Why Do Dukes Fall in Love?: A Dukes Behaving Badly Novel (18 page)

Everyone, that is, except her. And her daughter.

Damn it.

“If you’ll just step over here, Your Grace, you can see the area where we manufacture the smaller parts.” The representative
from the Right Way Railway was, thankfully, more cognizant of the workings of the factory than the man from the day before.
But the factory itself was less tidy, and Michael sensed that the sloppiness extended to the company itself, even though he
couldn’t identify where.

Cheltam accompanied him on the tour, keeping herself a few steps behind him, in a properly secretarial way. Which annoyed
him also.

Was this to be his life? To be annoyed at things that were entirely proper? Although that had happened long before he met
her. It was just—now it felt like a slap, since he wanted to do things he’d never wanted before. In fact, he didn’t think
he’d ever wanted something so much. Damn it. This was getting far too complicated.

“Here is where we produce things such as the piston rod, the pistons, the brake shoes, and the coupling rods. Along with many
of the other parts.” The man was clearly enthusiastic about his work.

“Is this also where the eccentric crank is made?”

Michael glanced at her to find her looking at him, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“You know something about engines, Mrs. Cheltam?” The man sounded far more appreciative than Michael liked, and he stepped
forward to place himself more directly in front of her before he realized what he was doing.

“Yes, I have picked up some knowledge in the course of working for the duke,” she said, stepping out from behind him.

His arm almost—almost—reached out to keep her away, but he stopped himself just in time. It wasn’t his place, even though
it chafed at him to think that another man might find her as fascinating as he did.

“Yes, well, the eccentric crank is produced over there, along with some of the medium-sized parts.” The man—if Michael were
more interested in him he’d figure out what his name was—gestured to where a group of workers were laboring over a table,
plumes of smoke whirling in the air above them while the steady drone of production was a constant hum in the background.

“Is the eccentric crank considered a medium-sized part, then?” The witch was definitely teasing him now, knowing he couldn’t
do anything to respond, not here in public.

But just wait until they were alone.

The man nodded. “Yes, it is. I’m interested in why you are so intrigued by this particular element of the engine?” he said,
at which point Michael had to clamp his jaw shut not to yell at both of them. At least the Right Way Railway representative
had no idea what he was saying.

But she did. The minx.

“I am not sure why I am so interested in the eccentric crank,” she replied, darting another mischievous glance his way. “Maybe
because of its eccentricism. Or the crankiness.”

The man looked confused, as he should be, since she had just spouted nonsense.

“Oh, what I am saying? I just find all the parts fascinating.” And then she lifted her eyebrow in his direction, as though
to say,
I find all of you fascinating
, and goddamn if he didn’t wish they were alone, and naked, and in bed.

He found himself stepping forward before he recalled where he was, actually, and that it would not be appropriate for him
to throw her over his shoulder and take her somewhere to ravish her for her impudent words.

“I believe we have seen enough, thank you, Mr. . . .” he said, pausing because he still didn’t know the man’s name.

“Mr. Pierson, yes, thank you,” she supplied, speaking so smoothly after his words it was barely noticeable he’d stumbled on
the man’s name.

“Thank you, Your Grace. Mrs. Cheltam.” Mr. Pierson bowed to them in turn, bowing a bit lower for Cheltam, Michael noticed
with a tinge of something in his chest. Jealousy? No, it couldn’t be. He was never jealous.

They walked out to the carriage, Michael’s long stride eating up the distance between the factory doors and where his footman
waited at the door.

“Just you wait until we’re safely inside, Cheltam,” he said in a low growl. “I’ll show you who’s an eccentric crank.”

“I cannot wait,” she said in an equally low tone.

Which made him hasten his pace even more, so she was running to keep up with him.

Well, so this was what it felt like when one taunted a wild animal in its cage. If the animal was a tall, well-bred duke with
a sharp temper. She had to admit she liked it. Even though she had no idea what to expect once they were alone in the carriage.

