His Wallflower White: The Dark Duke’s Legacy

by Andresen, Tammy

  She pasted on her best smile. “Looking for ink. I’ve correspondence that needs attending.”

  Justice grunted as he continued into the room. “You’re right. Being a woman is bloody boring.”

  Her expression relaxed into something far more genuine. She appreciated the sentiment but just this moment, her life had become far less dull. “May I ask what are you doing in here?”

  He quirked a brow. “What does it look like? Running a fucking dukedom while the actual duke goes out and plays with his horses.”

  “Ben is out playing with horses?” She leaned her hip onto the desk, curious about Justice’s meaning.

  Justice grunted. “I jest. There is some deficit in the books. I think he’s going to sell his old business to help support the dukedom. See, we’re all doing our part. Yours is marrying that Jensen fellow.”

  Millie ignored the reference to the man they wished for her to marry. She wanted to know as little as possible about the man so she chose another question, about Ben, though she was already well aware of the answer. “His old business?”

  “Ben used to breed horses to support himself before he inherited the title.”

  Her eyes widened. Ben loved being a horse trader. “He’s going to sell?” And clearly, the deficit she’d discovered in the dukedom was no secret.

  And it explained Ben’s insistence on marrying her to a wealthy man. She winced. She truly wanted to help but not like that.

  Justice grunted. “Despite what I just said, I’m not sure I envy him. I always thought being the heir was the preferred position. But the more I think on it, the more I wonder.”

  “It’s a burden,” she answered. “Even I can see that.”

  Justice nodded. “You know he gave Dez a boat to keep us all in business?”

  “I do.”

  “Despite his money problems, he offered Dez all five of them.” Justice came around and sat at the desk. “Bloody good of him.”

  “Dez didn’t accept?”

  Justice shook his head. “You know Dez. Independent as hell. Says he’s going to buy them from Ben. But if the war ends, I’m not sure what we’ll be shipping.”

  Her heart twisted in her chest. Apparently, all of the Whites were struggling with the future. “Not gunpowder?” she asked, suddenly wishing she could do more to help the dukedom, but would her brothers let her run the ledgers? Trust her with the accounting? It would free Ben to work on other streams of revenue.

  Justice shrugged. “There will still be a need, of course, but not as great. And Sayden’s damn good at making it, but it isn’t the safest business. I for one would prefer he take fewer risks.”

  Her mouth twisted, realizing that all her brothers faced financial hardship. And Sayden faced far more than that. No wonder they wished for her and Esme to find husbands and marry. For the first time, she considered what not marrying did to them. She winced.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  He raised his brows. “Besides the obvious?”

  “Obvious?”

  “Marry the merchant. Maybe we could even ship his goods.”

  She blinked, trying to clear the irritation that rose up like bile. “My possible contribution is to marry a man? I couldn’t possibly do something myself?” Like actually making their money work for them.

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know,” she tilted her chin at a defiant angle. “I’m smart, too. Good with numbers and ledgers.”

  Justice grunted but his look grew wary. “I didn’t mean it as an insult, Millie. Would you like to research new businesses? Negotiate a new contract? Find a new product for Sayden to produce?”

  She gave Justice a hard stare. “I’m capable of more than just slipping a ring on my finger, you know.”

  “What’s your objection to marriage? You know I’ve noticed.” He leaned back in the chair, kicking one foot up on the desk, directly onto one of Ben’s neat stacks.

  She sniffed. “I don’t—"

  “Yes you do,” he fired back despite his relaxed position.

  Her heart had begun to pound in her chest, a lump clogging her throat. “You got to leave.”

  “What?”

  Her eyes burned as she considered her answer. What was the harm in telling the truth? After his comments last night, he already understood. At least partially. “Father. You got to leave. I never did. And when I marry… I won’t be able to leave that cage either. I’ll be trapped.”

  His foot dropped to the floor and he sat up so suddenly that an entire pile scattered to the floor. “I see.”

  She looked down at Ben’s careful work. “We’d better clean those up.”

  Justice gave a silent nod as he bent over.

  “I’ll do it,” she said as she came around the desk and dropped to her knees. She already knew the order they should be placed in. And in this moment, she actually appreciated Justice’s silence. It was an acceptance of sorts that she hadn’t expected.

  But as she finished neatly restacking the papers in more of less the same order they’d been in, Justice finally spoke. “What then?”

  “What, what?”

  “What will you do if you don’t wed?”

  It was a good question. And as she set the papers back on the desk, she gave the only answer that came to mind. “Anything I want.”

  * * *

  Patrick leaned against the carriage house, carefully tucked into a shadow as the carriage pulled around to collect the women.

  He’d been warned they’d be leaving by one of the footmen. And as the carriage started, he grabbed the back and took the other seat reserved for servants. The staff was aware of his position, though, and so was Millie.

  The charade was a bit like an onion in its layers.

  But as the carriage rumbled from Mayfair into Cheapside, he wondered where they were headed. The ladies had not ventured further than the local shops since arriving in the city. Were they visiting a merchant perhaps? Had the new duchess chosen fabric for her curtains? He smiled. Had she gone with silk?

