“No.” With my hands at his shoulder, I push away from him, taking a few faltering steps before pivoting back again. “Start talking,” I demand.
“I’m sorry?” he replies, not sounding sorry at all.
“Tell me what you’re doing here. Tell me what I’m doing here?” Tell me this isn’t how it looks.
“You’ve already said you’re working.” His eyes flick over me angrily. “In my own way, so am I.”
“That seems very convenient, doesn’t it? I’m here. You’re here. Hey, let’s have sex! Step in at any time,” I demand.
“I’m merely waiting for you to say something sensible before I join the conversation.”
“Tell me the truth. Did you arrange this job for me?”
“I don’t think I like your assumptions,” he responds angrily. “And I definitely don’t like your tone.”
“Well, I don’t like being manipulated, so I guess neither of us gets to be happy right now.”
“There was no manipulation. I gave you the number of an employment agency. I had no idea you were employed here.”
“So you’re saying, you’re promising me, you didn’t personally plan to park me up here in the wilds of Scotland.”
At this, something flickers across his expression. Something that looks a little like guilt.
“I didn’t know you’d be on one of my estates,” he answers. “I didn’t plan it like this.”
“So what did you plan? If not this, then what?”
“I was doing you a good turn,” he grates out. “I didn’t like to think of you destitute and waiting tables in London.”
“Destitute?” I bark out an incredulous-sounding laugh. “I’m not poor. Or desperate.” Not quite, I wasn’t. “And I was not in need of an intervention or your charity.”
Both our heads swing to the door at the brisk knock.
“McCain,” Alexander explains before the door fully opens, moving almost as though to shield me. “I said I didn’t want to be disturbed,” he growls as it does.
“He knows.” Griffin steps into the room, the door clicking quietly closed behind him. As I step around Alexander’s large frame, I notice Griffin isn’t wearing an inch of tartan. Isn’t that strange, given they’re brothers? Hands slunk deep into the pockets of his tuxedo pants, he saunters into the room like a groomsman on the prowl, or maybe a wannabe bad boy at a school dance. “That’s why McCain asked me to stick my head over the top of the trench.”
He comes to a stop, almost leaning against the side of a late model desk. Flicking on the desk lamp, he angles it in such a way that the three of us are circled in its weak rays.
“You’ve delivered his message,” Alexander mutters, the heat in his gaze going out like a snuffed candle. “Leave.”
“I didn’t really come in the guise of a delivery boy,” he says. “I will admit I thought I’d be walking in on something a little more interesting than an argument. Hey, Holly,” he adds with a bland smile. “Fancy finding you all the way up here.” Then he glances his brother’s way, almost impressed.
“Yeah, fancy,” I reply a touch acidly.
“Oh, do fuck off, Griffin,” Alexander drawls.
“I would, but you see, we’re all hungry. And Dougal is fretting that dinner will be spoiled. A temperamental lot, chefs.” He sends me a look that I’m sure is meant to be cheering. It’s not. “Besides, that lot out there are desperate to know what’s going on inside this hotbed of intrigue.” Griffin glances around the darkened room almost consideringly. “Library of intrigue?” His gaze comes to a stop on me. “Library of hotness?”
“Did you know I’d be here?” I demand, glaring back at him.
Griffin shakes his head slowly, his attention flicking to the other man. “We’re not exactly bosom buddies, are we, your grace?”
“He doesn’t expect you to call him that,” I begin when Alexander pivots quite savagely.
“If you’re going to rely on Griffin for information, you’re much sillier than I thought.”
I inhale audibly, tears inexplicably springing to my eyes. I totally have Griffin’s number—I understood exactly the type of man he was the very first time I met him. But Alexander, I don’t know what to make of him. Other than he resents wanting me.
Griffin makes a chiding sound, a click of teeth and tongue. “That was unkind, Alexander. To you, not me,” he adds, glancing my way.
“Oh, I’m aware. Believe me.”
“We’re only half-brothers and not really friends. So, in answer, it was a surprise to see you here. But whatever he’s told you,” he adds, pushing from the desk, “it’ll be the truth.” He appears to consider his own words for a moment before adding, “Mostly.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, not really sure why as I glance down at my feet. Was that supposed to make me feel better or worse?
Griffin pauses at the door. Whether for dramatic effect, I’m also not sure. “Families are complicated,” he says. “This one more than most.”
He has barely one foot out of the door when I brush past him.
“Holland!” Alexander calls.
But I can’t get away from him quick enough.
22
Alexander
“What was all that about?” At the end of the busy service hallway, I watch as Chrissy catches Holland by the hand. “Are you okay, lass?”
“I’m fine,” Holland replies defensively, her words overly loud. “And he’s an asshole.”
A frown creases my brow. I think that’s the first time I’ve heard her curse. Well done, Dalforth. Congratulations on being a complete dick, I think as I stride along the hallway. And that’s definitely the first time Chrissy has sent me a reproachful look. A look that causes Holly’s gaze to flick over her shoulder. As our gazes meet, hers quite clearly says fuck you.
“Ye can’nae say things like that about a duke,” Chrissy chides, purely for proprieties sake because the look on her face tells me she’ll have questions. There’s no fobbing off the woman who runs this house. There never has been.
But I am still the duke.
“Leave us,” my voice booms. I’m not the kind of employer that yells or demands, but there’s a certain satisfaction to be felt as the bodies melt into other spaces leaving only Holland, Chrissy, and myself. Didn’t I ask for something to throw off my recent mood? My ennui? Well, it looks like I’ve gotten it. My blood rages hot through my veins, my cock as hard as a tent pole.
“Holland,” I call out haughtily, warming to my part. “You have fifteen minutes to get your arse into the dining room. Fifteen minutes,” I repeat, allowing my gaze to fall disdainfully over her, “to find yourself something more suitable to wear.”
“But this is what the girls always wear,” Chrissy replies, stepping in front of the object of my desire. “Mr McCain saw to her outfit himself.”
I do not like the sound of that, though the sordid implications are purely my own. Not for the first time, I want to throw the woman over my shoulder and drag her back to my bedroom. But now is time for the duke to come out, not the caveman.