Chapter Seventeen
Xander needed a moment to recover after Evie released him. Her cheek rested against his abdomen, and she nuzzled into his stomach while he stroked her hair. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to collect his wits. This woman would be his undoing.
“Hellfire, that was the most intense bit of tipping the velvet I’ve ever experienced.”
“I enjoyed it as well, my lo—Rutla—Xander. I suppose we’ve achieved a sufficient level of familiarity for first names.” She chuckled.
He laughed. She apparently didn’t realize that she’d called his first name in the throes of passion on more than one occasion already.
They sat up, and he redressed. Tugging her close, he leaned in to kiss her.
She threw a hand up, covering her mouth. “Oh, I, ah…”
“Come, now, the least I can do is kiss you in thanks after what you were kissing for me.”
“Well, when you put it like that.” She leaned up for a leisurely kiss.
His bed was huge; perhaps he could keep her with him all night.
But no, he wasn’t ready to tarnish her innocence any more than he already had.
He needed to take things slow. He walked her inside and upstairs in silence, consumed by his thoughts.
But when they reached the floor with his bedroom, she placed a hand on his chest and shook her head.
“I’ll walk you to your room,” he replied to her hesitation.
“And what happens if another of the staff is up and about and sees you?”
“Oh.”
“Quite. I’m fine, but thank you for the chivalry.” She gentled her refusal with a smile and a squeeze of his hand before leaving him to ascend the stairs to the servants quarters.
Xander was left to lay staring at the ceiling plaster for the rest of the night, wondering why he felt so trapped when a dukedom was supposed to bring as much freedom as a man could wish for.
He needed some time to think, and he did his best thinking while “working” as he had his whole adult life.
After informing the staff that he’d be in the village at the pub most of the day, he set out.
Banks wasn’t there when he arrived, so he chatted with the driver of the cart delivering Scotch.
Dressed to work, he introduced himself only as Xander, and the man was none the wiser to his annoying title.
When Banks arrived, he put Xander to work, shaking his head and muttering about dukes who didn’t appreciate what they had the whole while.
Xander grinned and said, “You’re quite welcome for the free labor.”
Unloading barrels of ale from the next delivery and dragging them down into the cellar resulted in having to rearrange the existing barrels so the oldest were used first. Working in the dimly lit dank cellar gave him the perfect opportunity to turn his focus inward, as the manual labor was second nature and did not require mental acuity.
Despite Evie’s sneaking into the library that one night, Xander was fairly sure he trusted her more than he trusted some pre-arranged Ton chit on a marriage contract.
She’d helped him in so many ways already, as though she genuinely wanted him to succeed in his duties.
Plus, she could set his trousers on fire with a mere look.
If he’d still been a pub manager, his path would be clear.
He could court her, maybe even tup her, and decide later to marry her.
But now, as a duke, he needed heirs, so marriage was mandatory.
Of course, they could carry on an affair, but if he had to wed anyway, why not the person of his choosing?
He’d have to entertain in London, and people would expect him to choose someone with a pedigree, but they’d already be questioning his, so there’d be no winning there either way.
In order to show her he was serious about marrying her, he’d need to have restraint.
There was no doubt in his mind that she’d never been with a man before.
If he tupped her now, the difference in their stations might make her feel as though she was forced to wed him.
He wanted to show her in every way that he saw her as an equal.
As soon as he returned to the monstrosity that was now his home, he’d jot a note to the Duke of Cranbrook requesting a visit.
After all, wasn’t that what they were offering with this Wayward Dukes Alliance—help with sticky situations?
His thoughts continued to circle on the path forward, and he considered riding to Cranbrook, but he didn’t know the etiquette for inviting one’s self to a duke’s home or, worse, showing up uninvited.
Exhausted from his mental gymnastics as much as the manual labor, he headed upstairs and requested a slice of steak and kidney pie and an ale.
Banks joined him as the pub was quiet mid-afternoon between the midday meal and the evening revelry.
