Sweet Revenge To The Duke (Book 1)

Chapter Six

The following morning, Oliver was one of the few who made it down to breakfast. After a night of carousing, his ability to do such exploits had earned him the reputation of being a man who could hold his liquor better than any other Ton member. The reality was substantially more mundane. He drank his wine with water—or rather, had it drank for him.

Being perceived to be able to hold one's drink had its advantages. It deterred others from taking advantage of the situation. Card sharps, pimps, doxies, and unscrupulous entrepreneurs were continually taking advantage of Oscar, who was perpetually in his cups. Leaving it to Oliver to bail him out, which he did without Oscar ever knowing who his hero was.

If Oscar had known, he wouldn't have thanked him. Oliver's cleverness was put to the test when it came to concealing the boy's naughtiness from their aging father.

The majority of his days were consumed by the challenges of maintaining the earldom profitable, rescuing his brother from the mire, and guaranteeing the earl's comfort and reassurance as his mental and physical condition deteriorated. As a result, Oliver had very little time to spend on himself.

With the exception of the next week or so. He'd determined the estates would have to manage without him as soon as he discovered Athene Edwards would be at Burley's party. Of course, Harry must accompany him to Hedenham so that he may keep an eye on the boy.

He looked out the large window onto the grass while eating his hot roll with honey. Despite the continuing drizzle, a mistle-thrush and a robin competed in song from a nearby clump of oaks. It's too bad the weather isn't cooperating today; he wanted to take Oscar horseback riding. Did Athene continue to ride? What about her most recent defender? They should all go for a gallop in the same direction.

When a swarm of houseguests barged into the breakfast room, a cacophony of voices, the clatter of dish covers, and the clink of porcelain shattered his happy thoughts.

Oliver observed the breakfast room door open again, admitting a young girl who, after a quick glance around, sneezed loudly and quickly retreated.

Athene. His immediate reaction was to get up and chase her down. Had she seen him and run? And if that's the case, what's the rationale for it? Or was she ill for some reason, God forbid? Even though the punch was hot and the dancing would have warmed the attendees, several of yesterday night's costumes were inappropriate for the early November weather. He was hoping she hadn't caught a cold.

He was ready to leave the room, dusting the crumbs from his fingers, when Burley entered. As the duke's guests rose to their feet, there was much scraping of chairs, but he ignored the courtesies, urging them to take a seat and ignore him. He took a seat at the head of the table, next to Oscar, and motioned for a footman to arrive.

"Oliver, you're up bright and early today. You couldn't possibly have overindulged last night."

"I assure you, Your Grace, that I splurged and am grateful for your kindness."

"Ah, yes." Burley ate coddled eggs and clove-stuck ham from a platter. "You're known for your aversion to booze. It's a shame it's not an inherited trait, because your brother's life would be so much better if he could avoid getting drunk."

"Please pardon me, Your Grace. It's one thing for me to make fun of my own family, but it's quite another—"

"Please don't fly up into the limbs. You know how I am—I say what I think. Oscar requires a tight grip on the reins."

Oliver sank back into his chair. Was it really so obvious? "I understand." He struggled to keep the melancholy from coming through in his voice. "Papa is powerless to stop him, so it's up to me."

"I'm sorry to hear about the earl's illness. "From my hothouse, I'll send him some fruit."

"You are far too generous." They had plenty of fruit at home, but it wouldn't be wise to turn down Burley's offer. He was said to never forget a rejection.

"The Honourable Harold is still too young to marry. But he's still old enough to produce a couple brats on the other side of the blanket."

Oliver shivered. The breakfast room has gone strangely quiet. "He'll be deciding on a profession very soon," he remarked hurriedly, seeking to steer his host away from the chatter.

Burley, on the other hand, was becoming more interested in his subject. "Last night, I caught a glimpse of him engrossed in a conversation with a young lady. I'm not sure who she was, but I'm sure I'd recognize her if she weren't dressed up. You should look into what they're saying in the dark places."

Oliver's heart was grasped and squeezed by an unseen hand. What was this new crisis? "Did the lady have red hair and wear a golden brooch?" he asked, despite his fears that the answer might be upsetting.

Burley patted him on the back. "Your brother owes you a debt of gratitude for keeping such a close eye on him. I gather it was the same lady who compelled you to steal a kiss from. Maybe they were plotting their vengeance on me for embarrassing your small group."

This rumor seemed to amuse Burley quite a little. Oliver hoped he was right. Any other excuse for Harry and Athene to have a face-to-face made his stomach turn. "Your Grace—"

"Call me Burley, except in front of the maids," he says.

He let out a quiet grunt. The room was surrounded by hushed footmen. They must, however, be invisible to Burley.

“Burley. I'd be grateful for a little sampling of your hothouse fruits. One of your guests, I suppose, is ill and will be unable to attend breakfast. I'd be grateful if some could be sent up to her."

“A ‘she’ is it? Capital. Of course, not the bit about being sick." The duke gave a signal to the closest footman. "Cummings will accompany you to the orangery, handing you a sharp knife and a basket from which to chose. However, carry the basket to the invalid yourself and revel in the glory of having come up with the idea. Some chits appreciate a good heart—or the appearance of one."

He didn't require any explanation. Didn't all women enjoy receiving gifts? Someone else's oranges or grapes weren't the same as pricey jewelry or new gowns, gloves, and caps, to be sure. What would Athene think if he gave her new gloves? If her previous behavior towards him was any indication, she'd put them on and then strangle him.

Even if it was merely to appease the duke, she'd tolerated his kiss fairly well last night. There was no way she could have enjoyed herself in those situation. But he had unquestionably done so. And sneezes or no sneezes, his entire body ached to embrace her again, and the hairs on the back of his neck shivered with delight at the prospect of kissing her again.

It was a real eye-opener. But it was one that made his job much more difficult.

"Thank you, Burley," he said. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to leave now." He got to his feet, bowed to the duke, and tilted his head at Cummings.

Even Athene couldn't say no to a basket of delicious grapes and fresh citrus fruit. But the most important thing he needed was for her to say yes to the man who delivered them.