Why Do Dukes Fall in Love?: A Dukes Behaving Badly Novel (2 page)

Her mouth tightened, and she glanced away. A faint flush stained her cheeks. “Yes. I wish you not to.” She looked back at
him. “Although perhaps you should, when you consider that as a woman in a position usually reserved for a man, the woman has
to be better than any man would be.” She lifted her chin. “I will be, Your Grace, you have my word on it.” She didn’t speak,
just held his gaze for a few more moments, the faint flush on her cheeks intensifying as she kept her eyes steady.

He didn’t stop looking at her, nor did he speak, at least not for a few moments. She was truly his last chance at finding
someone to work for him, he’d already ruled out all the previous candidates, and she seemed moderately intelligent. He liked
that she didn’t drop her gaze. Perhaps she would be someone he could work with. At the very least, he could try.

“Agreed,” he said in a short tone of voice. He saw her shift out of the corner of his eye. He’d startled her; he tended to
have that effect on people, he had no idea why. Perhaps it had something to do with his utter lack of interest in them or
their problems or his refusal to put up with idiots. Or maybe that was just his assessment. Maybe they just were intimidated.
He glanced down at her written qualifications. “And where did you receive this wealth of experience?” He needed to make certain,
even though he’d already made up his mind.

“I am a widow,” she began, her words speeding up to avoid—perhaps—the inevitable words of condolence.

Although Michael never said the polite thing, so she needn’t have worried. He just didn’t see the point of it. It wasted time,
he’d be lying, and he didn’t care anyway. He did know that few people thought as he did, but for the life of him, he couldn’t
figure out just why they were so determined to do things that were just not logical.

If he had ever had sympathy for anyone, he would express it. It just hadn’t happened yet. Thankfully—at least according to
him—he wasn’t close with the few members of his family whom he acknowledged.

“And my late husband owned several businesses, and had interest in more ventures. I oversaw many of his business dealings
until the year before his death.”

He looked up, once again appraising her beauty. Not that it would bother him working in close quarters with her. “And why
is that?”

Her chin went up again in what Michael now recognized as her preparing to say something perhaps the listener might not want
to hear. He was familiar with that—he seldom said things anybody wished to hear. Which was why the list of people who disliked
him was so long.

“My husband decided to entrust everything to his brother when the business began to do well.” She spoke in a flat tone, but
he knew firsthand what it sounded like when one was hiding one’s emotions, and she was. She was practically roiling in emotion,
only it was neither his place nor his business to inquire further. And usually he wouldn’t care—he never did—but he did find
himself mildly intrigued.

Interesting. He would have to examine that further, later on.

“So you were part of the business’s success, and yet you are here now, which implies that the business was not that successful.”

Her expression got fierce, and he found himself admiring her spirit. “Precisely, Your Grace. That is why I am here. After
I was—after I was not overseeing things, the business faltered.” She shrugged, as though it didn’t matter, which Michael could
tell was an absolute lie. She was here, wasn’t she? “My husband’s death has made it essential that I find suitable work.”

Michael leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. Might as well tell her his decision. He loathed it when people danced
around a question. “You are hired.”

Her face brightened, and he, stoic though he was, felt the impact of her beauty all over again. He could not get distracted
by that, just as he could not accommodate the fact that she was a woman. “You will reside here; there is much work to be done.”

And just like that, her face fell. He felt a twinge of something in his chest, but he couldn’t identify the emotion. Likely
because it was emotion. “No, Your Grace, I cannot.” She rose. “I wish I could accept the position,” and at this she met his
gaze and her lips curled up into a rueful smile. “I truly wish I could, but I cannot live here.”

Michael had never been told no before. It was a new experience, another one he’d have to examine later. But right now, he
had more important things to concentrate on. Namely not being told no after all.

“Why not? Are you concerned about gossip? I assure you, I have no designs upon your person, despite the fact that you are
a woman.” It wasn’t at all logical to embark on anything personal with her, despite her gender and general attractiveness—Michael
despised complications, and emotions, and he knew any kind of personal relationship would result in many complicated emotions.
All of them hers.

She shook her head. “It is not that, Your Grace.” She swallowed and lifted her chin. “I have a daughter, and I will not be
separated from her.” She glanced away. “I appreciate your time.”

She smoothed her skirts, which didn’t seem to need smoothing, and turned to leave.

