Page 14 of In Need of a Duke
Two years had passed since they had last seen one another, and he still craved her as much as he ever had. Almost as much as he hated her.
“Well, yes. The duchess hadn’t shared with us that you were expected, but we are so glad?—”
“Hello, darling.” His voice, colder than an early morning in February steeped in ice, choked out the endearment. The effect was altogether devastating.
Charlotte pawed at the sheet to cover herself up but still refused to look at him, even as a bright red flush blossomed on her cheeks down her neck and across her exposed chest.
“Now, Brother,” Nathaniel said, holding a fake sword in his hand and looking absolutely ridiculous. “We are in the middle of an important stage production.”
Ian glanced around at the empty glasses and various bottles of port and brandy. He never thought Charlotte would stoop so low as to host such a scandalous party at Stonehurst, but his brother being in attendance explained the half of it.
“Nathaniel, I believe it is time to bid everyone a good evening. Ihave business to discuss with you. Now. I trust you know where my office is.”
“I do.” Nathaniel ran a hand through his hair and narrowed his eyes. “It was Father’s office long before it was ever yours.”
Father.
What a rotten night.
To return to his wife to find a house full of half-drunken London idiots, and his damn younger brother with his bride, and now to be reminded of father. As if Ian could ever forget.
The room might have belonged to his father, but Nathaniel was lying to himself if he thought Father conducted business in that office. He had despised his family, leaving the first chance he could, and often for months at a time.
“I will wait no more than five minutes,” Ian said instead, turning on his heels and tromping through the halls. At the sound of his retreating footfalls, hushed whispers erupted about his return.
“No, I am fine. Fine, I insist, really, Monty.”
But her voice broke, and Ian, though he had been away, knew her when everyone else only adored her from afar like some pretty prize. Maybe Ian had trapped her as well, condemning her to a life alone to bear the brunt of the rumors of theon-dits. He left her with a sizable account to spend as she wished, and use of Stonehurst and the home in Mayfair. And she had chosen to spend the majority of her time in Stonehurst.
Ian grumbled, eating up a large distance to his office before his valet, Daniel, stopped him. “Your Grace?”
“What?” he snapped, his hand gripping the doorknob so tight he was afraid he’d tear the door off its hinges.
She hadn’t so much as looked at him.
Not once as he had stood there, waiting.
Waiting.
Like a damn fool.
Daniel grimaced, his brown eyes nearly shutting as his wide mouth pulled to the side in apology. “We are having a problem withyour rooms.” He shrank back, which was ridiculous given the man stood two inches taller than Ian.
He spun, staring down his excitable valet. “What do you mean? Problem?”
“The duchess has moved into the room. At least according to her lady’s maid. The door is locked, and she refuses to hand over the key.”
“I am the duke.”
Anger rushed through him, drumming into his ears as if he would turn red and steam like a tea kettle, yet years of practice kept all that hidden.
“I will sort it out when I am through speaking with my brother.”
He neatly dismissed the valet and opened the door to his office, furious the room was cool, and the fire wasn’t lit. Furious the decanters of liquor on the sideboard were empty though he hadn’t drunk in sometime. He ruffled through the drawers, finding a cheroot. He struck a match and lit it, inhaling the smoke before blowing out an aggravated stream as his brother strutted in like a bloody birdbrain, waving a paper sword in the air.
“Can you not do anything seriously?”
Nathaniel snickered, holding his hands up. “I haven’t seen you for a few years, Brother. That’s how you wish to greet me?”