  The idea made him shake his head. Thinking back to Justice’s comments from the night before last making him chuckle to himself. The man was still wild, barely broken. Patrick had been just like him, chafing at a father that didn’t really care about the spare. Certainly hadn’t provided for his second son, or any of his children beyond the heir. Patrick’s sister had it far worse than Patrick could even imagine. What was more, he’d wanted to punch out a great deal of his anger.

  But somewhere over the past few years, his temper had cooled. Now all he wished for was a quieter life full of...what?

  The carriage slowed and he jumped down, slipping into the shadows as the vehicle stopped.

  He watched the women exit and then enter a small shop. “Labonte’s Architecture?” he muttered. “What the hell are they going there for?”

  Coming around the building, he peeked into the window and watched as Millie sat with the former duchess in a small waiting area. Then a door opened, and an older man waved them into what was clearly his office. Patrick looked around but saw no one else so he slowly opened the door and slipped into the waiting area.

  The room was dark and relatively cool. Posh, overstuffed furniture sat to one side, the highly polished wood catching glints of the sun. The man had money.

  “Good to see you, too,” Millie was saying.

  “What can I help you with today, Lady Millicent?”

  There was a short pause. “I wished to speak with you about my father. I know how close you were to him.”

  “Of course. My condolences.”

  “Thank you,” Millie replied. “And may I just add, the house you built for him is stunning.”

  The other man chuckled. “It is, isn’t it? One of my finest accomplishments.”

  “Indeed,” a different woman answered. “I enjoyed my brief stay there.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” Labonte answered. “I don’t need to tell you how important it was to your late husb
and to build that temple to God and to a belief in moral standards that is slipping from our society.”

  There was a pregnant pause before Millie cleared her throat. “My father certainly held morality in high regard.”

  Patrick could hear the edge in her voice, the bitterness. Or was that his imagination? But her next words answered his question. “Mr. Labonte, you don’t think my father would have ever engaged in any illegal behavior?”

  Mr. Labonte cleared his throat, a blustering sound. “Of course not. What a ridiculous question. Why would you ask such a thing?”

  Another pause. “No reason. Something he mentioned in his will. He wants us to right any wrongs and I’d hate to disappoint him by not following his instructions to the letter.”

  The other man chuckled then. “Oh, I see. That does make sense. Your kindness is admirable, but your brothers will surely sort all of that out.”

  “My brothers.” Millie leaned forward. “They are all working hard and I wish to help them, Mr. Labonte. Perhaps you could help me help them?”

  Patrick’s brows raised. He’d seen a few sides of Millie but this one was new. Subtle and delicate, she softened the other man. Patrick hoped never to have to face this side of her. He’d never survive it. She’d have him wrapped about her finger in no time.

  The other man shifted causing his chair to squeak. “Well, in his younger days, he caused a bit of trouble. Much like Lord Justice and Lord Sayden.”

  Millie nodded. “Smuggling?”

  The other man choked. “What would you give that idea?” His voice rose with each word. “Don’t say things like that about your father, young lady.”

  Millie stood abruptly, the other two women following suite. “You’re right, of course. Forgive me. And thank you for your time today. It’s much appreciated.”

  Patrick turned and left the shop, slipping out the door before Millie could make her way out. But they’d discuss this meeting later. He didn’t know how yet, but he had a few ideas. Millie wasn’t the only one capable of sneaking about.

  Chapter Five

  Millie sat at her dressing table and brushed out her hair.

  Her maid had just left, and Millie now wore her dressing gown. Candles still glowed about the room. Agatha would have completed the task for her but Millie found it therapeutic to do the job herself. She liked the rhythmic movement and the feel of the brush sliding through her hair.

  When she finished, she’d do a simple plait for sleeping.

  Setting down the silver brush, she began to braid, humming to herself. Her meeting with Labonte had yielded little actual information but it had strengthened her feelings about her father’s activities. He’d been up to no good. Not that it was difficult to draw that conclusion, but still.

  A soft tapping on the glass of her window made her hands still in her hair. What the devil was that?

  It came again, light and quiet. Three soft taps at the glass.

  Rising, she crossed to the window. Her room was on the second story, nothing but a narrow ledge a few feet underneath the window. Had a bird perched there?

  The taps came again, exactly three. If it was a bird, it had learned to count.

  Her fingers trembled as she reached for the curtain, drawing it back from the glass.

  At first, she saw nothing but then…

  A large hand came into view giving three more taps.

  She nearly screamed. She might have fainted. But as the fear subsided, she noted just how large the hand was. And scraped.

  Exactly like a boxer’s.

  Tossing open the window, she peered out to find Patrick clinging to the ledge. She gasped, drawing back. “What are you doing here?”

  By way of answer, he scooted closer and bent, pulling himself through the window in a move that was amazingly agile for such a large man. “Paying you a visit.”

  “How did you climb up here?” she asked, glancing out the window. “It’s got to be fifteen feet to the ground.”

