Page 25 of Duke in Darkness

Hell and damnation he wanted to say yes. He’d rarely left the townhouse since inheriting the dukedom, ignoring the vast piles of invitations that continued to arrive daily despite his non-response, the number greater now that the start of the Season loomed. Even the thought of venturing out in London society, with his limp and scars, wearing ridiculous clothing, and trying to talk without slurring his words, gave him hives. When he’d first returned, several newspapers had run articles and many cartoons had been drawn of ‘The Dashing Colonel Duke’ but as the months passed and he wasn’t seen out and about or showing appreciation for the fawning admiration, the tone changed to scathing disdain. Finally the articles had stopped altogether, the reporters and artists bored with a subject who gave them nothing to gossip about, when there were so many other delicious scandals to sink their fangs into.

Other ex-military men around who knew enough of his reputation to be respectful of his injuries and rank would be few and far between. As most Londoners had short attention spans, shop proprietors and merchants would be unlikely to recognize him out of his regimentals. Plus, a man with a prominent scar and darker skin tone would always be treated with suspicion, even when they’d done nothing wrong. But explanations meant conversation. And the few peers who knew him such as Wellington or Castlereagh or even his father-in-law Kingsford wouldn’t magically appear to smooth the way. The ton would judge him for failing to attend any soirees or Tattersall’s or a club or gaming hell. Others would judge him for not having yet taken his seat in the House of Lords.

Indeed, venturing out would invite condemnation from damned near everyone.

But he wanted to do this alone, to feel in command again by completing a task that men did every day. Definitely not achievable with Nanny Hobbs hovering.

“Thank you, but no. Have to stand on my own two feet. Even if broken.”

Hobbs pursed his lips and they fenced a while longer in silence. After stretching, Gabriel returned to his bedchamber for a quick sponge bath and to change out of his sweat-soaked buckskins and linen shirt, then made his way downstairs.

Norris, the wizened butler, sketched a bow. “Your Grace. The carriage will be at the steps shortly.”

Irritation scraped his nerves. He’d called for the damned carriage an hour ago. It was the little needling things like this he hated about the household. All could be explained away with insincere platitudes, but it had become clear that certain employees viewed him as an interloper, a barbarian, someone unfit for the title. Not nearly good enough to fill Quentin’s heeled, diamond-studded shoes. Hopefully now Lilian had taken charge, she would dismiss the worst of them and find new quality, experienced, and discreet servants to take their place. He was more than happy to pay high wages for such people.

“How unfortunate,” Gabriel drawled. “If Her Grace asks, tell her I have…an appointment.”

Surprisingly, the butler’s expression thawed a little. “Of course.”

For a man who couldn’t bear confined spaces, carriage travel from Grosvenor Square to 32 Ludgate Hill would be hell, but that was where Rundell, Bridge and Rundell were located. They were the preeminent jewelers in London, particular favorites of the royal family, and the only place he wished to purchase pieces for Lilian. Perhaps a necklace and bracelet in diamonds and sapphires to match her eyes. While the vaults held many priceless items worn by every Duchess of Exton, he wanted something specifically to belong to her.

Naturally, when he needed the outing to go well, the opposite happened.

They were held up by an overturned cart, and the knuckle-whitening journey took even longer than anticipated. Then, his coachman couldn’t pull in outside the shop, apologetically stopping about a quarter mile further up. Naturally, Gabriel had left his cane behind, and while he hobbled along, cursing his luck, a light shower of rain passed over. By the time he entered the hushed elegance of the three-storied cream stone shop, he was bedraggled, hobbling, and silently seething.

Bloody hell, it was dark in here. Too dark. And there were so many people. If they stood too close, or worse, accidentally touched him…

“Can I help you, sir?”

Heart pounding, and with sweat gathering at his nape, Gabriel turned and looked at the short, dapper young man standing behind a glass-topped counter with several bracelets, pocket watches, and snuff boxes on display. “I wish to purchase…some pieces.”

“Do you,” the assistant replied with sour-faced distaste at Gabriel’s unsteadiness, limp cravat, and damp, mud-flecked clothing.

“Indeed. Sapphires and diamonds. A necklace and…a bracelet.”

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of serving you before. Perhaps you might not be aware pieces at Rundell, Bridge, and Rundell are not, shall we say, run of the mill, or crafted with inferior materials?”

Fury surged through Gabriel. Any ensign who had spoken to him in such a manner would have been scrubbing piss pots the rest of his career. Unfortunately, the more his jaw clenched with anger, the worse his speech deteriorated. “I’m well…aware. Are you suggesting…I might not have…the blunt?”

The assistant recoiled. “You are drunk, sir!”

Of course, everyone in the place chose that moment in time to take a breath, and the words echoed around the sumptuous showcases of carved clocks and dueling pistols. Several sets of eyes turned his way, and disapproving whispers began. “No…I’m not…drunk.”

“You certainly sound like you are. Perhaps it is time for you to leave.”

“No,” Gabriel snarled, fighting down panic as his damp clothing clung to his skin, and his foot began to cramp. “I’m…a duke.”

The little weasel blinked, then his face smoothed into an expression far worse than disdain. Pity. “Of course you are. No doubt you have a calling card to correct my wrong.”

Bloody hell. Now he wanted to give himself an uppercut. Of all the items to forget today, the small engraved case of cream parchment cards with his title and address. “Left…at home. But I am Ex—”

“Someone in need of assistance,” said the young man in the overloud and fake-kindly tone often reserved for those with a disability. “You’ve clearly lost your way, sir. Perhaps you have a relative nearby? A nurse? They’ll be worried sick about you. Here, let’s look out in the street. I’m sure we’ll find them.”

“What…” Gabriel spluttered, but his humiliation continued in front of everyone in the jeweler, ladies and gentlemen, footmen, and other assistants, as he got taken by the arm and herded toward the front door like a fractious horse.

“Come along. Hmmm, the weather is a bit rainy, isn’t it? Naughty rain.”

If he had a dagger or his trusty cane with the retractable blade, the young man would be choking on his own cock right now. “Damn it—”