Although she had her suspicions, and she suspected they’d involve his mouth, his hands, and other parts of them in various
iterations. Goodness, now that he’d shown her that the mouth could go elsewhere on the body, it opened up all sorts of possibilities.

She hoped she could discover more of them firsthand before this was all over.

The coachman held his hand out for her to assist her into the carriage, but the duke inserted himself so that it was his hand
she took. As though he could not bear anyone else touching her.

The thought of that kind of possessiveness did, she had to admit, give her a certain kind of thrill.

She slid onto the seat, watching as he entered after her. She fluttered her hands on her lap, feeling nervous even though
she had started this game. That, judging by the martial look in his eye, he had every intention of continuing.

“Eccentric crank, Cheltam?” His words were spoken in a suspiciously calm voice, and she licked her lips before replying.

“Yes, well, being in your employ has given me many new interests.” She glanced over at him from underneath her lashes. Dear
Lord, but he was handsome. And right now exuding a kind of sexual menace that shouldn’t excite her, but absolutely did. Likely
because she knew the man underneath the blunt, rough talk. The man who did unexpectedly kind things for her daughter, was
egalitarian in his treatment of either gender, valued honesty and intelligence above any kind of sycophancy.

Was as blunt and rough in what he wanted in bed as he was out of it. She appreciated his consistency.

“Can you show me your . . . interest?” he said, leaning over to speak into her ear. Which made her shiver all over.

“If you can show me yours,” she replied, sliding her hand onto his thigh. Not quite daring to go
there
, especially not in the carriage, but certainly willing to offer him the opportunity to move things to there, if that’s what
he wanted.

“Oh, I can show you,” he said, twisting in his seat before wrapping her in his arms and kissing her senseless.

Or nearly senseless; she had enough sense to know that it was he who was kissing her, not some random man she’d accidentally
stumbled into the carriage with; and she knew enough to realize that her hands were grabbing his shoulders to pull him closer,
and she was leaning into the corner of the carriage, his body covering hers, his hands roaming over her body, seeming to want
to find a spot of uncovered skin. He settled for placing his hands on her jaw, holding her still for his kiss while his tongue
worked its magic. He really was a delightful kisser, not that she’d had much experience before.

Mr. Cheltam had contented himself with kissing her chastely on the mouth three times a year—on her birthday, their wedding
anniversary, and Christmas. When he came to her bedroom to claim his husbandly rights, he didn’t bother with kissing beyond
a few halfhearted and messy passes of his mouth on hers. So perhaps the duke was a terrible kisser, but she had to doubt that,
given how her whole body was reacting.

All too soon he drew back, his breath coming in short gasps, his eyes heavy-lidded and intense, his hands still gripping her,
but his body not entirely on hers.

“How is that for an eccentric crank?” he asked at last, a sly grin stretching his mouth.

She found herself returning the smile. Who knew that this kind of activity could also be so humorous? “I can’t imagine any
other eccentric crank even comparing with that.”

They smiled at each other, and she felt as though she were drowning in his eyes, forgetting entirely that they were in a carriage,
that he was her employer, and almost what her own name was.

She shook her head after a few moments, lowering her gaze to the floor. “We should discuss our impressions. What did you think
of the egregiously named Right Way Railway?”

He didn’t speak for a moment, but his grip on her arm tightened. As though he didn’t want to let this moment go.

I don’t want that, either
, she thought. But she couldn’t tell him that, not without revealing how far she’d fallen in love with him. She, a widowed
secretary with a daughter, only a few pounds away from penury, falling in love with a duke.

Every time she thought about it she got mournful. She should just not think about it any longer.

“I liked the gentleman’s enthusiasm, even though I did not like his interest in you.” He cleared his throat, as though embarrassed.
“But I think some of the processes seemed overly complicated, and the factory was not as clean as the one we saw the day before.”

“That was what I thought also. We should review the financials and keep that in mind as we make the next visits.”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat again, and now he slipped his hands down her arms to take her hands in his. “Thank you for—for
all this. Coming on the trip, and being such a help, and . . .”

“And . . . ?” she prompted.

