Page 42 of The Duke Undone

“Do you want me to review for you my father’s political career?” He tipped back his head. “I never paid close attention. The life of a second son is not without advantages, geography first and foremost. The world is a large place. I spent as long as I could as far from London as I could get.”

The dimple flickered in his cheek, as his odd smile stretched then faded.

“Let’s see.” His gaze sharpened under her scrutiny. “Weston the elder, peer of the realm. I’ll do my best. He was conservative—that goes without saying. Hatred of democracy lay at the heart of his philosophy. He tried to stamp it out wherever it sprouted, the usual places, at home and abroad. He distinguished himself in the fight against extending the franchise to working-class householders, and until the day he died he worked devotedly on behalf of established values, propertied interests, and the security of the empire. Many said he would one day become prime minister, but alas, his unhappy home life drove him to an early grave.”

He stopped with a twist of his mouth, amusement or disgust.

“Ah, but that was a speech,” he said lightly. “Maybe I, too, will have a political career.”

His cynicism betrayed him. Telegraphed his insecurity. Contempt for his father masked something deeper.

He didn’t think himself capable of a political career.

The realization narrowed her eyes.

Maybe it was refreshing realism. He hardly seemed the age’s guiding light. But for some reason, the desire to defend him from himself rose in her. He had a casual way of denigrating his intelligence. Truly, his behavior illustrated every error of judgment. She’d called him an idiot herself. And yet he wasn’t a garden-variety dullard. The oafishness disguised intensity, an acuity he used to cut himself down.

It wasn’t comprehension he lacked, but conviction.

He could put his wit to better purpose.

Perhaps to her purpose.

“You have a political career,” she said. “You’re the one in the Lords Chamber now.”

“My father’s bench is gathering dust.” He shrugged. “I am not interested in the housing question, Miss Coover. As I told you before, I am interested in the two of us putting the past behind us and moving forward as perfect strangers. You seemed to understand that at the time. But your arrival today demonstrates a profound lack of understanding. Or perhaps you attach less importance to your Academic training than I’d supposed?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. His mood was dangerous.

“My understanding is perfect,” she said, her stomach knotting. “I know what I risk in coming here. Trust me, if I’d had a better option, I’d have pursued it.”

His face darkened further. Male vanity! He didn’t want her in his house, but he looked murderous at the notion she might have gone to any other.

She took a deep breath. “You have no interest in housing, in politics, fine. But you have influence. You have the ear of anyone you want.”

“Anyone?” he drawled. “To whose ear are you referring?”

She paused. He would think her mad.

“The ear of the chairman of the Board of Works.”

A startled laugh escaped him. “Lord Mabeldon’s ear! More whisker than ear in truth. Mabeldon went grouse hunting with my father every August, on the Glorious Twelfth. One of the many family traditions I plan to discontinue.”

“It can’t wait until August!”

The blood rushed to her face. She had bungled everything. Barging through his front door, interrupting his Saturday tea, shouting in his study. Stupid, stupid. She spoke to the thick navy carpet. The mud had paled on her shoes and scaled off. Little flakes embellished the carpet’s gold patterning.

“My aunt’s dress shop, our home, the whole block—it has been condemned.”

A change came over him. He didn’t move but she sensed his tension, a new engagement of his muscles that drew her eyes up the length of him. His face, painted boldly with lights and darks, riveted her.

“Why.” Not even a question. His voice was soft.

“A sanitation complaint. But it’s baseless. The inspectors of nuisance answer to James Purcell, the vestry clerk. He’s a pig.”

“And this James Purcell, pig. He answers to the Board of Works?” If he wasn’t interested, he was at least intent. His eyes glittered.

“A man named Jephson, the medical officer for the borough, signed the papers. It only remains for the board to award the lease for the land.”