you believe I have nothing, then you won’t mind stepping outside with me. You have nothing to lose.” That was definitely a threat.

  “You want me to leave the club because of what I have said about the poor treatment here? Because of what I said about you?” Mr. Jennings raised his voice as he spoke, meaning that everyone in the club, even the few who were trying to pretend they weren’t curious, could hear.

  Damn it.

  Sebastian moved in close, leaning down to speak inches away from Mr. Jennings’s face.

  “When I’m through with you, you’ll wish you had noth—”

  “Mr. de Silva,” Ivy interrupted.

  He turned his head to look at her, and for a moment, it seemed he didn’t even recognize her.

  “Yes?”

  She made a gesture for him to face her. He did, albeit slowly and somewhat menacingly. Once he had his back turned to Lady Massingley’s table, she spoke.

  “Mr. de Silva, please let me speak with Lady Massingley and Mr. Jennings. I am certain we can resolve all of this.”

  His expression was determined. Grim. He didn’t move, just stared at her as though an internal conflict was raging within him—listen to his employer or sock Mr. Jennings in the jaw? She could see it as clearly as if he had spoken the words.

  “This is what happens when you allow a bastard to mix with polite company. Small wonder his sister is making her appearance in Society without him. Or perhaps she is just as much of a nothing as her brother?” Mr. Jennings asked.

  Ivy winced, her whole body stiffening in anticipation of his likely reaction.

  He turned back, raising his fists as the people in the club uttered a collective gasp.

  “Mr. de Silva.” She spoke in a firm tone, one that would hopefully remind him he worked here. For her.

  He didn’t move.

  She spoke again. “Mr. de Silva,” she repeated, louder and more urgently.

  He turned back. Thank God. She raised her chin, keeping her gaze locked with his. “Wait for me in the office,” she ordered.

  Would he obey? For a moment, she wasn’t certain. But then, finally, he gave a brief nod, walking swiftly past her toward the door that led to the office.

  She heaved a sigh of relief.

  “Well! I wonder at you having such people working for you, Miss Ivy,” Lady Massingley said. Her voice shook.

  Ivy couldn’t blame her; he was entirely and thoroughly menacing, and she saw now just how intimidating a gentleman could be when his anger was aroused.

  She was shaking, too. These kinds of things happened every so often, but since Ivy was female, she was usually able to subdue the complaint. There had been a few times she had had to enlist Samuel and Henry, but if it came to that, the person with whom they were dealing was actually banned from the club. She couldn’t recall more than a few times it had occurred.

  But this—this had escalated far more quickly than ever before, simply because of who he was.

  She’d have to have a serious conversation with him, and soon.

  She’d have to ask him what world he belonged to, and demand that he live up to her expectations for as long as he chose to remain here. And if he chose his previous world?

  She’d have to reconcile herself to whatever decision he made.

  But in the meantime, she had to assuage Lady Massingley and her obnoxious nephew sufficiently so that the club wouldn’t suffer.

  It would be galling, given how provoking Mr. Jennings was, but a business owner didn’t have the luxury of being offended by a well-paying customer.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sebastian stalked past the maid, who took one look at him and darted away down the hallway.

  That brought him up short. He was angry, but the only person he wished to terrify was Jennings.

  That miserable backbiting worm.

  He’d known Jennings when he’d been a duke—at that time, the other man had been as kowtowing and obsequious as could be imagined. Which meant that Sebastian neither liked nor trusted him. But he was pleasant enough when he tried, and Sebastian hadn’t ever bothered with putting him in his place.

  He should have. He should have found a place from which Jennings couldn’t emerge, preferably at the bottom of a muddy trench.

  Sebastian strode into Ivy’s office, around her desk, reaching into the drawer where she kept her whiskey. He planted it on the desk, then looked back down for a gl
ass.

  None there.

  Never mind, he didn’t need a glass.

  He unstoppered the bottle, raising it to his mouth as he took a swig. It burned, nearly as much as Jennings’s words.

  You have nothing left to lose. Because you have nothing.

  “Mr. de Silva.”

  She stood at the doorway to the office, her lips pressed tight.

  He put the bottle down slowly, gently, on her desk.

