Chapter 20 #2
Derek choked back a laugh. “I don’t believe that was how he phrased it, though he might as well have.
Not to mention, anyone who is going to be an exemplary hostess is sure to be a dead fish in bed.
” He shook his head, staring down into his empty whisky glass.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll delay as long as I’m able.
Women of the ton are flighty and inconstant.
Just look at how many have cuckolded their husbands with me.
I’ve lost count, and I love counting my conquests. ”
“Yes, you’re a rarefied Adonis,” Rafe said with a completely flat expression.
Derek ignored his friend’s jab. “Moreover, marriage inevitably means offspring.” His lip curled up as he shot Rafe a look. “I think we both share the same sentiment there.”
He may never abandon a child, but he certainly knew its mother would.
The overgrown vines twisted and tightened over his long-neglected heart.
When the time came, his title would pass on to some distant relative.
Once he was dead, what did it matter anyhow?
At least no children were hurt on his behalf that way.
The all-too-familiar weight settled over him again. Fuck, not now.
“I’ll leave the marrying to you,” he murmured and threw back more whisky.
Rafe snorted. “A woman would have to show up with a pistol to drag me to the parish. Or Grandmama would have to hog-tie me to the altar. I’ll remain a bachelor far longer than you.”
The absurd image, Rafe roped to an altar, Dorothea triumphant by his side, was ridiculous enough to push away some of the darkness. He forced a smile and tilted back in his chair. “And you think the dowager won’t resort to that? That woman is Machiavellian. In the best of ways, naturally.”
A rare, bemused expression crossed Rafe’s face. “The Dowager Duchess of Ironcrest? Machiavellian? I would never describe her in such a way.”
“You’re right. Much too tame a word,” he said fondly.
Rafe’s gaze dropped to his whisky, and his lips pulled back like he’d tasted something foul. “I…” Rafe’s throat worked as he struggled for words.
All levity evaporated from Derek. His chair dropped to the floor with a thud, and he leaned forward. “What is it, Rafe?”
“I have to go to Ironcrest Castle,” he said quietly.
Derek jolted, eyes widening as his stomach twisted. Even though it was barely discernable, Derek didn’t miss the tightening at the corners of Rafe’s already down-turned mouth. The flex of the muscles just beneath his jaw. “Why in the sodding hell do you need to return to that place? When?”
Rafe cracked his neck and drew in a slow breath.
When he spoke, his voice was devoid of all emotion.
“There was a large fire. Burnt up much of the tenants’ properties.
I need to assess the damage and determine how to proceed.
Ironcrest’s fortune is heavily tied to tenant farming.
Theo, my steward, has some ideas on how we may salvage the estate and some of this year’s income. This setback will be substantial.”
Rafe saluted Derek with his drink. “Thanks to you, nothing we won’t survive.
If it weren’t for you and your persistent nagging regarding investments, I might be destitute.
Well, by a duke’s standards. And you know the measly widow’s portion my wonderful grandfather left Grandmama.
We’ll weather this, and I can continue taking care of her. ”
“When do you leave?” Derek asked quietly.
“Tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry, Rafe, I truly am. Is Dorothea going with you?”
“No.” It might have been a single word, but it screamed definitely fucking not. “Why subject us both?” he said stiffly. “She will remain here. I would appreciate if you checked in on her on occasion while I’m gone.”
“Of course. We both know I’m Dorothea’s favorite grandson, anyway.”
Rafe grunted.
Chuckling, Derek signaled to a passing footman. “Another bottle of whisky. And send for Shelley and Rose.” He paused, deliberating. “And Kitty, if she’s in. That’s all.” The footman nodded and trotted off.
Rafe’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline.
Derek spread his arms wide. “You need cheering up. I am being a good friend and obtaining said cheer.”
Rafe shook his head, his lips almost twitched. “I certainly won’t complain about whisky and wenches.”
Derek snorted. “Sounds like an advertisement for a cheap brothel.”
A half-hearted huff of laughter fled Rafe, but the moment of levity was gone as quick as a flash of lightning, his face twisting in what looked like pain. “Derek…”
Derek visibly tensed. “Rafe…?”