“You know what.” It was odd, hearing him unable to say what he was thinking when he had been so bluntly, even crudely, honest
in the most intimate situations. It also felt oddly touching, as though he were unable to find the words himself, words that
weren’t basic facts, that were more than statements of things. That were his feelings. Probably feelings he had never felt
before, and wasn’t quite sure what to do with.

“Yes,” she said at last, and squeezed his hand. “Yes.”

They spent the rest of the short ride to that evening’s inn in silence, still holding hands. It felt so comfortable. Yes,
there were the remnants of the passion that had flared when they first got in the carriage, and she couldn’t wait for the
evening, but it also had the warmth of being settled. Of knowing who you were, and who he was, and how you worked together.

Even though what worked now could not always work.

They arrived at the inn, Edwina glancing out of the carriage window to see the innkeeper—fat where the one the night before
was thin, a huge smile on his face—standing at the doorway, beckoning the carriage in.

“Until tonight,” the duke said, drawing one of her hands up to his mouth to kiss.

She swallowed, unable to speak for a moment.

He descended first, then turned around to assist her out of the carriage.

She stepped down, glancing to the innkeeper, who was waving a piece of paper at them. Another letter from Gertrude?

She walked forward eagerly, composing herself into her ducal secretary guise. “Is that correspondence for the Duke of Hadlow’s
party?” she asked. “I am his secretary, I can receive it.”

The innkeeper frowned in confusion. “His . . . secretary?” Apparently the man hadn’t realized a woman could be a secretary
as well as a man could.

“Yes,” Edwina replied in a terse tone of voice.

“If you say so,” the man responded in a skeptical tone. His smile had dimmed, and Edwina found herself missing the anxious
thin innkeeper from the previous night.

She soon forgot all about him, however, as soon as she read the letter.

Michael was just reaching the bar of the common area to ask for a drink when the door opened and Edwina burst in, her mouth
open in a shocked O, her eyes wide and frightened.

“What is it?” he said, striding over to catch her in his arms. Although not enfold her entirely, he had to remember the boundaries
between them. The necessary propriety of their relationship, even though he chafed at its constrictions.

“Look.” She held a letter out to him, and he took it, scanning the lines quickly.

He raised his head and looked at her. “This says that your brother-in-law has taken Gertrude? But how? More importantly, why?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, just that I have to go back, I am sorry
to have to leave you, but she is—”

“Do you really think I would let you go alone?” He was shaken, not just because of what had happened to Gertrude, but because
she wouldn’t just assume he would accompany her. What was he to her? Was he just an employer who happened to also be able
to pleasure her in bed? What were they to each other?

Although this was not the time to be asking such questions.

“It is not your responsibility,” she replied in a trembling voice. “She is under my care, and because I was here, I was not
there to prevent—”

“You were doing your job,” he interrupted. “Something I required, so if there is blame to be assigned, blame me.” He folded
his arms over his chest. “Although neither of us deserves any blame, it is that blackguard brother-in-law who is at fault.”
He took her arm and led her back outside. The coachman was already beginning to unhitch the horses, and Michael strode up
to clamp his hand on the man’s arm. “Change of plans. We are returning to London immediately.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” It said a lot—not all of it good—that his coachman didn’t ask why, or even look confused by the sudden
orders. Michael wasn’t sure whether to be proud or ashamed his staff was so efficient.

“Inside,” he said to Edwina, who was just standing in the courtyard, blinking away tears. “The sooner we get home, the sooner
we can retrieve Gertrude from the loathsome toad.”

“Is that his name?” she asked, taking his hand and stepping up into the carriage.

Michael turned to one of the footmen who was standing nearby. “Have the second coach follow as soon as possible.” The man
nodded and dashed off, presumably to convey his orders. He leaped into the carriage, gathering Edwina into his embrace and
drawing her head down into his chest. “It will be fine. There is nothing we can’t handle.”

She raised her head and looked at him, her dark eyes full of hurt. “That’s why he did it, you know that. He wouldn’t have
bothered if it was just me, and we were still on our own. But now,” she said, biting her lip as she spoke, “now he probably
thinks you’ll do something to help me get her back.”