Michael didn’t think anyone had ever left his presence before without being dismissed. Even more intriguing.

“Wait,” he said as she was halfway to the door. She paused and turned to look at him. “Why cannot your daughter live here
also?”

Her expression was taken aback. “Why would you do that? Why would you hire someone who had additional encumbrances when you
could hire a man who would live here without any such requirements?”

He could have said,
Because
all the men I’ve met with haven’t been nearly as qualified or clearly intelligent as you
. But he didn’t. Instead, he raised an eyebrow. “Are you questioning my judgment, Mrs. Cheltam? If you wish to take the position,
and it is a requirement of you doing so that your daughter reside here as well, then that is what will happen. What do you
say?”

She blinked as she considered it, then nodded, and he felt the relief through his entire body. Finally, the search was over,
and he could get down to the business of getting his accounts straightened. His life back to the way he wanted it. The way
he required it.

“Thank you, Your Grace. Then I accept.”

“You will move here immediately,” he continued. “I’ll send two of my footmen with you to collect your and your daughter’s
things from wherever you are living. I will expect you back here within a few hours, and we will review what your duties will
be.”

He sat back down, feeling a slight smile twist his lips as he felt her irritation at his high-handedness wage war with her
need for a position.

At last, she spoke. “There is no need to send any footmen with me, Your Grace. My daughter and I have very few possessions.
I will see you in three hours.”

“Make it two,” he said, not looking back up at her.

“Two,” she replied as she turned back around to walk out the door.

Edwina was shaking as she left the duke’s town house, letting herself emit an enormous sigh of relief as she heard the doors
close behind her.

She had done it. She had gone in and presented herself, and he had given her the position. And what was more, she wouldn’t
have to spend any of her precious wages on lodgings, either—she would be living there, in the grandest house she’d ever seen,
let alone walked inside.

But the house was nothing compared to the duke’s splendor. When she’d thought about what she might say, how she would comport
herself, she had imagined she’d be facing some older gentleman. Her imagination had given him white muttonchops, a red nose,
and overgrown eyebrows, of all things.

He had none of those. The reality was far, far worse. To her peace of mind, at least. He was young, likely only a few years
older than she, but his demeanor was so intimidating it suited the much older gentleman in her imagination. He was tall, with
a forbidding expression, and moved with an unconscious grace that made her think he did more than just sit at his desk and
frown in judgment. And his eyebrows—fierce dark slashes that rose to punctuate his words—far worse than merely overgrown.

Her heart had been in her throat at the thought that she could have the position if she just let Gertrude go live with her
brother-in-law, or some other place—but she wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t.

To say it aloud had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done, and yet she had to. Gertrude was the only reason she was
doing this in the first place; it didn’t make sense to just allow her daughter to be kept somewhere else, no matter how safe
and well cared for she might be.

And then he’d made his proposition—no, not a proposition, not that—his alternative suggestion, and she’d wanted to fall to
her knees on the thick, lush carpet of his study and cry. But she hadn’t. She’d known that if she’d done that, if she even
let a tiny amount of her uncertainty show, he would withdraw the offer as quickly as he’d made the suggestion.

And she was going to work for him, and what was more, work closely with him, solving problems and using her brain and not
her body to make her way in the world.

She had to concentrate on that, and not on the fact that the Duke of Hadlow was likely the most intimidating person she’d
ever seen.

Edwina turned the handle of the agency’s door and walked in, her heart melting as she saw Carolyn and Gertrude engaged in
some sort of game on the floor. Carolyn looked up, her face breaking into a huge smile as she saw Edwina’s face. “You got
it, then?” she said, getting up as she spoke.

Edwina nodded, nearly too overcome to speak. Gertrude looked up also, a sweet smile on her face. “What did you get? Is it
a treat?” she asked, in the single-minded focus particular to most six-year-olds, at least in Edwina’s experience.

“Not quite a treat, sweetheart, but something that will allow us to get treats. Mama has gotten a job,” she said, reaching
out to squeeze Carolyn’s arm.

“Oh,” Gertrude replied, clearly disappointed.

“And we’ll be living in a grand house, and the house has a dog. A very furry golden-haired dog.”

“Oh!” That seemed to be much more welcome news than that they would not be starving, at least not in the near future. “What
is the dog’s name?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to find out,” Edwina added hurriedly, as Gertrude’s face fell.

