The Duke's Guide to Correct Behavior Read Online Free Page B

that was sufficient. That it be warm and have seating seemed reasonable. But anything else? He hadn’t bothered. He assumed there would be time enough for all of that when he was settled. If he settled.
    Besides which, he kept hoping he could someday just return to roaming, not having to worry about what people thought about him or what responsibilities he had.
    It was momentarily terrifying, then, that Rose’s arrival meant he might have to lose those vagabond dreams forever.
    And who would he be if he were just the duke?
    At least his current excesses—those antithetical to a responsible parent—were limited to drinking and gambling and not nearly as much fornicating as before. He had occasional dalliances, but he’d found, in general, it was too much effort for too little reward to embark on affairs with society ladies. Two minutes and it was over, and then he’d have to make conversation. Not worth it.
    The thought had crossed his mind that if it only lasted two minutes, perhaps he was doing it wrong, but he hadn’t been intrigued enough by anyone to conduct any scientific experiments. Besides which, how embarrassing would it be if he was doing it wrong? When he got married— if he got married—it would be too late for his wife to complain. Plus he assumed she wouldn’t know, either.
    Although if he could practice, perhaps with someone he’d just met . . .
    No. Absolutely not. Drinking and gambling suited him just fine.
    With that thought in mind, he strode over to the cart where this room’s brandy was kept. No glasses; he vaguely recalled coming in here the night before to retrieve more for him and his guests. He shrugged, and raised the bottle to his mouth.
    At which point the door was flung open and his new rigidly proper governess walked in, her expression reserved.
    She was not here to help him refine his amatory activities, then. Pity.
    â€œYour Grace,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her, and then her expression changed to one of exasperation. “I was just—oh, for heaven’s sake, just drink!”
    Because he had frozen in mid-swallow, the bottle still tilted up, but his mouth had closed over the opening so no more liquid could travel down his throat.
    At her words, he opened his mouth and the welcome burn of the spirit—unlike the unwelcome burn of his new employee’s tone of voice—traveled down his gullet to nestle comfortably in his stomach.
    He thought too late that drinking brandy straight from the bottle was probably not the habit of a respectable gentleman and father. Given that he’d only had a few hours being either, however, he thought he was doing rather well. Bottle-drinking notwithstanding.
    He placed the now empty bottle down and looked more closely at her.
    The severe hairstyle, the frown, the worn, ill-colored gown. No wonder she looked so glum.
    He wondered what it would take to make her laugh. Or smile, even. A child needed laughter, did she not? He would just have to command her to laugh.
    Which would probably go as well as when his aunts attempted to sober him up. Not in the way he needed it lately.
    â€œMiss . . .” Damn, he’d forgotten her name.
    â€œLily,” she supplied. Lily, of course, his garden of girls. Although this one was most definitely a woman, he corrected himself.
    â€œLily,” he repeated. “What do you want?” He didn’t mean to slip into his most arrogant tone of voice; if he were honest, he would have to admit that it just produced the quickest, easiest results. He wanted something, he announced his wants in that tone of voice, and usually within minutes he received it. That was true even before receiving his title. And being a duke meant never having to soften your tone.
    Until now, at least.
    â€œI am here, Your Grace,” she said tightly, “to speak with you about the child. About Rose.” When she said the girl’s name, her voice