Page 2 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
Let me know if this isn’t feasible. In fact, if you wrote back and told me to tell Flick that it was raining frogs in London, or there was another outbreak of the plague, or the French were invading, I would send you a case of Peasgoode’s finest wine. Barring that, just keep them safe for me, aye?
The letter was signed “Griffin Calderbank,” and then, in a different ink, clearly hastily added after by someone who wasn’t yet used to the title, “Duke of Peasgoode.”
Griffin hadn’t expected to inherit the title last summer, but apparently the man was settling into the role. Thorne himself had known, three years ago upon his cousin’s death, that he would eventually become the next Duke of Stroken.
It hadn’t made the transition any easier.
Well, the least he could do was assure Griffin that if he couldn’t talk his wife and children out of a London trip, Thorne could ensure their safety.
Of course, if young Bull was involved, perhaps it was everyoneelse’ssafety they needed to worry about. Maybe Londonoughtto be evacuated.
As he reached for a blank sheet, Thorne saw the youngfootman straighten and their gazes met once more. The youth had pale eyes and when he flushed again, Thorne had to smile.
“All done?”
“Yessir! I mean, Your Grace, sir.” The young man’s gaze was locked on a spot over Thorne’s shoulder.
Thorne’s grin grew. “American, aye? What’s yer name?”
The lad gaped. Apparently Titsworth’s new employee orientation had failed to go overWhat to do if the Duke tries to make conversation.
“It’s no’ that hard of a question, man.” Thorne sat back in the chair and tried not to smirk. “Yer name. What is it?”
“Pastorino, sir.Your Grace,” the young man hastily corrected.
“Pastorino, that’s a mouthful, eh?” Thorne couldn’t help it; he was teasing the footman just to spark that glorious blush again. “That’s no’ what yer mam calls ye.”
To his surprise, this time Pastorino didn’t blush, but instead his gaze shot right to Thorne’s and his cheeks paled. “N-No, si—Your Grace. Kit. Kit’s my—my name.”
“Kit Pastorino,” Thorne mused, studying the high cheekbones and strong jaw. “I ken that name.”
Was it possible the young man paled even further? Damn, there was teasing, and there was mocking. It was a delicate line to dance with a stranger.
Thorne hastened to reassure him. “Nothing bad. Titsworth mentioned he hired ye last week, and yer talent with a violin. Says ye keep them all entertained belowstairs.”
Kit—because really, Thorne had no interest in calling himPastorino—seemed to relax as he exhaled, and met Thorne’s gaze once more. “Yessir—Your Grace.” It really was adorable, the way he couldn’t seem to recall the proper form of address, wasn’t it? “I needed time to practice, and Mr. Titsworth said I could play for them.”
Thorne studied the footman thoughtfully. He was well-kitted-out—shined shoes, neatly tied neckcloth, hair as contained as possible when it was clear the auburn curls didn’t like being contained. It wasn’t in the new Duke of Stroken’s character to be so…so tidy. Easy enough when there was a valet to improve him, but as he’d been without one for weeks…
Could the man before him make anyone that neat?
“I enjoy classical music, Kit,” Thorne finally said. “In fact, it’s one of my joys, when I’m permitted freedom from the responsibilities of this place.” He gestured around the study. “Might I request a private concert?”
The lad blanched again. “Sir?”
“Nothing formal,” Thorne assured him. “Perhaps tomorrow morning? Just show up here with yer violin, and ye can—och, I dinnae ken—serenade? Is that the word? Serenade me while I dig through the latest pile of nonsense.” He smacked the back of his hand against the tottering pile of correspondence. “I’ve been considering purchasing one of Edison’s phonographs, but havenae gotten around to it. Having a personal violinist sounds even better. Much more ducal.”
The footman stared at him, eyes wide. Were they gray in hue? Or a pale blue? Finally, he blinked, then swallowed and shook his head. “You want me toperformfor you, Your Grace?”
Wellthathad all sorts of interesting connotations, didn’t it? Thorne normally would have no trouble turning “perform” into three or four innuendos, but Kit was staring at him with something akin to terror.
Terror. Well, he was pretty dangerous in a tight spot, but he wasn’t serving his country now. He was battling correspondence.And flirting.
Thorne shrugged, suddenly uncertain. “Aye? If it’s no’ too much trouble?”
“No sir—I mean, sorry, Your Grace. I’ll have to ask Mr. Titsworth, as my normal duties—”
“Och, dinnae fash, laddie!” Thorne sat forward once more,suddenly buoyed. “I’m the Duke around these parts, after all, no’ Titsworth! If I want to listen to ye play all morning, I can do that. And…” Once more, he eyed the lad’s suit. “Did ye dress yerself this morning?”
