His Grace, The Duke: Second Sons Book Two
His Grace, The Duke: Chapter 29

Rosalie spun around with a gasp. The duke was standing by the door. “Your Grace,” she said on a breath. “This is a ladies’ dressing room.”

He glanced around, noting the sparse furniture, the row of vanities along one wall, the painted screen in each corner. “So, it is.”

“You should not be in here.”

His eyes narrowed. “Neither should you.”

She held his gaze, feeling her lower lip start to tremble.

The duke just watched her. He wore a black evening coat with black breeches that came to the knee, and crisp white stockings. His double waistcoat was a mix of blue and gold, and his cravat was a handsome burgundy patterned silk. His only adornment was his signet ring, which he twirled round and round on the smallest finger of his left hand.

She took a shaky breath. “You heard.”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t close enough to hear it all…but I saw.”

She gave a little nod, her gaze dropping to the carpet.

He leaned against the door. “I’ve known Marianne Young all her life. I’ve never seen her sharpen her claws on another lady before. Your mere presence made her go feral. Why?”

She turned away.

“Ohh…” He chuckled. “She used to hold a candle for Renley, did she not? Yes…I remember them together,” he mused.

Rosalie stiffened.

“Have I hit the mark? I can see that I have. She doesn’t like to see our dear Lieutenant Renley chasing after your skirts. Certainly not while the rumors about my brother spread all over town.”

She spun around. “He is not chasing after me—”

“Oh yes, he is,” the duke countered, pushing off the wall and crossing the room towards her. “There can be no secrets between friends, Cabbage. If you think I don’t know exactly how eagerly the men in my house are chasing after you, then you’ve grossly underestimated my ability to sniff out sexual tension, and I take great offense.”

She was sure her cheeks must be flaming crimson.

“So…tonight you didn’t fight back when Marianne attacked you. But this morning you fought off my mother with the ferocity of a lioness…so it’s certainly not a question of whether you can fight…but whether you choose to fight.”

She didn’t dare meet his eye.

He barked a laugh. “Of course, you only stepped in with mama when she threatened James. I have unraveled the mystery,” he said, clapping his hands together. “This morning you were protecting James and…” He glanced up in time to see her wipe a tear from her eye. He sobered, his voice softer. “You were protecting James…but no one was there tonight to protect you.”

She focused again on the carpet.

“That’s it…isn’t it? You’ll defend another, come hell or high water. But when you’re the one under attack, you take the hits. You wait for it to end.” He let out a long sigh. “Who taught you that trait? A former lover, perhaps? A parent? Is this the work of Francis Harrow?”

She sucked in a breath, raising her eyes to him at last. “How did you…”

“I’m a duke, Cabbage. I know everything,” he replied with a wave of his hand. “Here’s the thing…if you and I are going to be friends, you can’t embarrass me like that. Not in public. We need the lioness to sharpen her claws.”

She glanced up. “And are we…friends?”

He chuckled. “Oh, yes, I’ve decided I want that to be one of your duties.”

“As your ward, you’re requiring that I be your friend?”

“Yes.”

She waited for him to laugh or break, but he didn’t. “But…that is not how friendship works.”

He tipped his head to the side, a petulant frown on his lips. “Why not?”

“Because it’s…unnatural. You cannot force a friendship,” she reasoned.

“I’m a duke,” he said with a shrug. “I can do whatever I want.”

She lifted her chin and crossed her arms over her beaded evening gown. “No. You cannot make me be your friend.”

He stomped his foot like a spoiled child. “Well, what am I supposed to do then?”

“Well…you have to be a friend, Your Grace. You can do nice things for them or help them. Offer advice…comfort.”

He glanced around the room, brows lowering over his blue eyes. “Let me help you out of this mess.”

She blinked. “What mess?”

“Well, you can’t possibly go back out there,” he said, moving past her towards the window. He tugged back the curtain, looking out.

“I must go back,” she cried. “Renley is probably looking for me even now—”

“So?”

“So…I have to return to my seat.”

“Absolutely not.” He moved behind her and helped himself to the drink cart, pouring himself a generous measure of wine.

“Why not?”

“You just said that as my friend, I must help you and offer advice. So here it is: you have to learn to fight for yourself, not just for others. That is the first and last time the likes of Marianne Young gets to make you cry. Do you understand me?” He drained the glass of wine in two gulps, smacking his lips as he pulled it away. “You retreated, and in so doing, you gave her the field. The battle is lost.”

She stifled a laugh. “Am I at war then, sir?”

“All life is war,” he replied somberly, refilling his glass.

His words hit her right in the chest. She knew how much truth they contained.

