Page 65 of Any Duke in a Storm

“Night, lassie.”

The duke’s study was handsomely and tastefully appointed, like the rest of the house. The dark paneling, enormous mahogany desk, and wooden bookcases seemed well suited to him. Raphael took a seat in one of the plush armchairs near the fireplace. Thornbury poured two fingers of whiskey and offered him a glass before reaching for a box of cigars. Raphael took the first but shook his head at the second. “I don’t smoke, but please, feel free.”

The duke’s lip kicked up in a thin smile. “I don’t either. I keep them for guests.”

When Thornbury sat opposite him, Raphael crossed his booted foot over his knee and leaned back into his seat. “Then I suppose we should get right to it. What do you want to know?”

“You’re direct,” the duke said, but there was a grain of respect in his voice.

“I prefer not to waste time. Yours or mine.” He sipped his drink. “If you’re worried about my intentions toward Lisbeth, don’t be. That woman has a head on her shoulders that could probably rival all of the men in your House of Lords.”

“I know,” Thornbury said. “I used to be married to her.”

Raphael’s eyes snapped up. How had he missed the connection? He’d been too busy worrying about Thorin that he hadn’t thought about who Thornbury might be to her. A hot thread of jealousy twined through him, for no other reason than Lisbeth had said yes to this man.

“It was an arrangement,” the duke said quietly. “That reached its end.”

“Her past has nothing to do with me,” Raphael said, only to receive a cool, calculating stare in return. “Besides, we part ways here in New York.”

Thornbury frowned. “Will you?”

Something calculated moved through the duke’s gaze, a confirmation of something he was working through in his head. Was it because he’d realized that Raphael meant so little to Lisbeth? That they were nothing more than friends with occasional diversions? Or something else? A shuttered amber gaze met his, and while Raphael did not feel threatened by the man, he had an idea that the duke could be lethal, should he so choose. It was in the way he held himself, as if consciously aware of everything around him—a skill earned from facing real danger on a consistent basis. Perhaps those rumors about him were true.

“Why did the child call you Saint? Is that a nickname?”

“A last name. Raphael Saint.”

Thornbury frowned and then nodded to himself like information had suddenly clicked. “Now I know why you seem so familiar. I knew your father. Randolphe Saint. You have the look of him in the eyes.” Raphael froze, his throat going tight. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“How did you know him?” he croaked.

“We met in the emperor’s court when the charges of treason were brought against him. I was there as a witness.”

Raphael gritted his teeth. Why wouldhehave beenthere for such a purpose? And that long ago, he would have been an earl, not a duke. “They were slanderous lies.”

Thornbury nodded. “That does not surprise me.”

He did not like that the duke was watching him carefully, cataloging every tick, every subtle movement, and the coiled rage in every line of his body. Raphael clenched his fists and forced himself to inhale and exhale. This was neither the time nor the place.

And his target was Dubois, not this man.

“If that’s all, Your Grace, I’ll see myself out.”

Nineteen

“Why can’t I go?” Narina whined, kicking her feet against the mattress with enough force to make the large bed shake.

Lisbeth fought for patience. “You’re twelve years old, Nari. It’s not a party for children.”

“I am not a sodding child!” she shrieked, thumping harder.

“You’re behaving like a child,” Lisbeth responded evenly. Sometimes she forgot just how young Narina was. She behaved and spoke like an adult because of the environment in which she had been raised, but that did not change the fact that she was at a very tender age. “If you act nicely, I promise to take you to the ice cream parlor on Broadway for as much as you can eat tomorrow.”

The kicking halted. “You promise? All I can have?”

“Without being sick, yes. But I cannot hear a single complaint from Mrs. Barnaby about your conductorimproper language tonight, or our agreement is off. Deal?”

Sufficiently bribed and all smiles, Narina nodded avidly. “You really do look pretty, Bess.”

---