“You’ll be living there?” Carolyn asked in a low tone of voice. She glanced to where Gertrude sat, then drew Edwina into the
corner of the room, out of Gertrude’s earshot.

Edwina could have told her friend that Gertrude had no interest in anything that adults wished to speak about, and would only
pay attention if the words “doll,” “candy,” “treat,” and “play” were spoken, but she didn’t blame her friend for her caution.

“Yes, the duke insisted.” And, she could have added, she didn’t think the man would be open to compromise.

“Well,” Carolyn said in a dubious tone of voice, “that is interesting. You will be careful, won’t you? I haven’t met the duke,
but I do know his type.”

Not for the first time, Edwina wished her friend had shared the past experience that seemed to make her so distrustful of
men in general, and titled men in specific.

But now was not the time to pry into closely kept confidences.

“He doesn’t seem to be a type at all. Definitely his own unique man.” Edwina gave a derisive snort. “And it is not as though
the duke has designs upon my person. He told me precisely that when he was telling me I would live there for the position,
or I would not get the position. And I have no wish to get involved with any sort of gentleman ever again. George was more
than enough”—or less than enough, actually—“for me.”

Carolyn raised a brow. “You keep that in mind, you need to be especially on your guard.”

Edwina patted her friend’s arm. “I know. I assure you, I am well aware of what situation I could get myself into if I allow
myself to—well, to do the things you are worried about.” She recalled the duke; how implacable, grim, and intimidating he
seemed. “I don’t think there is any danger of that. I promise.” Even if she were so inclined—which she wasn’t—he seemed as
emotionally remote as any man she’d ever met, and that included her late husband.

Thank goodness he was that unapproachable. Because he was also that attractive.

“Just a few steps more, sweetheart,” Edwina said to Gertrude, who was lagging behind her mother, complaining to her doll about
how long it was taking them to get there.

Edwina and Gertrude had left Carolyn’s office and returned to the set of rooms Edwina had rented. It had been a relief to
inform her landlady she was moving out that instant. They had only been there a few months, and already they’d learned how
to best keep the mice from getting into their food, and late at night Edwina and Gertrude had been awoken by the singing of
the sailors who took rooms there while onshore. Thankfully Gertrude didn’t understand the words to the sea chanteys, but Edwina
did, and she made sure to bolt the door as well as push a chair or two in front to keep any unwanted visitors out.

As she’d told the duke, they had very few possessions—just their clothing, a few toys of Gertrude’s, and the books Edwina
had kept when she’d married George. They all fit into one valise, as long as Gertrude was able to carry Honeychop, her favorite
doll.

She was. Although she was not happy with having to do anything at all after the first half mile. “When are we theeere?” she
said, stretching out the final word in the specific way she’d found would most annoy her mother. Or at least that’s how it
sounded to Edwina, but Edwina had to admit perhaps she was not the most tolerant person at the moment, given that she was
toting all their possessions across London.

“It’s right around the corner.” Edwina could feel how damp her gown had gotten from the exertion—perhaps she should have taken
the duke up on his offer to send a footman or two with her, but she didn’t want to have anyone see where she and Gertrude
had been living. It was already going to be an awkward thing, to be the duke’s female secretary; she didn’t want his staff
to know just how straitened her circumstances were prior to taking the position. She didn’t want to go into the house using
the servants’ entrance—that would set a very bad precedent for who she was, and how she was to be treated—but neither did
she wish to make a bad first impression when she walked into the house.

She hoped the duke was not near the door when she entered—she did not want that supercilious gentleman to see her anything
but perfectly gowned.

Thankfully, George had wanted her to look like the prize he’d thought he’d won, so while he was miserly in other areas, he
was generous enough with her clothing. She’d worn her best day dress to meet with the duke—a striped gown that George had
bought for her only a few months before his death. Its stripes were tan, dark red, and green, and it had full skirts and a
small waist with a modest bodice. Now, however, she’d changed into her worst gown for the walk, a gray gown that was a few
years out of date, styled very plainly.

It wasn’t dreadful, but neither was it particularly attractive. Then again, she shouldn’t be worrying about how attractive
she appeared, not any longer—she was to be a secretary, not somebody’s possession, not a wife whose husband only viewed her
as a representation of his own success. Not a woman who had to survive on her looks. She was done with that; now she had to
survive on her brain.

So if she made a bad impression, what did it matter? She would do her work well, and thoroughly, and give the duke no cause
to complain, no matter what she looked like.