His gaze skirted away from Derek. “I can no longer fund the expansion for a second foundling home.”
“Bloody fuck.” Derek’s exclamation rang through their small corner of the club. He should have already put two and two together on that one. Rafe was funding the entire expansion himself. And now…Rafe barely had enough to keep himself afloat. Ballocks, ballocks, ballocks.
Rafe gave a clipped nod. “We’ve already promised forty children a spot in this home. And now…”
“No,” Derek said sharply. “We’re not sending them back out on the street. We do not abandon. We promised them a home and food in their bellies, and we will give them that. We will.”
“And these funds will just magically appear?” Rafe arched a brow.
Rafe’s words from a moment ago came back in a rush. Let me play devil’s advocate. Who would complain about more money?
“Wentworth,” Derek murmured tightly.
Rafe’s gaze dropped to the floor, and he shook his head. Guilt twisted his features. “The sacrifice…” Rafe murmured. “It’s too great.”
A sad, sardonic smile spread across Derek’s face.
“I’m a selfish bastard, Rafe. I’m rude and arrogant, and I’ve made it so every one of the salacious rumors whispered about me carries some truth.
Usually with you by my side.” He raised his glass in salute.
“That’s easy to do when it’s just me who faces the consequences.
I can’t do that if others depend on me.”
“We’ll try to find another way. Let me go to—” His words cut off, and his face tightened.
He threw back the rest of his whisky, letting out a hiss between his teeth.
He shuddered and then met Derek’s gaze. “Let me go back there. Assess the damage. Maybe Theo and his ideas will prove able to cut the losses enough I can still contribute…something. You explore other alternatives while I’m gone. ”
Derek nodded jerkily. “We can only delay so long. We need to break ground long before winter or else…”
Rafe looked away, understanding settling over both of them like a suffocating, humid fog.
Or else they were looking at a year minimum before construction could begin.
Some of those children were with fosters.
They could only be housed for so long. Their current home had the others, and, fuck, the children were practically living on top of each other, the house was so bloody full.
Soft greetings drifted to them as the wenches approached. Rose sidled over to Derek, while Shelley and Kitty made themselves comfortable with Rafe. Excellent. They both could use a distraction right now.
Hopefully, this would be enough to distract Rafe through to the wee hours of the morning before he inevitably had to leave for Ironcrest. Rafe had never let on as to why he detested Ironcrest. All Derek knew was that Rafe had left Ironcrest, with the dowager in tow, when the previous Duke was still alive eleven years ago.
And hadn’t returned since, not even upon the Duke’s death.
“Relax, my lord.” Rose settled on Derek’s lap, running her hands up and down his chest. Derek’s hands shot out to Rose’s waist, his entire body tensing as a knee-jerk reaction to throw her off hit him.
It took every ounce of self-possession to check his movements.
His grip tightened, and he drew her closer to hide his lapse in composure.
Bloody hell, he was losing his mind. Rafe’s news clearly had shocked his system.
Rose purred in approval. “Are we feeling aggressive tonight? You know I love playing the submissive.”
She slid her hands up his neck and guided his head to her ample bosom, which was now easily accessible thanks to his attempted cover-up.
But his body rebelled. Apparently, he wouldn’t be joining in on said distraction tonight.
Sighing, he brushed his lips across Rose’s chest to soften his rejection, before gently taking her arms and pulling them away from his neck.
He had no idea what was wrong with him, but he felt—he rolled his shoulders—itchy. The weight was rushing back, heavier than before. Usually, a shag helped, but tonight… He needed to get out of here.
“Not tonight, Rose.” He indicated with a tip of his head in Rafe’s direction. “But His Grace needs cheering up.”
He pulled a purse from his coat pocket and slid it into Rose’s hand. Her eyes lit up as she took the weight of its contents. “I want the three of you to take care of him tonight.”
Rose slid off his lap. “Of course, my lord. Consider it done.”
He nodded and strode over to Rafe. Catching Rafe’s eye between the two women, he signaled toward the exit of the club. “I forgot; I have an errand to run. Have fun tonight. The wenches are on me.”
He strode away, raising his hand in farewell over his shoulder as he went.