Page 59 of Desperately Seeking Seduction

“Don’t be. Winston wanted that fight.”

Aston frowned. “Winston?”

“My valet. Dane Winston,” he said, holding Aston’s gaze. “Quite possibly the best last-minute hire I’ve ever made. Contrary, bossy, but excellent attention to detail. I’d be utterly lost without his help…but I do have to wonder where he learned to box like that.”

A ghost of a smile graced Aston’s face.

Pride.

The old man was proud of his daughter, and she would know it when Stratford met her later to scold her for scaring him like that. She also ought to know just how afraid the old man had looked while Philips was choking her to death, too.

There was a commotion at the door, and the younger Edwin Aston at last waltzed in unannounced. “Ah, there you are, Father. Recovered from your fall yet?”

Stratford had the urge to punch the imposter right in the nose.

“Not quite. He needs rest,” Nash murmured before he slipped from the room around the younger man.

Edwin came closer to get a better look at his supposed father. “You don’t look at all banged up, but by all means, retire to your bed if you must.”

Aston’s face revealed nothing in response to that suggestion. No agreement. No obvious anger, either, that his son would speak down to him in front of others. He seemed comfortable that Edwin cared nothing for his welfare.

When Edwin eventually sauntered away, Stratford was relieved to see the back of him, and he sat himself down across from Aston. He wanted to talk to the old man about Win and discover if he was the threat she feared him to be.

Aston avoided his gaze and sighed. “I should like to see that portrait the duke mentioned to me yesterday. The one of my son.”

Stratford stiffened. “I’m afraid it’s lost.”

“No,” Nash said as he strode in at that very moment, carrying a familiar-sized square canvas. “Only badly misplaced.”

Stratford shut his eyes briefly as the portrait was shown to Aston.

The man sat forward, his eyes fixed on Win’s image. “Bring it closer,” he urged.

Nash put it on his knees and let the older man hold it himself.

Stratford sat back, hand over his mouth as the painting was studied at length.

Finally, the old man looked at him. “You did this?”

“Yes. From memory after my visit with Father,” he said, brushing some lint from his sleeve to hide his nervousness.

The old man’s hand trembled above the canvas, but he did not touch it. “This is very like him. Just as I remember before… Well, when he was younger,” Aston concluded lamely, a smile that suggested embarrassment.

“Yes, it was a good likeness.”

Aston nodded. He looked at the duke. “Were there any serious injuries suffered during the altercation?”

“Nothing at all serious.”

“Good,” Aston said, and then inhaled deeply before he let the breath out slowly. “I should like to be present when you give the smaller fellow their marching orders.”

The duke frowned. “I think any quarrel between servants can be settled without our interference.”

“I insist on being there,” Aston repeated. “After all, their brawl caused me pain and embarrassment.”

No one dared mention Aston should not have gotten between them in the first place.

“Actually, the little one has already left,” Algernon admitted.