Thus prepared, she held her hand out for Gertrude and walked up the stairs to the duke’s house, bracing herself for the new
chapter in her life, but very grateful she had been able to turn the page.

Michael frowned as he glanced at the clock in the corner. It had been two hours and twelve minutes, and his new secretary
hadn’t returned yet. Was she regretting taking the position? Would he have to resume the search?

Please just let her be late so he wouldn’t have to go through all that again to find someone else suitable. Although he did
abhor lateness. But lateness was the lesser of the two evils, if one of the evils would be having to resume his search.

“Your Grace, if you would care to examine the documents, I believe you will find all the information you require.”

The gentleman from the railway had been prompt, arriving some twenty minutes ago, but that had been the only good thing Michael
had gleaned yet from the man. He had spent most of the time after his prompt arrival talking about expansion and opportunities
and discussing in very vague terms what Michael could expect from his investment.

Apparently he would be the benefactor of modern-day travel. He congratulated himself on not telling the gentleman he was satisfied
enough with being a duke. What he wanted from the meeting were not some romantic vagaries, but information. Why did people
feel the need to obfuscate the facts with generalities? Generalities didn’t do anything but annoy him.

He suppressed a sigh, instead looking to where the gentleman was pointing, his index finger indicating some papers on Michael’s
desk.

“I see.” And he did see, only he couldn’t focus, not with wondering if she was going to arrive. What had he been thinking,
to offer her daughter a place as well? He hadn’t even asked how old the girl was—not that she could be that old; the woman
herself was definitely younger than thirty, so her daughter would still be young.

Not that it mattered. But a young girl. And her mother. Both living here, under his admittedly very large roof.

If he didn’t wish to, he wouldn’t need to bother seeing the girl at all; she would be off doing . . . something while he and
her mother were working.

What would the girl be doing? He definitely had not thought any of this through. Making such a quick decision with no debating
of the merits both for and against—that was completely unlike him, and he wasn’t certain he liked it.

No, he knew. He did not like it. Things needed to be orderly, to be logical, to make sense. Sense was the only thing Michael
trusted. He’d settled on that course when his parents had lied to him about where his brother was, not believing a child of
four could understand death. Since that day, he required—and trusted—only logic and reason. Reason made sense. Unlike death
and caring for others, and trusting that people who were older were necessarily more intelligent.

That was only one of the many reasons he kept whatever family he had at arm’s length. If they weren’t close to him, they couldn’t
hurt him. And he would never allow himself to be hurt again.

But this. This impulsive action. Deciding on the spur of the moment that his secretary could bring her child to live in his
house—that was nonsensical. If he had just tried harder, he could have found someone else for the position, someone who wasn’t
so encumbered.

In several more months of searching, perhaps.

And it didn’t make rational sense to take more time for the search just because there was an accommodation in the form of
a young girl.

But none of this thinking was getting the information he required. Specifically, where his new employee was. He glanced at
the clock again—he couldn’t seem to help it—noting that it was now two hours and seventeen minutes.

A knock sounded at the door just when he was trying to convince his brain to concentrate on the papers, not on the whereabouts
of his new secretary.

“Enter,” he said, not looking up.

The door opened. And Hawkins cleared his throat, damn him.

“What is it?” Michael said in a terse tone.

“Your new secretary has arrived, Your Grace.”

Michael wondered just why he felt so much better than he had a few moments ago. It was only relief that he wouldn’t have to
continue his search, nothing more.

“Send her in straightaway,” he said. He saw the railway gentleman jerk, and remembered, of course, that most people would
be shocked—stupidly so—at the gender of his newest employee.

“You don’t wish her to freshen up before seeing you, Your Grace?”

Michael felt his eyelid twitch, and tried not to snarl at Hawkins. It wasn’t his butler’s fault the man hadn’t learned not
to question his employer, even after being in his service for over a decade.

No, never mind that. It was his fault.

“I do not. Send her in.” He accompanied his words with a dismissive wave of his hand, gritting his teeth at the thought that
Hawkins’s sense of propriety and what was due a duke would overcome his common sense.

A moment, and then Hawkins appeared to realize what was required. “Excellent, Your Grace,” he said. Michael heard voices in
the hallway, including a young child’s voice, and had to wonder again just what was wrong with him that he had acted so—so
rashly. Perhaps so imprudently.