The Duke's Men [1] What the Duke Desires by Sabrina Jeffries Read Free Book Online Page A

how the abduction
     had shattered his parents’ lives, his father’s in particular. Father had taken the
     truth to his grave. Maximilian intended to leave it there.
    But he wouldn’t be able to if Peter was alive.
    The last words he had heard Father say, during the final stages of his dementia, came
     abruptly to mind: Do I have only the one son, then?
    Maximilian had answered, Yes, Father, your other son is dead.
    No! Father had protested, violently. You don’t understand.
    Could Father have been saying that Peter was alive? But then, why ask if he had only
     one son?
    Maximilian scowled. He was letting himself be taken in already. Peter couldn’t be
     alive. Bonnaud was merely a scoundrel of the worst kind.
    “Clearly Tristan is somehow mistaken about your brother,” Miss Bonnaud said, a trace
     of pity in her voice. “I’ll write to him in care of his employer in France to tell
     him so, and that will be an end to it.”
    Whirling on her, he snapped, “Oh no, he will not escape me that easily. The handkerchief
     that he enclosed a rubbing from is most assuredly Peter’s. And I damned well want
     to hear how he acquired it, when my brotherand all his earthly belongings went up in flames in Belgium fourteen years ago!”
    As the angry words echoed in the room, a knock sounded at the door. He jerked his
     gaze to the aging woman who stood waiting in the doorway, a tray in her hands.
    Miss Bonnaud rose slowly, as if afraid he would pounce on her if she didn’t use small,
     careful movements. “Ah, Mrs. Biddle is here with our tea, Your Grace.” Instead of
     calling the servant in, Miss Bonnaud swept toward the door, keeping a wary eye on
     him.
    It unnerved him. He’d seen that look before, leveled on his mad father. That look
     was why Maximilian generally took great care with his every remark, his every action.
     People were always watching and waiting for him to exhibit the same symptoms. And
     Maximilian would never give them the satisfaction of thinking they had seen something . . .
     off in him.
    It annoyed him more than he liked that Miss Bonnaud had just seen him lose his temper.
     This situation had him all out of sorts.
    Taking the tray from the servant, she brought it back to set it on the desk. “Will
     you have some tea, sir?”
    Tea. It was so normal, so everyday. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to feel
     normal and everyday. “Yes,” he clipped out. “Thank you.”
    The calm he’d forced into his voice seemed to translate to her as well, for she relaxed
     her shoulders. “And how do you take it?” she asked as she prepared the brew.
    “Strong. Black. No sugar.”
    “How odd,” she said as she set the cup and saucer on the desk in front of a chair,
     unsubtly inviting him to sit down. “So do I. So did my father. Maman thought us both
     quite mad.”
    Had she mentioned madness on purpose to provoke him? He slanted her a wary glance.
     “Then she would have to consider me so, as well.”
    “Ah, but she would not. You’re a duke.” Her voice turned acid. “Dukes are above reproach.”
    She couldn’t possibly know about his family’s dance with madness, or she wouldn’t
     speak so glibly of it. And she hadn’t even known about Peter, so she wouldn’t know
     the rest. “I take it you do not share your mother’s opinion of dukes.”
    “She’s dead now,” she said with a small hitch in her voice, “but no, I did not share
     her opinion.” She met his gaze boldly. “In my estimation, no man is above reproach.”
    “Except your brothers?” he drawled.
    She released a sigh. “Not even them. They often try my patience sorely.”
    In spite of everything, he smiled. She was making small talk to put him at ease, and
     it was working. She must be good at managing Manton’s clients.
    Watching as she poured her own cup of tea, he took a seat and sipped the brew. It
     was exactly as he liked it. And it was of surprisingly good quality, given the obviously
     strained