The MacGalloways: Books #1-3

Chapter 13

13

W hen the shiny black coach rolled to a stop outside the butcher shop, Harry’s pulse sped. He quickly smoothed his hands over his hair and removed his stained apron, stashing it under the counter. He’d hated himself for being so gruff with Lady Charity the day she’d visited him when he’d been all but on his deathbed—though he knew he had to end their affair, he wished he could have done so more amicably.

Every time he’d made a delivery to Huntly Manor, he had searched the windows to see if she might be watching, but she neither stepped into sight nor happened to be in the kitchens when he arrived. Though he did not deserve to ever set eyes upon her again, every day he prayed she would see fit to pay a visit.

When the door opened, Harry’s hopes crumbled around his feet. A tall man, dressed in the finest of silks and woolens, stepped inside, his icy blue eyes narrowing as he strode forward. His boots glistened from the light streaming in from the window, appearing as if they hadn’t been worn for more than a few hours. But by the hard line of his mouth, the dandy was not there to buy meat.

“Mr. Mansfield, the infamous butcher, I presume?”

Feigning nonchalance, Harry picked up a rag and ran it over the countertop. “Yes, sir.” Through the window, he spotted the coat of arms on the door of the carriage, then hastily bowed. “Beg your pardon, Your Grace. To what do I owe this honor?”

The Duke of Dunscaby said nothing for a moment, just leaned on his silver-tipped cane and peered about the shop as if he were thinking of where to begin demolition. “I understand you saved my youngest sister from a harrowing fall—one that could have ended fatally for both of you, had you not kept your wits.”

“It was a miracle Lady Modesty did not fall to her death before we reached her.”

“We?”

“Your sister, Lady Charity, insisted on accompanying me to the castle ruins. We had been discussing the roof repairs for the barn at the time.”

“Aye, I heard about the repairs you made. I trust you were fairly compensated?”

“Yes, sir. I mean, I was, sir.”

His Grace paced in front of the counter before stopping and placing a rather large, gloved hand atop it. His features were hard and tense, reminiscent of a man who exercised a great deal of restraint but was on the verge of exploding. And by the way his coat hugged his shoulders, the chap was as fit as any opponent Harry had faced. “My eldest sister told me that she felt compelled to be supportive of your fighting endeavor.”

Ah, so now the reason for this visit comes to light.

Harry rested his palm atop the handle of the enormous butcher knife, the movement making the duke’s gaze fall to the razor-sharp knives sheathed in a row at his waist. With luck, there would be no bloodshed this day. Fortunately, knives had a way of dissuading most men. “I told Her Ladyship she ought not come.”

“Did you now?” His Grace didn’t sound convinced. “Yet she demeaned her station, willingly putting herself in a position that could have ruined her.”

Harry pursed his lips and tipped up his chin. He wasn’t about to be patronized by anyone, not even a duke.

“Well…” The damned hand slipped off the counter while the duke stared him in the eye. “I’ve come to tell you it will not happen again.”

Harry wasn’t exactly certain what the duke was on about. Charity wouldn’t attend his boxing matches, or was there something more? It was best if he assumed the first. “As her brother and leader of your family, I’m sure she will bow to your wishes.”

“She most definitely will. And regardless if you did indeed caution her, you obviously did or said something to mar Lady Charity’s good judgment.”

Harry could no longer hold the man’s gaze. He glanced toward the wall, raking his teeth over his bottom lip. For the love of God, he’d kissed the woman. Many times. Yes, every time their lips had met, a voice at the back of his head had told him she was not to be touched, but he hadn’t listened, and now her brother was out for vengeance.

“I feared as much,” said His Grace, slipping his hand into his coat. “How much for your silence?”

Shaking his head, Harry could barely believe what he’d just heard. “I beg your pardon?”

“Must I spell it out, man? I am here to quash any hint that my sister might have been compromised?—”

“Compromised?” Harry pounded his meaty fist on the counter. “I may be a common butcher, but I would never disrespect a woman, especially a lady?—”

“You may not have intended to demean her, but merely by her presence at your disreputable fight, my sister’s reputation is presently teetering on the edge of an abyss. Any further condemnation will undoubtedly ruin her, and drag my family through the mire as well.” The duke drew out a handful of banknotes. “What is fair? Fifty pounds?”

“I will not take a bloody farthing from you. Never in my life have I uttered a foul word against a woman, and I’m not about to start. You, sir, are disrespecting me by implying that I would do so.”

The notes disappeared back into the duke’s coat. “If that is true, then please accept my apologies.” He started for the door, but stopped and looked over his shoulder. “For saving Lady Modesty, I am eternally grateful.”

Harry gave a sharp nod.

“Nonetheless, I must forbid you from ever again uttering a word to Lady Charity or from ever again enjoying her company. And if you do not heed me, you will most certainly discover that I am a sure shot with a musket.”

Harry stood rooted to the floor as the bastard swept outside, letting the door slam behind him. He had been such a fool to think that Charity might have come to pay him a visit. But worse, her brother had received word of his sister’s presence at the fight, and had traveled down from Scotland to prevent her from being ruined—from ruining herself.

I never should have kissed her.

Yes, he’d felt like a king that first day, when she’d come into the butcher shop and raked her gaze along his bare arms, those blue eyes filled with unfettered passion. He wouldn’t deny how she’d made him feel every time they were together. She’d showered him with praise after he’d pulled Modesty off that harrowing cliff. Damnation—he would climb over the edge of the bluff a hundred times if it meant the woman would once again gaze upon him with such unabashed admiration.

But now he’d never again see those dark-blue eyes, that delicate blush, the smile that could melt iron.