The Duke's Men [1] What the Duke Desires by Sabrina Jeffries

Cale now.”
    Mrs. Greasley was having none of that. “But . . . but . . . I saw your brother last
     week and he said naught about it! Why, I didn’t even know you had any beaus!”
    When Miss Bonnaud stiffened at the veiled insult, an inexplicable urge to throttle
     her busybody neighbor seized Maximilian. “Didn’t you?” he said coldly. “She was the
     belle of the ball in France. That’s where we met. I had great difficulty persuading
     her to choose me over the others.”
    “Others?” Mrs. Greasley squeaked.
    Warming to the subject, he patted Miss Bonnaud’s hand. “She came to England to avoid
     her French suitors. Fortunately, I’m English, so I just followed her to London after
     I returned from doing business on the Continent. Then I courted her relentlessly until
     she agreed to marry me.”
    The woman still looked skeptical. “The banns weren’t called.”
    “We married by special license,” he said smoothly. “Mr. Manton had to take an emergency
     trip to thenorth, so he prevailed upon the archbishop to grant us the license so he could accompany
     us to the church before he left. I’m sure you know that Mr. Manton has friends in
     high places.”
    That certainly knocked the good Mrs. Greasley off her game. “A special license,” she
     breathed with clear reverence. “What did you say your name was?”
    “It’s Kale,” Miss Bonnaud said quickly. “With a K. My husband is a—”
    “Land agent,” Maximilian broke in. He was having none of this cotton merchant nonsense.
     He didn’t know a damned thing about cotton. Or being a merchant, for that matter.
     “I’m land agent to a gentleman in . . . Have you ever visited Devonshire, Mrs. Greasley?”
    She was staring at him wide-eyed. “Afraid not.”
    “Ah, a pity. That’s where I’m a land agent. Big estate. Lots of sheep.” It wasn’t
     entirely a lie. Among his several estates was a rather large one in Devonshire that
     brought in most of its income from wool.
    “Oh my, a land agent,” Mrs. Greasley said, obviously impressed. “That’s why you speak
     so well.”
    “Doesn’t he, though?” Miss Bonnaud said with false sweetness. “My husband has improved
     himself wherever he can. He’s very ambitious.”
    “I can see that.” Mrs. Greasley nudged her husband, who’d done nothing but stand there
     like a lump. “You could use a bit of Mr. Kale’s ambition.”
    “Aye,” the poor man answered. “But then you wouldn’t have nobody at home of an evening
     to listen to your harping now, would you?”
    “Mr. Greasley!” she protested.
    Maximilian kept his face carefully blank, though he was laughing inside. Clearly Greasley
     had his own way of dealing with his busybody wife.
    A horn sounded from the front of the inn.
    “That’s the ten-minute warning,” Mrs. Greasley said. “We’d best hurry.”
    “We’ll be right there,” Miss Bonnaud said. “I just need a moment with my husband.”
    “All right, but they’ll leave you if you’re late,” Mrs. Greasley cautioned as she
     tugged her husband toward the door.
    As soon as the woman was out of earshot, Miss Bonnaud whirled on him. “My husband ? Are you out of your mind?”
    “You gave me no choice. You stood there gaping like a fish about to be filleted, and
     one of us had to do something. I realized you couldn’t go by another name when she
     already knew yours, and you couldn’t invent another brother, so I improvised. I gather
     she is familiar with both your brothers?”
    “She knows Dom.” She hit her forehead. “Oh, Lord, I should have told her you were
     Tristan! She’s never met him.”
    “I somehow doubt she would believe that I am your half-French brother,” he said. “Besides,
     a husband will be easier to pass off, since then we don’t have to look or sound alike,
     or pretend we have the same background and family connections. And a husband is far
     easier to get rid of than a brother.”
    “What do you mean?”
    He