Page 4 of Unmasking the Diamond
Jude finally lowered the newssheets, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Cantankerous so early? Is this because you persist in defying convention by actually working for your income?”
“I take no shame in working.” Luca reached for the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup.
“Nor should you,” Jude replied. “You’ve done well. When you bought your little newssheets, they were on the verge of collapse, but now they are highly respected.”
That compliment set Luca on edge. Jude rarely offered them without purpose. He arched a brow. “Why the sudden generosity of spirit? Are you bottle-weary this morning?”
Jude chuckled. “I merely spoke the truth. I am proud of you. Although”—he tilted his head, voice turning sly—“you might consider improving your Society page. It is dreadfully tame. No gossip, no scandals, nothing to keep a reader’s interest.”
Luca hid a grimace behind his coffee cup. “I am well aware. Which is why I am trying to steal Mr. Fairchild fromThe Morning Post.”
Jude’s brows lifted in interest. “That would be quite the coup. The man seems to know everything about everyone. A ghost who nonetheless haunts every ballroom in London.”
“Precisely. Yet he is elusive—no one knows who he truly is. A phantom with a quill,” Luca said. And it irritated him more than he cared to admit that such a shadowy figure had cornered the gossip market.
“You will find him,” Jude replied with confidence.
Luca leaned back. “I’ve already hired a Bow Street Runner to assist. It is only a matter of time before I track him down and make him an offer he cannot refuse.”
“Well, when that day comes, I shall once again read your articles,” Jude said lightly, folding his newssheets. He pulled out another set and smoothed the pages. “Until then, I am resigned toThe Morning Post.”
Luca’s eyes narrowed. “You dare bring that drivel into this house?”
“How else am I to know which debutante is destined to wed which aging viscount?” Jude quipped with a careless brush of his hand.
Before Luca could deliver a cutting retort, their father strode into the room. The Duke of Ashmoore still carried himself with the same commanding presence he always had, though his once-black hair was streaked liberally with white and new lines marked his face.
“Jude, leave your brother alone,” the duke ordered.
Jude raised his hands in mock surrender. “Very well. I cease… though only under protest. How else will I know where to find a bride?”
“I could select one for you,” their father replied dryly. “It would not be difficult. As my heir, ladies are queuing up for the honor.”
“And those are precisely the ones I do not want,” Jude muttered.
“You are thirty years old and fiddling about. It is past time you married,” the duke said firmly.
Jude put on a look of mock astonishment. “Is that what I have been doing these past years? Fiddling?”
Luca smothered a grin. Their father was not amused.
“You ignore every debutante paraded before you,” the duke pressed.
“Because they are children,” Jude countered. “I would sooner take a governess to wife than a simpering miss.” Then, with unholy glee, he remarked, “Besides, I am not the only one unwed. What about Luca?”
“Traitor,” Luca muttered under his breath.
Jude only smirked. “I cannot have all the fun with Father.”
The duke’s stern gaze swung to Luca. “I have already made my feelings known about Luca’s… project.”
“It is not a project,” Luca said calmly. “I boughtThe London Gazettebecause I wished to make a difference.”
“By scribbling articles?”
Luca reached for his glass of juice, wishing it were brandy instead. “Must we have this conversation now? I haven’t even had breakfast.”
Their father surprised him by sitting across from him. “Forgive me. I’ve been awake since four this morning. My thoughts… they will not quiet.”
