Page 57 of Duke in Darkness

At the soft curse, Gabriel’s head shot up, only to see that four sets of eyes weren’t concentrating on placing chairs, but staring directly at his misshapen foot. Bloody hell. Reactions like that were the exact reason he kept the damned thing covered at all times, why he had always been careful never to let Lilian see it. In truth, he could hardly bear to look himself, especially the sole where the Frenchmen had taken such delight in burning the flesh.

But his secret was well and truly out, now.

“Not a pretty sight, I know,” he said curtly, shoving the gilt chairs to one side as the old shame enveloped him.

There was a long silence, broken only by the thumps of two chairs and the stool being set down, then the third footman said, “Beg pardon for gawking, Your Grace. Didn’t realize it was your foot, always thought it was your leg that got hurt.”

“Me too,” said the first footman. “Looks right painful. Does that water help, Your Grace? I can fetch you some more.”

Gabriel blinked in surprise at the unexpected offer. “It does help. Warm water, salt, vinegar. Keeps away infection and assists healing.”

“Ohhhh,” said the second footman. “I’m going to tell Da about that mixture. He’s a stonemason, you see, and some rubble dropped on his foot. Nothing broken, but it’s the size of a brick and a rainbow of colors, too.”

“See Mr. Hobbs,” said Gabriel gruffly. “He makes an herbal balm. Terrible smell. But it offers some relief. Tell him I said…you could have a pot.”

“I will, Your Grace. Thank you.”

“What should we do with the old chairs, Your Grace?” asked the fourth footman.

Gabriel pursed his lips. The temptation to say ‘hurl them from the balcony’ was strong, but they were far too valuable. His cousin had spent a great deal of money over the years on a wide range of expensive, garish, and utterly impractical furniture. “I think for now, put them up in the attic. I’ll probably sell them. Not sure who would…want them, though.”

“Begging your pardon, Your Grace,” said the third footman with a laugh, “but they don’t look very comfortable.”

“Correct,” said Gabriel, almost smiling.

“We’ll get rid of these, then. And you can rest a while in the new leather ones. Put your foot up.”

“Do you need more salty water, Your Grace?” said the first footman. “Or some tea? Brandy?”

Gabriel shook his head. “No, I’ve finished soaking. And I have brandy. Much obliged for your help. If you would wait one moment…”

Limping over to his desk, he then withdrew a small brass key from his jacket pocket and unlocked his private drawer to remove a small metal box. Inside sat an assortment of coins, and he selected four shillings, and held out his hand. “Here. One each. Her Grace and I…both appreciate excellent service.”

Four sets of eyes bulged, before grins lit up their faces as they happily accepted their reward. Then the men hefted up the awkwardly shaped gilt chairs, and carried them from his bedchamber.

Bemused at the interaction, and yet heartened at the same time at the sympathy and lack of disgust, Gabriel returned to his place in front of the fire and settled into one of the chairs.

“Christ,” he groaned in delight, as the soft leather cradled his ass and back, without any sharp edges poking him anywhere, or unyielding sides pressing his thighs.

Aside from marrying Lilian, perhaps one of the smartest decisions he’d made all year. When she got home, he would invite her to join him in here. To talk matters through. These were certainly discussion chairs, rather than decorative ones.

On that happier thought, he leaned back further into the chair’s embrace.

And in seconds, was fast asleep.

LILIAN HAD BARELY WALKED through the door of the Exton townhouse when she heard the giggles. As per usual, her curiosity overruled caution, and after exchanging a glance with Dawn, they moved closer to the secondary parlor, where the sound was coming from.

Halting outside the slightly ajar door, she paused to listen.

“Fancy making him a monster.”

“I know! In jacket and trousers and all. It’s so funny.”

“He must have lost his mind. Who punches a man in a ballroom?”

“The Duke of Vexton, that’s who.”

Dawn frowned as the giggles erupted again. “Monster? What on earth are they talking about?”