Page 11 of An Inconvenient Duke

At least one female in his family would live happily ever after. The blame he carried for not being able to give that to Elise clawed at him even now.

“I’m not sneaking away.” He covered that well-meaning lie with a kiss to her cheek. “I’m going out for a ride.”

She arched a disbelieving brow in that manner she had that reminded him instantly of his stepmother, so much so that his chest panged. Rachel Braddock had married his father when Marcus had been only nine. With a son to raise and dwindling finances to see to, his father had had no choice but to remarry. And quickly. But he’d chosen well, helped along in no small part by the family’s good name and his grandfather’s rank as baron. Marcus’s new mother had been a dedicated, kindhearted, and intelligent woman who cared for him as if he were her own, and within three years, Marcus had two sisters whom he loved dearly.

Which was why he’d not stopped Claudia from throwing last night’s party. Hosting it had made her happy, and he’d do anything to make his family happy. He slid a glance through the front door sidelights as Mount Vesuvius went gliding past, carried away by four footmen. He heaved out a sigh. Anything…even if it killed him.

Thankfully, she didn’t challenge his very flimsy excuse for leaving so early. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

He tugged on his leather gloves. “We?”

As if on cue, his five-year-old niece, Penelope, skipped through the breakfast room door, dangling her favorite toy—a threadbare stuffed horse—by its hind leg. Pink ribbon laced through its tail. The same pink ribbon she’d knotted into his horse’s tail last week. “Uncle Marcus!” She threw her arms around his legs in a big hug and tilted back her head to look up at him. Fresh out of bed, with her bare feet poking out from beneath the hem of her night rail and wrapper, she smiled at him as she always did right before she asked him for something he couldn’t refuse her.

“Pippa.” He scooped her up, and she snaked a skinny arm around his neck. “What are you doing down here? You should still be up in the nursery.” Asleep. Just as he’d hoped so that he could make a clean escape for a few hours. But apparently, the entire household was awake, including the two Braddock women.

“I wanted to wish you a very happy birthday.” With that explanation, she let go of him, completely trusting that he’d hold on tight to her and not let her fall.

But of course he would.Always.“That is very sweet of you.”

She smiled, the one that would have gentlemen tripping all over themselves years from now when she debuted. She moved the horse back and forth over his waistcoat to let it gallop across his chest. “So does Brutus.”

“And very sweet of him, too.” So now the creature’s name was Brutus. She changed it nearly every day, trying out new names the way society women tried out fashion styles. God help him when she grew older.

“Are you old?”

God help himnow.He answered, deadpan, “Ancient.”

She nodded somberly. “Auntie says you’re old and that you need to get a wife soon or you’ll be too old to—”

“Penelope,” Claudia scolded, her face flushing. “I said no such thing.”

Pippa cast her a dark look, spotting that for the lie it was. Then she brought her mouth close to his ear and countered in a whisper loud enough for Claudia to hear, “She did too say that!”

Marcus fought back a laugh at his sister’s expense.

“Uncle Marcus.” Pippa leaned far back to glance up at him. He knew that look—the one she used to twist him around her little finger. “Can I have a piece of cake from last night’s party?”

“Cook’s already made up a good breakfast for you. You wouldn’t want to insult her by not eating it.” Or make herself sick. He’d learned that lesson the hard way last month by letting her have too many sticky buns. How a stomach that tiny could cast up so much, he still had no idea. And with deadly aim on his boots, too.

“Not for breakfast. For playing soldier.”

He frowned. During the past few months since his return, he’d become an expert on five-year-old logic, but this request bewildered the daylights out of him. “Why do you need cake to play at being a soldier, poppet?”

She stared at him as if he’d gone daft. “Because soldiers march with cakes on!”

Cakes?Thatwas an interesting change to the uniform code.

Then it hit him. “Not cakes, darling—caissons.” He grinned at her, ignoring the frown on Claudia’s face that once more revealed her worry that Penelope would be raised by a bachelor soldier when she married and left Charlton Place. “Big boxes on carts. I’ll show you the next time we visit the Horse Guards.” Which, judging from Claudia’s deepening frown, might never happen. “Now give me a kiss and scoot upstairs to get dressed.”

She kissed his cheek.

“Thank you.”

“And Brutus, too.” She touched the horse’s muzzle to his cheek and made the sound of a kiss.

His lips twitched. “Thank you, Brutus.”

She neighed in reply.