  Her eyes tracked his movements, then returned to his face, meeting his gaze.

  “Do you mind shutting the door?”

  She frowned. “Pardon?”

  “So you can rebuke me in private. I’ve had enough public humiliation.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “That was not public humiliation.”

  But she did as he’d asked, shutting the door and then walking toward him, keeping her eyes locked on his as she did.

  “What would you call it?”

  She uttered a derisive snort. “Two men taunting one another.” She came to stand beside him. “Sit.”

  He opened his mouth to retort, then shrugged, sliding past her to sit in the chair facing the desk. The chair he’d sat in the first time he’d been here, when she’d treated him as a valuable resource, not just someone to flatter and cajole. Because she didn’t know who he was. Who he had been.

  Damn it.

  “As I said,” she continued, seating herself behind the desk, “two men taunting one another. Although I will say he started the trouble.”

  “The bast—” he began, then stopped speaking. Because he was the bastard, wasn’t he? That was what Jennings had so nastily pointed out. But more importantly, she was his employer, she should be able to speak without interruption.

  “The point is, Mr. de Silva,” she said as his eyes narrowed. Mr. de Silva?

  He supposed he deserved that.

  “I understand you were provoked, but it is crucial—crucial—to maintain calm at all times, no matter how unpleasant a customer might be. My business depends on it, and so, by extension, does your livelihood.”

  That was a far more dangerous threat—that she’d fire him. That not only would he lose his position, the place where he felt valued for who he was, not undervalued because of who he used to be, but that he would lose her.

  “I understand,” he replied.

  “I’m not finished,” she said, holding her hand up. Her expression was stern. “This is not a game.” She uttered a snort. “Despite what we provide to our customers.” She lifted her chin. “I expect you will return to your family at some point.”

  She did? Just as Samuel and Henry had also predicted. That stung, too.

  Didn’t she want him to stay? Just a little bit?

  “But I do not have that luxury. This, Mr. de Silva, is my life. If I am to support myself and my sister, to make certain we need not make any choices that will ruin our lives, I need to ensure my clientele is satisfied. Which means not getting a reputation as an establishment where it is likely its patrons will end up in an altercation with its staff.”

  His throat choked with all the words he wanted to say. That he knew he could not and would not say. Not if he wanted to remain where he was.

  “I understand,” he repeated. Forcing himself to breathe.

  He’d been reprimanded before, of course; his mother was continually carping at him to change his behavior. But he’d never before agreed with the reprimander.

  “I hope you do.” She rose, and he did as well, his anger making his posture rigid. “If you will excuse me.”

  He clenched his jaw as she swept out of the room, not looking at him once.

  Had he ruined whatever they had together? Was the game over?

  And why did it feel like so much more than a game?

  Goddamn it.

  Ivy was shaking by the time she reached her bedroom. She twisted the knob, exhaling in relief as she stepped inside.

  “Are you all right?”

  Octavia was seated at Ivy’s dressing table, a concerned expression on her face.

  Ivy took a deep breath. “I am fine.”

  Octavia’s brow rose. “You don’t look fine.”

  Ivy snapped. “How do I look, then? As though I’ve had a belligerent customer accuse the club of having an out-of-control employee? As though I saw the possibility of all this going away in an instant because some preening gentleman wanted to score points on someone he clearly resented? Because it was more important for two gentlemen to maintain their pride than for me to maintain my business?” She shook her head as she sat on her bed. “I’m so tired, Octavia. I just wanted to hire him to help out. I should have thought all this through as soon as I found out who he used to be.” She gave a disdainful chuckle. “I should have known not to trust anybody from that world.”

  “That’s not fair,” Octavia replied, her tone irate. “Sebastian was provoked by that worm.”

  “Do you know how many times I’ve had someone test me at the club?” Ivy shot back. “You don’t because I didn’t let it become anything. I am not a former duke with an abundance of male pride.”

  It hurt, that he hadn’t given a thought to anything beyond himself. That first time he’d kept a clear head and defused the situation. But the moment it became personal, from someone it was clear was antagonistic toward him? He reacted as any proud aristocrat would.

