Why Do Dukes Fall in Love?: A Dukes Behaving Badly Novel (11 page)

It was just her luck that the man with whom she most wished to be intimate was also her employer. She had to keep that in
mind as she continued the “this” they were doing.

Although he had just mentioned a trip. A trip away from the house, from his servants, from Hawkins, from Gertrude—Miss Clark
could watch over her, Edwina knew that—not to mention the dog.

Just them and the no doubt dozens of servants necessary to see to the duke’s comfort. Well, they wouldn’t be precisely alone,
but they’d be more alone than they were presently.

That conjured up many terrifying, intriguing, exciting, and altogether dangerous ideas. Not all of which she had the temerity
to think the duke had thought of when he’d suggested—no, not suggested, ordered—it. He probably thought it was the most efficient
way to make his decision.

As well as the most efficient way for her to get her naked skin closer to his. Not that she should be thinking about that,
but to deny she was would be lying to herself. And as she had told Gertrude repeatedly, a lady does not lie.

Unless it is down with a duke, her treacherous mind added, making her turn pink all over and utter some sort of strangled
snort, at which point the duke looked at her with one eyebrow raised as though to ask what in heaven’s name she was doing.

Well, she couldn’t answer that, so that made two of them.

Why hadn’t he thought of it before? It was the most practical solution to his various and respective problems—he could go
see things for himself rather than relying on literature and salesmen, and he could be alone with her without being encumbered
by anything but his valet, his coachman, a few footmen, and the unpleasantness of travel.

Which, since he was a duke, was as close to pleasant as possible, but was still not being at home with his own things and
his own comforts.

Except he’d be bringing the comfort he most wanted with him—her. Although he was not comfortable when she was around. He was
aroused, intrigued, fascinated, and piqued, but not comfortable.

That feeling of comfort would likely come in time, probably close to the end of their—whatever this was—their relationship,
right before he devolved from being comfortable to being bored. That was inevitable, he’d found, no matter how interested
he’d been at the outset. There was only so much sexual relations could compensate for, things like a lack of intelligence,
a greedy nature or, in one case, a grating laugh. He hadn’t yet discovered what Cheltam would do that would annoy him, and
eventually bore him, but he had no doubt it was coming.

That was why he had never married. Even though it did make some sense to do so. He knew that people who were filled with more
propriety than he was would say it was his duty to produce heirs to his title. And he would say if he could find a person
to spend the rest of his life with who would then produce more persons he had to spend the rest of his life with, he would.
But he hadn’t, and he wouldn’t sacrifice his own comfort just because it seemed somehow more proper to leave his holdings
and title to a son rather than to the cousin who currently stood to inherit.

His cousin was a genial man, not slavering to become the duke, but not skittish about it, either. He and Michael saw each
other approximately once a year at Michael’s country estate when he went there for the annual holiday party that had been
a tradition several dukes earlier. He saw most of his family, few though they were, at the event. He could tolerate them all
only every twelve months.

That was one task he wouldn’t stop doing, even though it did add to this discomfort; he recognized the greater good in presenting
himself to his family, tenants, and staff at least once a year to achieve the goodwill he knew was essential to keeping his
estate working as well as possible. And his family from thinking he was a completely arrogant ass.

Although they probably thought he was nearly a completely arrogant ass. Which he was; he knew that about himself.

Meanwhile, however, he had a trip to set in motion. He wouldn’t have to do any of the planning, of course; that was what his
staff, including his secretary, was for. But he had to be present, to ensure that the servants planning the trip knew he was
observing things so would be unhappy if the plans were not perfect.

So why was he so frustrated?

Because the moment he’d thought of it he hadn’t been able to step outside into his carriage and head to his destination. That
delay in order to guarantee a flawless journey had never bothered him before, but now? When he was anticipating the chance
to be with her, alone?

Now that irked him, nearly as much as stupid people did. Which he was finding, to his annoyance, were most of the people on
his staff.

Because how could they not know he wished to be on his way now, if not sooner? That he had things, terribly important things,
on his mind that required that he—and she—leave the house?

Even she was irking him because she insisted on making the proper preparations, not just dashing off with him, hopefully leaving
most of her clothing behind.

Not that that was practical, of course. And he did have to grudgingly admire her ability to plan while also maintaining his
correspondence, her daughter’s frequent whining that she wasn’t going, too, and Hawkins double-checking every minute detail
of what would be needed.