  He chuckled. “I train daily. Or I did until my days were filled with watching you. Now I only do a few hours of exercise at night. But it’s enough to scale a wall still.”

  “Hours of exercise at night?” she asked. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am.” He winked. “Justice likely does the same. He’s still in peak physical condition as far as I can tell.”

  She shook her head. They had digressed. “What are you doing here?” she asked again.

  He quirked a brow. “You paid a visit to an architect today. I want to know why. Building a house?”

  Her hands came to her hips as irritation spread through her. “That is none of your business.”

  He shook his head. “I beg to differ. You are currently my sole business.”

  She tsked, crossing back to her dressing table and taking a seat. She’d not finished the task of braiding her hair and the strands had come loose again, hanging down her back.

  “Wrong,” she said as she started. “As far as I can tell, your job is to keep me from, I don’t know, being attacked by whoever started the fire on Dez’s ship. That does not mean that you’ve the right to meddle in all of my affairs, nor does it mean you can enter my room in the middle of the night.” She picked up the brush and shook it at him. “Gads. You were the one giving lectures on avoiding ruin yesterday.”

  “Are you done?” He’d crossed his arms over his chest but he dropped them and began crossing to where she sat. Millie stared at him, wondering what he was playing at, when he gently took the brush from her hand. Her brows scrunched together, and she turned to look at him when he brushed a hand along her hair. “Turn around.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m going to finish your hair while we talk.”

  She gasped. “What? That is ridiculous.”

  “It isn’t,” he said as he stroked his hand down her hair again. “I may as well be of use since I invaded your personal space. I’m sorry for that. Though, in my defense, you did impose on my meeting with Justice yesterday.”

  “I did not arrive uninvited to your home.” She tried to hold onto her irritation, but he replaced his hand with the brush.

  “You’re right. I’m a cad and you can dock my pay for the rudeness.”

  She glared at him through the mirror.

  He held up his free hand. “I just want to know why you were there today because I think your visit to Labonte has something to do with your hidden agenda, in which case, you’re paying me to help. And if not, it most certainly impacts your safety, which your brothers are paying me to secure. So, either way, I thought I ought to know why and—” He gently set the brush down and parted her hair in three equal sections, beginning to braid, “make certain you’re not about to be in any trouble. And I can’t very well ask you during the day as you are not supposed to know that I exist.”

  His hands felt divine. So soft and gentle that she nearly sighed aloud. “That is a fair point and I’ve only realized just how complicated this is.”

  He nodded. “I compared it to an onion earlier. Lots of layers.”

  “Indeed,” she answered. Then she did sigh. Because he was correct. She should tell him. “The architect is one of my father’s dear friends.”

  His hands stilled. “I see.”

  Millie looked down. “He built the home for my father that apparently ran up massive debts that Ben is now attempting to pay back.”

  “Ah,” Patrick answered reaching for a ribbon and tying the braid. “But why ask Labonte?”

  She shrugged. “He was my father’s closest friend. If anyone would know my father’s business, it was him…” but her words trailed off. “How do you know how to braid like that?” she asked.

  “I have a sister,” he replied. “I’ve braided hair many times.”

  Millie looked back at him. There was a sadness in his voice that she didn’t understand but it pulled at her chest, causing an ache on his behalf. But she didn’t ask for more details, this meeting was already too personal. Perhaps
another time, but she couldn’t quite help reaching back and grabbing one of his hands in both of hers. Then, in a move that surprised even her, she brought the back of his hand to her cheek.

  In the looking glass, she watched as his eyes squeezed shut.

  Her breath caught and her hands squeezed his tighter.

  * * *

  Pain lanced through him at the thought of Amanda.

  His sister.

  She’d been a beautiful little girl, full of happiness and smiles. But as she’d grown older, it had become increasingly apparent she wasn’t like other people. Simple. That’s what his mother had called Amanda. His father had used far harsher language.

  When she turned twelve, his parents sent her off to a sanitarium to live a quiet life where she’d not bring shame to the family.

  Patrick had been outraged. Amanda was everything good in this world. How could her family send her away? He’d been fifteen and a terrible row with his father had ensued. It had been the beginning of the end of their relationship.

  He didn’t regret leaving his family. He couldn’t have stayed knowing what they’d done. But at the silky feel of Millie’s cheek, he was reminded of how hard his life had been.

  Her hair. Good Lord, Millie’s hair.

  Patrick knew women found his brute strength pleasing. They wanted to fuck him on a regular basis. Hard, fast, dirty and crude, the interactions were brief and satisfying in their own way.

  But here, he realized how devoid of any emotion they’d been.

  The simple act of touching Millie’s hair had been so much more…intimate. And in some strange way…fulfilling.

  “Patrick?” she asked, squeezing his hand again.

  He shook his head. “Tell me about the debts.”

  In concise words, she explained what she’d learned so far.

  He had to admit, he was impressed.

  “I’ve got some hunches but I’m unsure of how to substantiate them.”

  He scratched his chin as he reluctantly took a step back. He’d like nothing better than to touch her hair all night, but he knew he’d already overstepped.