  “You’re correct, I don’t know.” Olivia rose to face Ivy, a pugnacious expression on her face. “And that’s because you’ve been so determined to keep me out of everything. You know that I do not want the life you want for me. I want to do what you did, risk everything to make certain our future was secure.”

  “No, you don’t.” Ivy spoke in a voice thick with emotion. “Do you know—do you know what I risked?”

  “Marriage to that old man, I know.”

  Ivy shook her head. If Octavia was determined to emulate her sister, she needed to know what her sister had done.

  “Not just that. Father had already wagered that.” She licked her suddenly dry lips. “Octavia, I need you to understand what I did. You might not forgive me—”

  Octavia’s expression froze. “Forgive you?”

  Ivy swallowed. “Yes. I’ve wanted to tell you since it happened, but I needed you to come with me. I wasn’t certain you—”

  “Tell me what?”

  This was the right thing to do. She’d known that even before Sebastian had said she should. She couldn’t keep secrets from her sister. Nor could she continue to work toward what she thought her sister deserved—perhaps her sister would end up marrying someone from her own class, but that was up to her. Not Ivy.

  It was hard to admit, especially for someone who had grown so accustomed to being in charge, but she couldn’t manage Octavia’s life anymore.

  “I wagered you.”

  Octavia’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. “Me? To marry Mr. Fallon instead of you? How could you?”

  “Not that. Mr. Fallon had already won my hand from Father, so I said you would marry his oldest son if I lost.”

  Octavia wavered where she stood, her eyes blinking as she absorbed Ivy’s words.

  “You. Bet. Me.” Her words emerged as though they were being forced through her mouth. Ivy kept her gaze on her sister, willing herself not to turn away. She’d held Mr. de Silva’s feet to the fire for what he’d done, and Octavia deserved no less.

  “I did. I had money for you to escape if I lost—I would be shamed for reneging on my gamble, but it wouldn’t matter because I would have married Mr. Fallon anyway. But he wouldn’t take the wager any other way.”

  “If you had the money to escape, why didn’t you take it?”

  It was a reasonable question, one Ivy had asked herself many times since that night. The short answer was she hadn’t been thinking about herself, only about her sister. Though that made her sound like a martyr, and she certainly was not that.

  “I don’t know. I think—I think I felt as though you deserved the
chance to leave more than I did.”

  Octavia shook her head. “You’re an idiot.”

  Ivy took hope in Octavia’s tone—it didn’t sound as though her sister was absolutely furious with her.

  “But you did win, so you didn’t have to tell me what you’d done. Why are you telling me now?”

  Another good question.

  Ivy exhaled. “I suppose it’s because I agree with you. You shouldn’t have to do what I want you to do. If you want to work at Miss Ivy’s, even without a mask, that’s up to you. But you should understand the risks to doing anything—you might end up losing a wager, one that would have profound consequences for you and your family. Because you’re my family, Octavia.”

  Octavia’s expression softened. “I haven’t absorbed exactly what you did, and I certainly don’t understand why you didn’t just leave, but I do know why you thought you had to do what you did.”

  Ivy chuckled. “That means you are far more understanding than I am. Since I still don’t understand. But it meant we ended up here and are happy.”

  Octavia peered at her, and Ivy’s breath hitched. Octavia’s inquisitive look usually meant that Ivy was about to have to answer a very difficult question.

  “Are you happy?”

  Ivy exhaled. She had just promised to tell Octavia the truth, hadn’t she?

  She took a long pause as Octavia gave her an impatient look. “I suppose I am.” That was a surprise. She had assumed, all along, that being in London was just a stop to another place. That when she had enough money, she would turn her back on the club and the city. But that would mean turning her back on her staff—Samuel, Henry, Mac, Caroline, and the rest of them—and not being in charge of something. Yes, she liked being in charge. She should admit that to Octavia, as well.

  Although she’d revealed a lot for today, and she doubted that it would come as a surprise to her sister, anyway.

  “I am glad to hear it,” Octavia replied. “I am as well, although—” There was that mischievous smile that Ivy dreaded nearly as much as the inquisitive look. It meant that Octavia was hatching plans inside her beautiful brain.