Scandal And The Duchess (MacKenzies & McBrides #6.5)(15)
Author: Jennifer Ashley

Rose said nothing, but her disappointment was apparent. “The piece itself must be worth something,” she said. “To an antique collector if nothing else.”

“I can find out for you,” Steven offered.

Rose ran her hand along the edge of the inlay of the top, her fingers lovingly brushing it. Steven couldn’t stop himself imagining those fingertips running as sensually over himself, and he went hard again.

“I hate to let it go,” Rose said, her low-pitched voice completing his ache. “It’s rather special to me.”

“Then keep it.” Steven cleared his throat as he got stiffly to his feet, turning so she wouldn’t see any sign of his lust that might be pressing out his kilt. “I’ll round up someone to tote this out for you. Hell, I’ll carry it on my own back if I have to. It’s going home with you today.”

“Home.” Rose looked wistful. “Only I haven’t got one.” She met his gaze. “Doesn’t that sound sad?”

It did. Steven’s hard-on deflated a little, though not much. If he thought about it, Steven didn’t have a home either.

Not quite true. Steven was always welcome with his brothers—Patrick, who’d raised him, had a comfortable house in Edinburgh; Elliot had a huge monstrosity of a castle in northern Scotland, overrun with Indian servants and his growing family; and Sinclair had plenty of spare bedrooms in London, even if Sinclair’s unruly children did terrorize the house.

But Steven had nothing, no home to return to, no place to put down roots. He enjoyed his visits with his brothers, but in the end they were only visits. His brothers had families. Steven did not. He’d made halfhearted attempts to change this in the past, but put any thoughts of marriage aside when he returned to the army. It was no life for a wife and children—at least, he’d never met a woman robust enough to share it but tender enough to fall in love with.

If he couldn’t change things for himself, though, he could change things for Rose. “I swear to you,” Steven said, “at the end of this, you’ll be able to go home. Wherever you want that to be.”

His heart was beating rapidly as he spoke, however, which didn’t help his headache. He turned and left the room, unable to take her green eyes gazing at him any longer.

***

Steven couldn’t find any servants. The house was dark with the winter afternoon, and no lamps burned anywhere, nor did any fires. The new duke took frugality to an obsessive extreme.

He’d have to go down to the servants’ hall and recruit a few sturdy footmen to help. Shouldn’t be too much problem—no one was doing any actual work in the house that he could see, and Steven was good at rallying people to obey him.

He did run across a servant standing in near darkness in a parlor on the second floor. The windows faced west, so a trickle of light came in, but only enough to show there was a person in there at all. The man wore a dark suit, like the footman John, but had hunched shoulders and spindly legs. Not much good for moving furniture.

A closer look showed Steven that he was perusing papers on a tall table in front of him. Also that his clothes were wrinkled and looked less costly than even the footman’s kit.

This was either a vagrant who’d wandered inside, or the new duke himself, the repugnant Albert.

Whoever he was, he heard Steven’s step, and turned with a jerk. The man looked Steven up and down, his hands curling as his gaze lingered on Steven’s kilt. “What the devil are you supposed to be made up as?” he snapped.

“A Scotsman,” Steven said. “I thought you weren’t at home, Your Grace.”

Chapter Six

Steven saw a resemblance to the late duke in Albert, but everything that had been strong in Charles was weak in his son. Charles had sported a receding hairline, as did his son, but the older duke had had a robust mane of white hair to go with his, while Albert’s graying hair straggled in thin wisps. Charles hadn’t been tall, but his back had been straight and strong, while Albert’s shoulders were slumped with too many hours of poring over papers.

“A Scotsman.” Albert repeated. “What is a haggis-eating, sheep-loving bagpiper doing in my house?”

“I don’t eat haggis,” Steven said, letting his accent deepen. “And I never mastered the pipes, much to the despair of my poor brother. As for the sheep . . .” He shrugged. “Could never get very far there. Damp wool makes me sneeze.”

Albert’s scowl deepened. “Get out of my house, sir.”

Steven debated explaining his presence, and Rose’s, but decided to let the man wonder. “Not until I take what I came for.”

“Are you robbing me, then? I’ll have the constables on you.”

Steven folded his arms. “No, you won’t.”

However strong-willed his father had been, Albert had inherited only pigheadedness, Steven decided. He was half Steven’s size, yet he swung away from the table, grabbed a poker from the fireplace, and came at him.

Steven easily caught the man’s upraised arm as it descended, and twisted the poker out of his hand. He propelled Albert back to the table and slammed him face-first onto it. “Only attack if you have the advantage of surprise or superior strength and position.” He pressed Albert’s face harder into the wood. “Or prepare to be trounced. I have a raging headache, and see how easily I’ve bested you?”

“Get off me, you bloody dung-eater.”

Steven’s temper flared through the hangover. “Your own mouth’s plenty full of shit. Thinking about what you’re doing to Rose, I’ve a mind to grind you through this table until you learn some manners.”

“Are you her latest lover, then? What happened to the comte?”

Steven pressed Albert down harder until he cried out. Steven growled, “Keep a civil tongue, man, before I’ll—”

“Steven, what on earth are you doing?” Rose’s exclamation cut into the room, followed by the rustle of her skirts. “Is that Albert? Good heavens, let him up.”

Steven didn’t want to. He’d love to beat son Albert into the table until the man’s face was bloody. That would be satisfying.

But the note in Rose’s voice made Steven release Albert and step away. She was a good woman to feel sorry for Albert in spite of it all, no matter how much Steven didn’t share her sympathy.

“You’re lucky she’s such a sweetheart,” Steven said to Albert. “And that she walked into the room just now.”