Page 41 of A Bride for the Rakish Duke

The door opened, and Anthony poked his head inside. “I thought you were meeting with gentlemen of business all afternoon.” He glanced at the brandy glass and pulled a worried face. “Did it go that badly?”

“It went rather well, actually,” William replied, surprised that Anthony had even mentioned the drink.

“Ah, so we are celebrating?”

“Yes and no.” William took another sip.

Anthony rolled his eyes and went to pour himself a more modest measure. “Are you planning to continue being deliberately vague?”

“Discussions were had, plans were drawn up, contracts were suggested and will—with any luck—soon be signed. For the estate, it has been a very productive day.” William closed his eyes. “I do not know why they call him the ‘Cruel Duke.’ He is very serious, that is true, but I do wonder where the cruel part has come from.”

Anthony frowned. “You will have to enlighten me. What does your day have to do with the ‘Cruel Duke’?”

“He is to be my business partner if all proceeds well. Rather, he is to be my financial advisorandmy partner in enterprise. Did you know he is appallingly rich?”

Anthony seemed horrified as he sat down, swirling his glass. “That will not do your social standing any favors, Will. Rumors have abounded about him for years, even in his absence, and there is rarely smoke without fire. Perhaps you saw no cruelty because you are a gentleman.”

“I need income. I need it quickly, and I need it to be lasting,” William explained, opening his eyes. “The Duke still needs someone to assist him in re-entering Society, to allay everyone’s fears and suspicions about him. I am good at winning over the ton, he is good at business and finances. Whatever he did in the past, I say let it remain there.”

Anthony snorted. “Coming from the man who has held a grudge for seven years? A grudge so unyielding that you married Lydia just to be satisfied, at last?” He paused, tapping the side of his glass. “Have you read the papers today?”

“Should I have?”

William had needed to leave the townhouse as swiftly as possible that morning, for after a restless night of anythingbutsatisfaction, he had been in no mood for an awkward breakfast with his wife.

“Lydia made quite the impression at the opera,” Anthony said with a sly smile.

William pretended he did not care. “Did she? I cannot say I noticed.”

“There were no fewer than four articles written about her,” Anthony continued, leaning forward in his chair. “Two declared her to be the most beautiful lady in England, one suggested it was the dawning of a new Golden Era for Society’s wives, and she was leading the charge. And another mentioned that it was impossible to concentrate on the opera itself with her sitting there, watched by every lady and gentleman in attendance. One article mentioned that the only onenotwatching her was you. I believe they called you ‘blind or mad or both.’ Or something of that ilk.”

William smiled stiffly. “What would they have preferred me to do? Give them something sordid to write about in the scandal sheets instead?”

He would have preferred to do that too and might have if his wife had not shown such masterful restraint. Much to his chagrin, he was still secretly impressed that she had managed to resist his charms at the opera.

“They said that the ‘Great Rake’ had lost his touch,” Anthony teased. “Although, I suppose you should be grateful, for it has lessened the circulating suspicion that Lydia is with child andthatis why the wedding was so rushed.”

“Lost my touch?”

William stared down into the amber liquid, annoyed in a way that he knew was petty and foolish, but it made no difference. Lydia was improving his reputation among the ton while simultaneously decimating the reputation he had infamously built over the past seven years.

Anthony chuckled. “I thought that might be the part that bothered you the most.”

“There is nothing amiss withmytouch,” William replied coolly. “But she is not like the ladies who have been my entertaining companions these past years. She is my wife, and that position demands a certain level of decorum and respect.”

Anthony arched an eyebrow. “She refused you, did she not?”

“What?”

“Servants whisper, Will,” Anthony replied, grinning. “Apparently, you have been kicked out of your wife’s bedchamber twice now. I suspected as much, considering you are sulking in the drawing room with a glass of brandy at one o’clock in the afternoon.”

William shot his brother a withering look. “There is no sulking afoot, Anthony. I was rewarding myself for a well-spent morning, and the good fortune it shall hopefully bring to us. As for the servants, if you would be so kind as to tell me which ones were whispering, I shall have it nipped in the bud immediately. Servants can gossip among themselves, but when it reachesyourears, then it becomes a problem.”

“I am no snitch, Brother.” Anthony was clearly enjoying himself, which seemed rather ironic, considering he had not even kissed a woman, as far as William knew. “But I do have an attentive ear to provide if you would like to unburden yourself of your nuptial woes?”

William got up and walked to the window, which looked out on the cobbled streets and blossom-scattered pavements of Mayfair. Across, beyond a black iron fence, several ladies and gentlemen—neighbors of his—were enjoying the private park in the early afternoon sunshine.

“She has made a rule,” he said, frowning at a pair of dogs that chased each other around a hawthorn tree. “I gave her my three rules, and she suddenly decided to have one of her own. The most infuriating rule, in truth, but I will not allow myself to be the one who breaks an oath first.”

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