He stepped forward and put a brotherly hand on her shoulder. “If you go out there now, I guarantee you that Mrs. Young and all those sparkling ladies will be waiting for you. The gossip rags have not been kind. You and James were careless, and you must pay the price. He won’t. Men never do,” he added. “Only you will pay.”

“What will they do to me?” she whispered, eyes wide.

“Do?” He snorted. “They won’t do anything. That’s the whole point. If you go out there, they will sneer and snarl and do nothing. And by doing nothing, they will know they have beaten you. There is no regaining the ground you’ve lost tonight. All you can do is retreat and return to fight another day.”

She raised her gaze to him, desperate to puzzle him out. “Is that how you survive in society, Your Grace?”

He was quiet for a moment. “If you want to beat them at their game, you must learn to do as I do.”

She raised a wary brow. “And what is that?”

“Refuse to play,” he replied. “If they want you to fight, retreat. If they want you to run, stand your ground. If they’re playing whist, well then strip off all your clothes, do a merry jig, and play hazard instead. Keep them guessing. Keep them confused. And by all the gods, keep them entertained.” At this, he raised his glass and gave her a wink.

She couldn’t help but smile, but it quickly fell. “You know…your position in society is far more enviable. You have a power none of the rest of us can wield,” she challenged. “As a duke, you can set societal expectations.”

He poured himself another glass of wine. “Hmm…I’d never thought of it that way.”

She dared to take a chance. “You want me to be bold. You say your friends must stand up for themselves…but do you follow your own advice? Do you fight for yourself and what you want, or do you leave it all in your brother’s hands?”

He frowned, his entire mood swinging to dark and brooding in an instant. “Are you calling me a coward, Miss Harrow?”

“Your Grace, no—I—”

“Because you can save it,” he snapped. “I know I’m a coward. I know I disappoint everyone. I know I am the worst duke to ever live.”

“Only because you choose to be,” she replied, her voice soft.

He huffed, drowning himself in more wine.

“But you’re wrong in one respect…” she murmured.

He turned to face her, a glower on his face.

She gave him a weak smile. “You’ve never disappointed me.”

He blinked, as if he didn’t understand her words. After a moment he murmured, “Thank you, Cabbage.” Suddenly, he offered out his hand. “Now, leave with me. I’ve heard enough Haydn for a lifetime. We shall seek our entertainment elsewhere.”

Her heart fluttered. “You told me I can’t leave the room—”

“I said you can’t rejoin the vultures. I never said you can’t leave,” he corrected.

“How would we leave without showing our faces?”

But he was already moving to the door. “We’ll go out the window, of course.”

“The—what—”

He flung the door open, barking for a footman.

“Yes, Your Grace?” said a young man with a freckled face.

“I have urgent business to attend to and must depart,” he said, suddenly all authority. “In ten minutes time, I want you to alert my brother to my leaving and tell him I have taken my ward with me. Not a minute sooner, understood?”

This was absolutely ridiculous. If riding with James in a carriage at midnight was enough to get her in the society papers, what might climbing out a window with the duke do to her reputation? That was to say nothing about how the men would respond on learning she was gone. But His Grace was right, no force on earth would compel her to face Marianne again tonight.

The footman took off and the duke shut the door, crossing the room back over to her. “Well? A new adventure awaits. Shall we?” He held out his hand again.

She took a step back, shaking her head. “This is crazy. This is—we can’t go out a window. You’re mad!”

He grinned. “Yes…but you already knew that. It didn’t stop you from agreeing to be my ward. My madness is yours now, Cabbage.”

She blinked, feeling fresh tears spring to her eyes. “I can’t—I—I don’t want the papers to write about me,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be an object of scorn. I don’t want to embarrass your house, your family…anymore than I already have—”

The duke placed a finger under her chin. “Look at me, Cabbage.”

She met his gaze, seeing so much of James in the shape of his brows, the lift of his cheekbones.

“Do you know why your business is being splashed across the gossip rags?”

She nodded, sucking in a breath. “Because I was reckless—”

“No,” he countered. “The whole ton is gossiping about you because you are worth gossiping about. You’ve arrived, Rosalie Harrow,” he said with a widening grin. “You are the mysterious, beautiful, enchanting new ward of the Duke of Norland. Through your connection to me, you will take tea with royalty. You will breathe the rarified air of Kensington Gardens. You will walk into rooms on my arm. You will be served first, you will always have the best seat, and you will not give a bloody damn about all the noise that echoes around you.”

Fresh tears filled her eyes.

“They will talk about you,” he admitted with a slow nod. “They will talk about you, because they cannot be you. But their envy is not yours to bear. Live your life on your terms.” He paused, searching her eyes. “There, was that friendly advice?”

She laughed. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Good. Now, are we going? Because I don’t know about you, but I’m bloody starving.” He held out his hand again.

Throwing caution to the wind, she took it.