The Duke of Defiance (The Untouchables #5)(4)

“Yes, Mama.” She skipped from the room, and Nora smiled after her. Again, her mother’s love seemed a living, breathing thing.

“That was a rather odd reaction he had,” Nora said, turning toward Jo.

“Yes. You never did tell me how he got his name—the Duke of Defiance.”

Nora’s brow creased. “I’m trying to remember. I think it was Ivy who revealed that Lady Dunn had said he was a defiant child. Yes, that’s it.” Nora pursed her lips. “It’s undoubtedly a biased assessment, but then I suppose all those names are. We should probably stop referring to them in such ways.”

Yes, probably. But even Nora’s husband was still called the Forbidden Duke. It was done with deference and even admiration, however. “The nickname hasn’t gone public, has it?”

Nora shook her head. “I don’t think so. Not like the Duke of Desire.”

That was Ivy’s husband, the Duke of Clare. He’d been known for his outrageous love affairs, but all that was in the past since he’d been happily wed to Ivy last fall.

“Well, based on my limited interaction with him, I’d say the Duke of Discomfort might be a better description. He didn’t seem at all at ease.”

Nora crossed back to her chair and sat down. “I gathered that also. Peculiar to say the least.”

Jo sat too. “It has to be difficult returning here to a life he never expected.”

“True.” Nora replenished their teacups. “It’s amazing how quickly things can change.”

“And it’s usually beyond our control.” Especially as a woman. Jo had married someone out of necessity and had endured a marriage that had seemed a safe haven but had become a living hell.

Now she was in a position to perhaps find a measure of happiness. That would require good fortune, however, which was, of course, beyond Jo’s control.



The garments he would shortly need to don taunted him from the other side of the dressing chamber. Bran Crowther, reluctant Earl of Knighton, closed his eyes, ignoring them, and focused on the deep pressure his valet was currently working into his shoulders.

Hudson had long fingers and particularly strong hands. Bran couldn’t imagine starting his day without his massage techniques. He worked down Bran’s right arm, finishing with his wrist before moving to the left.

While he worked, Bran thought about his upcoming appointments. Three nurses to interview. The Duchess of Kendal would be here soon to provide her assistance. Bran was glad for it, especially since he was fairly certain he’d botched things before leaving her house the other day.

“Hudson, I meant to ask you something. I’m afraid I misspoke at the Duchess of Kendal’s the other day.”

The valet massaged Bran’s elbow. “In what way?”

“Evie’s friend suggested I should marry the Duchess’s sister since we are both unwed. I said I had requirements. I suspect it was insulting to Mrs. Shaw.”

Hudson moved down to Bran’s left wrist. “Probably. You do have a way of unintentionally insulting people from time to time.”

Bran exhaled. “As you said, it’s unintentional.”

Hudson finished, and Bran opened his eyes. “Perhaps I should apologize.”

“Like as not. However, that was two days ago, and she’s a mere acquaintance. Unless you think you did her grievous injury.”

“No.” Bran stood and completed his toilette.

“You are resplendent,” Hudson said, brushing a speck of lint from Bran’s coat.

Bran gave him a gimlet eye. “I miss the way I was able to dress at home.”

“Of course.”

“And I miss my tailor. Any news on that front?”

Hudson’s dark eyes lit, and he gave a subtle nod of his balding head. “In fact, I have found someone. He can start tomorrow, if that’s agreeable.”

“Yes. I’m desperate. You told him it would be a temporary arrangement?” It had to be in order to ensure his skills were acceptable. Bran was particular about his clothing. It seemed he had requirements about everything.

“Indeed.”

“I need to get downstairs,” Bran said. As he exited his chamber, his butler, a stodgy fellow called Kerr, met him in the gallery.

“There you are, my lord.” His tone carried a bit of pomposity as it usually did. “Mrs. Shaw has arrived.”

Mrs. Shaw? “Not the Duchess of Kendal?”

Kerr blinked behind his spectacles, appearing offended by Bran’s query. “I think I can tell the difference, not to mention read a calling card.”

Bran suppressed a growl. “I was expecting the Duchess.” He stalked past the butler and started down the stairs. “Is she in my office?”

“No,” Kerr said from behind him. “She’s in the hall.”

Bran turned, and Kerr had to stop short. He teetered on the stair, his small gray eyes widening as he recovered his balance. Bran ignored the man’s distress—served him right for following so damn close behind him. Hadn’t he explained to his new staff that he craved, no, he needed his space? “In the future, if I have an appointment, I should like you to show the person to my office to await my arrival.”

“What if you’re already in your office?”

“Then they won’t need to await my arrival, will they?” Bran turned with a shake of his head and descended into the hall where Mrs. Shaw stood near the door. She didn’t indicate that she’d heard any of their discussion on the stairs, but then she wouldn’t have been able to hear it from this distance.