All About the Duke (The Dukes' Club Book 4) Read Online Free Page B

flashed in the hallway and in the stables, Nicholas had a feeling the servant could give as good as gotten. Still, it was damned annoying, all this suspicion. He liked things to be clear. Mysteries never remained mysteries long in his presence.
    He was half tempted to order Alfred to take a bath so he’d have to disrobe once they reached his chamber, just so Nicholas would know, without equivocation, but even he wasn’t that much of a cad. Well. . . Only just. 
    Nicholas strode up the third flight of stairs, focused ahead, fighting a grin as little Alfred sprinted after him, taking the steps two at a time. If Alfred was a boy, he was quite a lithe one.
    Nicholas turned down the landing, his boot steps muffled by the woven blue and green carpet, not bothering to slow his long stride. He certainly wouldn’t for a male servant and if Alfred was a girl, he wasn’t about to start treating her as if her ruse had been spotted.
    As they headed up, the light dimmed considerably, the place darkened by the stained oak panel. The castle was remarkably dreary considering the extensive and expensive renovations his father and he had made. But medieval architecture was not meant to be cheery. It was meant to be a bastion of safety in a world fraught with peril.
    There were days he wished his estate were a chalet with brightly colored silk hangings, but then he recalled his ancestors. They were men of power who had carved out their positions in society with a sword and political guile. That was who he was. Not a man poncing about in a powdered wig peering through a pince-nez.
    “Your Grace!”
    Nicholas didn’t even glance back. “Keep up, Alfred! Keep up!”
    Somehow his long stride had drastically outpaced her and she was now actually running to keep up. He fought a grin. This was going to be too much fun. At last, he stopped at the winding stair that led up to his turret room. He stopped and turned.
    Alfred panted slightly, her chest rising and falling in quick breaths beneath the loose, gray wool coat.
    “Now, listen. The staircase wasn’t designed for the faint of heart or ninnies. There is no railing and it’s quite steep. Don’t break your neck. Do you understand?”
    Alfred attempted to peer around him and up the stairs. Her face paled, making her red lashes almost golden against her suddenly white skin. “Up- Up there?”
    “Yes. Up there.”
    It was the furthest room in the furthest part of the castle from the central goings-on. It was his haven. And only Bardwell, the butler, was allowed admittance to tidy up and sort his clothing. He didn’t have a manservant and he didn’t allow footman in.
    He loathed the idea of someone in such close attendance.
    Long ago, he’d learned the importance of solitude, especially when one was forced by their position to constantly be thrown into the melee that was London society and government.
    For one brief moment, he considered sending Alfred back to the stables. Of not allowing the young woman into his sanctuary. But he. . . He’d grown lonely of late, a strange sort of heaviness bearing down upon his chest. He’d thought, after returning from months around the globe, a visit to Rothton would restore him. He’d been mistaken. . . Until now.
    “Give me your hand, Alfred,” he said softly.
    “That’s not necessary, Your Grace.”
    “Who is your master?” he asked. Slowly, he extended his hand, knowing Alfred would take it despite all the prickly determination.
    Alfred eyed the appendage as if it were from a demon out of hell. “Really, I can—“
    “I shan’t have you tripping and breaking every bone in your wee body on the first attempt. Get to know the stairs and then I won’t hold your hand.”
    “It’s hardly the done thing, holding your servant’s hand,” Alfred blustered.
    “Do I look concerned with the done thing ?”
    At that, her starch faded and her lips softened, opening slightly, exposing perfect, porcelain teeth. Alfred gazed at him with a sort of