“And I will do anything to get her back. Is that wrong?” What was the point of being him if he couldn’t use his power and
wealth to get what he wanted?

Her breath came out in a short burst. “No, I don’t want you to. That is, I do want you to, but I don’t want him to have that
kind of leverage. I’m not blaming you for it,” which made his chest hurt less, because it had seemed as though she were holding
him to blame, “but it just points out how our, how this”—she gesticulated between the two of them—“cannot continue.”

Now he hurt even more. And he wanted to roar at her, to tell her that it absolutely could continue, they would retrieve Gertrude,
and come to an understanding about what this was, and he would enjoy sexual relations with her at night while she worked with
him during the day. He failed to see what her objection could be, beyond propriety. And they’d already dispensed with that
over the past few days, and with some discretion, no one would be the wiser.

“Let’s just get Gertrude back, and then we’ll talk about everything,” he said in what he hoped was a soothing voice. Since
he didn’t have any experience using one.

She paused, withdrawing from his arms. He felt suddenly bereft, and had to squelch the urge to tug her back. He did not have
urges, usually, and he knew she would resist him anyway.

He hated how that made him feel. That it made him feel at all, actually. But he had to acknowledge that it appeared she’d
unlocked a previously unknown treasure chest of feelings, all of which wanted to tumble out in a rush of emotion.

“I won’t change my mind,” she said in a low, firm voice. “But we can talk about it later, after Gertrude is back.”

The trip back to London was so much worse than she could have imagined. Not just because she was worried about Gertrude, and
just what her brother-in-law would demand for her return, but because this was it. Their affair was over, her heart was, if
not broken, deeply bruised, and she would still have to deal with what she knew would be his stubbornness about accepting
her decision.

She had hoped to have a few more days in his arms, in his bed, being able to glance across the table at him in the morning
and think about what they had done the night before. Shared a few glances as they worked through his correspondence.

She didn’t have any concern that things would be awkward—at least not for him—when he finally accepted the change. He valued
her and her work, and he wouldn’t let a minor thing like a romantic indiscretion interfere.

There was something to be said for being as remote as he was; there was no chance his heart was involved. Yes, there were
other parts of him that would likely be upset about the change in their relationship, but he could find someone else for that
outlet.

God, what if he set up a mistress? And she had to track the expenses, settle the rent, or see the bills that came in from
jewelers and dressmakers?

You are getting ahead of yourself, Edwina.
But still. It was a possibility she had to consider. He would no doubt say the same thing, if she were to ask him, because
to him, planning and forethought were the only sensible things to do when considering a future situation.

“What are you thinking about?” His words interrupted her rising panic.

She couldn’t answer honestly. Something he would likely be able to discern, which would perhaps make him want to end things
with her, since he valued honesty above all things.

“I—nothing,” she said, turning to look out the carriage window.

“We’ll get her safe home again,” he said in a nearly tender tone of voice. It almost made her cry, and rage against the injustice
of it all—that she had found someone she loved, but she had to be the strong one and break it off—it just didn’t seem fair.

But then again, life wasn’t fair, was it? If it was fair, she wouldn’t have been married to Mr. Cheltam, a man who only wanted
her for her looks. She wouldn’t have been left destitute at his not-very-mourned-by-her death. She wouldn’t have the misfortune
to have gained employment with an impossibly handsome, ridiculously intelligent gentleman who also spoke so—so
compellingly
in the bedroom.

Why couldn’t she have found work with some older balding man with gas who needed assistance managing his various and sundry
doctors’ appointments? Or better yet, an imperious old lady who wanted assistance with her knitting?

But then she wouldn’t have discovered how it felt to be with someone like him, even if it was just for such a short time.
It was worth it, wasn’t it? To know she could feel so intensely, could experience the heights of passion?

Could love someone like him. Could love
him
, in fact.

It was better than the alternative. So perhaps life was fair, but only in short bursts.

Meanwhile, she had to focus on figuring out what Robert wanted so she could retrieve Gertrude.