“Hadlow.” It was clear, from her tone, that this was not the first time she’d spoken his name.

He glared at her from across the desk. The thought crossed his mind that if he were hoping to embark on more than a few kisses
with her, perhaps he should be pleasant, but then he realized that she already knew what he was like, and she wouldn’t be
fooled. What’s more, perhaps she wouldn’t like the pleasant him. Because she would know it wasn’t the truth about him, and
she’d know why he had changed, and she’d mistrust him.

He didn’t blame her. So he resolved to be just as unpleasant and abrupt as he normally was, not that he really knew how to
act any differently. And it felt oddly right and comfortable to make that choice when he knew full well he could choose to
do something else. It was as though he wanted to really be himself, as opposed to just being irritated, around her. And he
had noticed, surprisingly, that he had the ability to be polite when he wanted to. He had just never wanted to before. It
was all due to her.

“What do you want, Cheltam?” He waved his hand at the massive amount of papers currently lying haphazardly on his desk. “Isn’t
it enough that you have brought a lumberyard’s worth of paper into the house? Do you need my advice for what to do with it?”
He gave a long, sweeping look at the surface of his desk. “I’d say burn it.”

She rolled her eyes and huffed out a breath, but she looked amused more than annoyed. Not that he was relieved, of course,
that she hadn’t taken offense at his words; he was just grateful he wouldn’t have to deal with a prickly secretary, especially
on the verge of embarking on this type of journey.

“If you recall, those are not my papers.” She leaned forward and squinted at the pile, then plucked one sheet from the stack.
“This one is. I apologize that it had the temerity to get in your way.”

And then she looked at him, one eyebrow raised as though daring him to say something to get her back up even more.

He wanted to. His throat itched with it, the urge to snap at her, knowing that she could handle it, unlike all the other people
he usually resisted the urge to snap at. But more than that, he discovered to his surprise, he wanted her to actually like
being with him, not just swept away with the skill of his kissing or whatever made her so unbend when they were alone together.

So he laughed, an odd sound coming from him, he knew himself. He rarely laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done
more than emit a mild chuckle.

But this—this was a full laugh, a laughter born not only out of what she had said to him, but what he was anticipating doing,
and soon, and his general enjoyment of her company.

And after a moment, she joined in, leaning back in her chair, letting her head fall back, her mouth open, her eyes closed.

He had never seen anything quite so joyous and delicious in his entire life.

Dear God, when were they leaving on the journey, anyway?

Hadlow had been as grumpy as Edwina had ever seen him today. Since that night, the second kiss night, she’d felt as though
they were altering their treatment of each other—not just in that way, although that way was quite pleasant—but in their burgeoning . . .
was it friendship? She’d heard him laugh, which she didn’t think she had heard before, and he seemed to welcome her teasing.

But not today.

“I said I do not require more than two footmen,” he said in a growl.

Thankfully he was speaking to Hawkins, not her, but that just meant she felt sympathetic, and yet could do or say nothing;
she knew the duke would not welcome her interference, and Hawkins himself would be horrified.

“But Your Grace, what if one of the footmen becomes ill?”

Edwina straightened in her chair, lowering her gaze down to the top of the desk by instinct. She didn’t know if the duke was
capable of shouting Hawkins out of the door with just his voice, but she didn’t want to be borne away as well because she
hadn’t taken precautions.

He truly was an imperious man, wasn’t he? But that was just he, she knew enough by now.

“If one of the men becomes ill,” the duke said slowly, drawing out each word through gritted teeth, “then we will make do
with one healthy footman and one who perhaps needs to rest. We are taking two coaches, are we not?” he said, turning to Edwina.

She nodded and consulted her notebook. “One for you to travel in, and the other for the luggage and me.”

“You may go, Hawkins,” he said after a moment. Hawkins bowed and left, not without shooting a concerned glance at Edwina.

She wished she could tell him she, at least, wasn’t afraid of the duke, even when he was as irascible as this. She had to
admit she found it rather amusing, although she knew well enough not to smile or laugh or anything. But to see him being so—so
autocratic and petulant, just like Gertrude when she wanted something terribly badly—well, it made her want to grin. Knowing
that he might be a duke, and wealthy beyond all measure, and handsome and commanding as well, but he was still a human, with
human emotions, and some of his emotions were less admirable than others—she had to say she found it almost endearing.