Given his history, Xander was curious about the owner. “Do you make all the managerial decisions here? How involved is the owner?”
Banks looked startled, then snorted a laugh. “Until recently, the owner was quite passive. I gave him monthly reports, but he didn’t care to be part of the day-to-day operations or decisions.”
“That must have been nice. Is he interfering more now, then?”
“I wouldn’t say interfering. Just more hands on. Helpful, even.” The pub manager struggled to get the words out through chuckles.
“What’s funny? Who is this nob anyway?”
Banks bent over the table, guffawing before he straightened. “Finally, the right question. You are, my lord. You own this place. I thought you knew.”
Abashed, Xander hung his head. “I haven’t gotten that far in reviewing my holdings. I beg your pardon. Is that why you allowed me to help? Because you didn’t think you could refuse?”
“Nah, I sort of wanted to see how a duke handled kegs and the like. I think a part of me was waiting to see you fail, so I could feel superior. Instead, here we are, quaffing ale together.”
“I’m grateful, either way. And quite glad to prove you wrong, besides,” Xander said with a grin.
With new purpose, he rode back to his oversized home.
Here was a situation he could remedy, a place where he could directly improve someone’s life who worked hard every day.
For the first time, he relaxed and enjoyed the pretty road through his estate, although he still shook his head at the sprawling manor home.
Never more grateful for staff, he tossed the reins to a groom, kicked the dirt off his boots as best he could, and aimed for the library. Another first—the prospect of paperwork didn’t bring frustration.
On a shelf behind his desk sat a long line of binders holding reports, sorted by property.
Prior years’ reports were stored in the attic.
He’d gotten three-quarters of the way through them, having asked Munroe to prioritize them by size and complexity to ensure things ran smoothly for the people working in each business.
As he hadn’t seen the pub yet, that meant it ran smoothly and was not a great impact on his holdings.
Which meant it was something he could do without.
On the other hand, it was Banks’s world.
He focused on the last dozen. None bore the name of the public house, but one stated, “Rutland.” With his luck, he owned half the town. He pulled the volume from the shelf and dropped it on his desk with a thud.
Inside, the list of holdings wasn’t quite half the town but sure enough included the pub.
Xander flipped through several months’ reports from Banks.
It did quite well. The manager had expanded his offerings of whisky to include an Irish one after taxes on those imports were recently reduced.
Well-cooked fare and the resulting competition between that and the Scotches from their northern neighbors drew a regular crowd.
Xander propped his chin on his fists and stared down at the reports.
If only he knew how to execute this particular plan.
He recalled someone—he wasn’t sure if it had been Lancaster, Hollibrook, or Munroe—mentioning deeds for ownership but had no idea where he’d find such a thing or if it was in Rutland.
Lancaster might be the keeper of such things.
He rang the bell for a servant. Too impatient to wait, he stood and stomped toward the door, nearly colliding with Rogers as the man opened the door.
“Rogers, there you are. By the by, what is your first name, man?”
“George, sir, but I prefer Rogers, if it pleases you.”
“Ah, all right.”
“You rang, Your Grace?” the servant asked mildly.
“Is Munroe still here?”
“I don’t believe so. I understood that you dismissed him this morning before your outing.” Rogers’ brows were nearly at his hairline.
“Right, right. But dammit, I need his help.”
“Is there someone else who might help you?” Rogers said and cleared his throat.
“No. Even Munroe cannot half the time.” Xander stomped back to his desk, picked up the portfolio with the pub’s reports, and slammed it down.
Rogers started, took a giant step backwards into the hallway, and closed the door.
Xander hadn’t seen Evie. Usually she was somewhere on the ground floor working until their sessions. He strode back to the door. “Where is Evie?”
Rogers’ eyes were wide as he stuttered, “She-she took a half day. I think she has a-a relative nearby?”
Xander refrained from growling at the footman and said only, “Have her see me when she returns.”
Damnation, another plan on hold until he got help.