“We’re here.” His voice roused her from an uneasy sleep. She was leaning her head into the corner of the carriage, her neck
bent oddly, her body twisted as though she were curled in around herself. She glanced at him and stretched her neck, feeling
the pang of soreness.

The carriage slowed, and she leaned forward to look out the window, at the familiar sight of his house just ahead. The lights
blazed, and she could see Hawkins on the step, his frown increasing as he saw them.

It hurt, but in a good way, to know that the duke’s staff was affected by Gertrude’s absence. That this had come, in just
a few short weeks, to be their home, more homelike than Mr. Cheltam’s house, even though Gertrude had been born there. She
had been loved there, also, but here she was protected.

Even though the protection clearly wasn’t enough.

The duke was out of the carriage before it came to a final stop, and turned to hold his hand out to her to help her down.
He looked even more gorgeous with his unshaven stubble and unruly hair—as though he had just come from their bed, and been
too engrossed in everything to maintain his appearance.

“Hawkins,” he called over his shoulder, still holding Edwina’s hand as she stepped onto the sidewalk, “please gather anybody
with pertinent information and assemble in my office.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Hawkins replied, relief in his tone. Edwina felt an easing of the tension she’d had since receiving the
letter; he would make certain things were put back to rights, there was no other alternative that he would tolerate.

She swallowed as she entered the house, seeing Chester there waiting by the door. Waiting for Gertrude? His tail thumped on
the floor when he saw them, and he let out a soft woof.

“Yes, boy, we’ll get her back.” The duke bent down to ruffle Chester’s ears, then rose and strode into his office. “Come,
Cheltam.”

She followed, feeling like a tiny ship in his eddy, just another element in his massive, and massively important, life.

They would solve this, and then things would go back to the way they were before the kiss. When she was just Cheltam, and
he was Hadlow, and he barked orders at her and she worked hard and there was no intimacy.

That was the way it had to be. Just as there was no question in her mind but that he would get Gertrude back, there was no
question that whatever they’d shared was over. Forever. She couldn’t afford it, in so many ways.

He didn’t like how pale she looked. Even though he couldn’t blame her; she’d told him, and he’d seen for himself, that her
only concern was her daughter, so to find her gone must have been terrifying. That it was a reasonable reaction didn’t make
him feel better about it, however; not surprising, given that he was frequently unreasonable.

He had to control his fury at the situation, though. It wouldn’t do anything but make him feel better, and that wasn’t useful
at this point. Even though making himself feel better was normally his objective in any situation.

He’d changed, he realized. He didn’t first think of what was best for him, or what was most logical, or what would result
in the least amount of tedious and unwanted emotion.

His first—and only—thought wasn’t just about himself, and he was fairly certain he liked it.

Which was why it was unacceptable that she was planning on terminating their relationship.

But first things first. He had to help get her daughter back. That was the only logical course of action. Not to mention that
he couldn’t stand the thought of Gertrude being with the loathsome toad for a moment longer than necessary.

He waited in front of his desk as the various staff members filed in, Cheltam at his side. He heard her swallow, and had to
resist the urge to put his fingers in the small of her back, a comforting caress that would be inappropriate and likely unwelcome
at this time.

Mr. Hawkins stood in front of the crowd, looking nearly as implacable as usual. Nearly.

And then he cleared his throat.

“Where is Gertrude’s governess?” Michael asked.

“Miss Clark,” Cheltam murmured. “Her name is Miss Clark.”

“I am here, Your Grace.” The woman, who was really little more than a girl, stepped forward, her hands knitted together in
front of her. “I tried to keep him from taking her, but we were on a walk by ourselves, we were just stepping out to the park
there, we wanted to get some flowers so Gertrude could paint them.” She sounded agonized. Good.

“And he walked up to us as though he were waiting for us, and he took Gertrude’s hand and said he was going to take her to
see her cousins. I told him that we hadn’t arranged that, and that we would visit at a mutually convenient time, and he—he
told me, without Gertrude hearing, that he was taking her, no matter what I said, and I could tell you, Mrs. Cheltam, where
she was.”