That she would never share with him.

“You’ll be traveling in the carriage with me,” he said in a low tone.

Now she did feel something, but it wasn’t fear; it was a frisson of interest, of excitement.

“And why would I do that?” she replied. Who knew she would like poking the bear—in this case, the bearish duke—as much as
she did?

“Because we can work while we travel.” He’d stood as he spoke, and he began to make his way over to her side of the desk,
a distinct gleam in his eye.

Uh-oh.

“But it isn’t entirely respectable for us to share a carriage. Alone,” she said, swallowing as she thought about it, although
she wasn’t entirely sure how comfortable any of that would be in a carriage, not to mention what if a horse threw a shoe or
that suddenly ill footman got suddenly ill, and they had to disembark all of a sudden, only she wasn’t precisely gowned properly,
and he was even grumpier because he’d been interrupted in the middle, and everyone would know, and—

“It is entirely respectable.” He walked closer so he was looming over her chair. “You are my secretary, I am your employer,
and I require that you stay in my presence so that when I need you to take notes I need not stop the carriage and transfer
you just to listen to me.”

Put that way, it sounded entirely reaso—No, no it didn’t, but it did sound like him.

“Perhaps you might have some thoughts on that part of the engine,” she said, lowering her gaze to the floor and holding her
breath.

“What part is that, Cheltam?” He was still standing over her; she could see his shoes right there, closely followed by his
legs, and then all those other parts of him.

She lifted her head quickly and stared him in the face. “The eccentric crank,” she said in a soft voice, her lips curving
into a smile as she spoke.

And then she froze as she saw how his expression flattened, how his eyes narrowed and he suddenly looked almost . . . mean.
But in an odd way—or maybe not so odd, since she knew precisely why she felt that way—it made her breathe a little faster,
and her whole body feel as though it was shooting fireworks or something equally dramatic, even though she knew perfectly
well she was still just sitting in her chair, looking up at him.

“You are saying I am an eccentric crank, then, Cheltam?” he said in a misleadingly soft voice.

His tone made her shiver. In a good way.

The knock at the door came just as she was wondering just how she could prolong this delicious torture of both of them, of
their words sparking in the air like two swords in a duel.

The duke nearly snarled. “Enter,” he said, then strode to stand in front of his bookcase, his back to the door.

Abrupt as usual. And yet she couldn’t blame him for his reaction; she rather felt like snarling herself.

Hawkins opened the door and glanced at the duke’s back, then looked at Edwina. “Mrs. Cheltam, there is someone here to see
you.”

She saw the duke twist around, as though to ask who dared to visit his employee, but didn’t say anything.

“If you will excuse me, Your Grace,” she said, dipping the briefest of curtseys, just enough not to horrify Hawkins, and walked
out of the room.

“I’ve put the gentleman into the second salon, Mrs. Cheltam.” Hawkins cleared his throat. “He said his name was Mr. Cheltam,
he is not—” and he let the words hang in the air, as though saying “your husband” was something he couldn’t possibly commit
to saying.

“No, Mr. Hawkins, he is not.” Thankfully. “I believe it is my brother-in-law; we encountered him the other day when the duke
went to the exhibit.”

What was he doing here, though? It wasn’t as though there was any pretense of closeness between them. She didn’t think she’d
ever have to see him again, not until she’d run into him.

She knew she didn’t like him, and that the feeling was mutual. He had belittled her work on George’s financial affairs, and
then had been even more belligerent toward her when it was apparent his efforts were not producing the same results as hers
had.

She had to say, she much preferred the duke’s method of dealing with a female. Or a male, for that matter. He simply didn’t
care, he didn’t judge anyone in advance based on their gender. He seemed to consider people idiots until they proved themselves
otherwise, but he didn’t discriminate—anybody could be an idiot in his eyes, neither more nor less.

It was egalitarian if also incredibly arrogant and condescending.

So it was with some trepidation she stepped inside the room after Hawkins opened the door for her.

He stood when she entered, an expression she was unaccustomed to on his face. Of course—it was nearly friendly. She didn’t
think she’d ever really seen him smile before, at least not directed her way. It was disconcerting, and made her even more
anxious about why he was here. It couldn’t be about Gertrude, could it?