Page 11 of It's In The Duke's Kiss
In the week immediately following the mishap, Lucian had been called upon to retrieve Nathaniel, who was very deep in his cups, from two gaming clubs, one house of ill repute, and White’s. It was the last disgrace that had caused Lucian to order Nathaniel to the country. He’d hoped that here, away from the enticements London offered, Nathaniel might think upon his meaningless life. But all Nathaniel had thought about was the best pub in which to drink each night.
Lucian stalked to the sidebar and poured himself a drink while his mother silently watched. He took a long sip of the whiskey and allowed himself a moment to enjoy the way the spirits warmed first his mouth, then his throat, and finally his belly. He turned to his mother and studied her, trying to decide how bad the news would be. “I suppose this has something to do with Nathaniel.” Lucian set his now-empty glass on a table.
His mother twisted her hands and then did the same to a strand of her short silver hair. “Well, in a sense,” she replied.
“You’d better just say it, Mother. Your guests are set to arrive any minute.”
“Ourguests,” his mother corrected, narrowing her blue eyes.
“Your guests,” he repeated. “If you recall, I did not want this dinner party.”
“I recall,” she said, sarcasm tinging her tone. “I believe your response when I asked was,Why the devil would we have a bloody dinner party to celebrate Nathaniel’s birthday? He celebrates every day.”
Lucian’s mouth quirked with amusement. “Did I say that exactly?”
“Yes, darling.”
He sighed. Ever since his brother’s return, Lucian’s tension had doubled. “I’m sorry, Mother. That was an unpardonable response.”
She shrugged. “In your defense, I did inquire about the dinner party immediately after you had to fetch Nathaniel from White’s and help poor Tensley carry your brother upstairs.”
Lucian snorted. “I carried Nathaniel upstairs. Tensley directed.” With seventy years to his name, Tensley had long since passed the age of retirement, but the butler had been with their family since Lucian was a child. As long as the man wished to continue working, Lucian would let him.
His mother smiled gently. “Careful, darling. If you keep doing things like allowing our ancient butler to stay employedandcarrying your brother up a flight of stairs to avoid wounding Tensley’s pride by procuring a footman to help, someone will notice and people will start to talk about how you have a warm side that you don’t show others.”
“There is nothing warm about me,” Lucian replied, pulling out his pocket watch and checking the time. “I’m cold, uncaring, and calculating, exactly as thetonpresumes, and more importantly, I’m precisely as a duke must be.”
His mother rolled her eyes. “Your father had the oddest notions about how a duke should act, and I despise the fact that I’ve never been able to dispel you of them.”
Lucian chuckled and patted his mother’s arm. “You’re very cheeky, but you’re my mother so I have to allow it. Now what is it you wanted to tell me? The Marquess of Winthorp and his daughter will be here any minute. I bid them arrive half an hour early so we could finish discussing the betrothal terms between Nathaniel and Lady Francine.”
His mother frowned. “Did Nathaniel finally agree to the marriage?”
“He agreed to consider it.”
His mother’s eyebrows shot to her silver hairline. “And you allowed that? I’m surprised you did not bully him into an immediate acquiescence.”
Lucian scowled. “I do not force anyone to do anything. I persuade. There is a subtle yet crucial difference. I gave him until the end of the upcoming Season to agree to the betrothal.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then I explained quite succinctly this morning that I will cut him off. He will then be forced to support himself.”
Mother’s hand fluttered to her chest. “Would you really, darling?”
Lucian clenched his jaw for a brief moment. He hated to cause his mother worry, but he refused to lie. “I would. I probably should go ahead and do it now.”
His mother surprised him by leaning forward and giving him a peck on the cheek. “But you’ll only do that as a last resort because you do have a heart, after all. However hidden you may keep it.”
“Rubbish,” he retorted, turning toward the window to conceal his face. He knew he was excellent at suppressing his emotions, but sometimes his mother’s perceptiveness caught him off guard. He’d yet to cut Nathaniel off because he feared his brother would fall flat on his face, or worse, and Lucian was loathe to learn what theor worsecould be. Nathaniel seemed to have a desire to destroy himself that Lucian could not comprehend. It had been so for years, going back to even before their father had died. Even at the age of nine, Nathaniel had done things such as take one of the carriages out for a drive on the grounds without asking and let all the horses out of the stalls, which kept him in trouble with their father. Lucian had long suspected it was for attention, which was probably the biggest reason he’d not been harder on him before now, but Nathaniel had to grow up. This self-pity and thoughtless behavior could not continue any longer.
“And tell me again why you think the Francine chit would be a good match for Nathaniel?”
Lucian smirked at his reflection in the window. His mother never said an unkind word against anyone. She didn’t need to. You could tell by how she referred to people whether she liked them or not. If she liked a lady she referred to them asmy dear. If she disliked them, they werethe chit.
He slowly faced her once more. “You’ve knownthe Francine chit,” he said in a subtly chiding tone, “since she came out of her mother’s womb. When do you think you may drop the wordchitand refer to her simply as Lady Francine?”
“I don’t believe ever.”
