How the Dukes Stole Christmas Page 32

  Duke shifted toward her. “Will you and Mr. Walker be traveling this holiday? Visiting family nearby?”

  She stared at him blankly for a few seconds before saying, “Oh no. We remain here for the holidays. I like to be surrounded by familiar things, I suppose. And you, Mr. Havermeyer? Will you travel?”

  “No. The papers keep me quite busy.”

  “Over the holidays?” Her brows drew together. “Come now, even publishing magnates surely deserve a break at this time of year.”

  “Havermeyer works so the senior editors are able to celebrate with their families,” one of the board members explained. “It’s a Havermeyer family tradition.”

  Instead of appearing impressed, her jaw fell open as she locked eyes with Duke. “Are you saying your father never spent Christmas with you and your family? That is . . . terrible.”

  For as far back as Duke could remember, Havermeyer Christmases had lacked fanfare and affection. His father would depart for work at dawn, leaving Duke alone with his mother. She hated rising early, so Duke had been forced to wait until after luncheon to open presents. The anticipation had nearly killed him as a small boy, but it seemed a silly thing to complain about now.

  Not to mention his father’s dedication had strengthened the Gazette, which developed into one of the country’s biggest and most influential newspapers. It had become the foundation of Duke’s publishing empire. Hard to bellyache over his father’s absence during his childhood when he now understood what had driven the older man.

  Duke straightened. “He was devoted to the company, as I am. I didn’t acquire eight newspapers in the last five years by taking vacations and relaxing at home. Everyone who works at HPC depends on me—including you, Mrs. Walker.”

  “Depends on you, certainly, but also on those you have hired to oversee the operation. There must be others who could take your place?”

  No need to argue about a practice he had no intention of changing. “Perhaps, but it is tradition. Just like how you always plant a new hydrangea shrub each spring.”

  An appealing flush stole over her cheekbones and she bit her lip. This time, he made no effort to look away or quash his reaction. Heat wound through him, and he contemplated pulling the plump wet flesh of her lip between his own teeth.

  “You truly are a devotee of my column,” she said.

  He reacted on instinct, ignoring all his good sense. He shifted toward her and pitched his voice low. “I am indeed. It is one of the highlights of my week.”

  When he heard her swift intake of breath, his skin prickled with satisfaction. This exchange was the height of recklessness, yet he was not sorry. Not sorry at all.

  Chapter Five

  Dinner continued with two more stellar courses: delicious broiled salmon and perfectly braised beef. Wine flowed, and lively conversation filled the elegant dining room. Duke watched Mrs. Walker carefully through his lashes, transfixed by how her expressive features changed as she ate. She relished each bite and he wondered what she’d look like in bed as he pleasured her. Would her appetites remain as strong in bed?

  Her eyes met his and she blinked, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “Have I food on my face?”

  “No,” he murmured for her ears alone. “I merely enjoy watching you.”

  She grabbed at her wine and drank deeply. Good. He’d unnerved her. For the next few moments, she avoided looking at him and engaged in conversation with the two elderly men on her left. Though disappointed, Duke could hardly hide his smirk. Unfortunately for her, those two particular board members were extremely loquacious. And boring.

  When she finally shifted toward Duke, he leaned in. “Were you able to get a word in edgewise? Board meetings always run an hour longer than necessary when those two attend.”

  Her lips twitched. “We shouldn’t laugh at the expense of others.”

  His brows shot up. “They are both obscenely rich and have their own teeth. Still visit their mistresses weekly. We should all be so lucky at that age.”

  “You are lying. How would you know about their personal relationships?”

  “I publish ten newspapers. There are over sixty reporters on staff at the Gazette alone. There’s nothing stopping me from learning every single detail about someone if I wish.”

  “Like me?” Her voice cracked in the middle of the question. Was she worried over his answer?

  Her fears were unfounded, as he had not investigated her. There hadn’t been a need, really. Her background seemed straightforward. Yet there had been a hint of something in her voice . . . “Have you something to hide, Mrs. Walker?”

  “Of course not.” She reached for her wine once again.

  “Does the possibility bother you?”

  “Yes. Everyone has the right to privacy. I wouldn’t care for someone poking about in my affairs.”

  An interesting choice of words considering Duke’s earlier thoughts. “There is an old proverb—if you do not wish for anyone to find something out, then refrain from doing it.”

  “Everyone makes mistakes. It’s unfair to punish people for them.”

  He thought of her husband, daring to kiss a housemaid not ten feet from the dinner party. “Most people are only sorry when caught, however.”

  “Now, that is cynical.”

  “Perhaps, but it’s also true. And I would never publish something unverified.” He remembered the recent bribery scandal and cringed. “Try not to anyway.”

  “Does it matter to you, getting the facts right?”

  “Of course,” he said without thinking. “That’s the only thing that matters. The reputation of the paper depends upon its credibility.”

  She glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Cameron, who was involved in a serious discussion in the opposite direction. Then she lowered her voice. “So why fire Mr. Pike?”

  He frowned. Had she been fond of the old editor in chief? “Because, at the end of the day, he is responsible for those on his staff. The error happened on his watch.”

  “Yes, but are you not also responsible? The error occurred on your watch, too. And they are your staff, more so than his.”

  He didn’t quite understand this logic. “Are you suggesting I fire myself?”

  “No. What I’m saying is the person directly responsible has been dealt with. Is that not enough?” She took a sip of her wine. “Are you aware Mr. Pike has a large family? Grandchildren? How will he explain this injustice to them?”

  Injustice? “This scandal could ruin me. It could ruin Havermeyer Publishing. Do you honestly believe any of the men sitting at this table or the shareholders care about Mr. Pike’s grandchildren?”

  “No, but you should. Mr. Pike worked for your father. He’s been at the paper for more than forty years and is now cast adrift for someone else’s mistake. How is he supposed to hold his head up after this?”

  A small wave of guilt rode through him. He quickly squelched it. When he’d imagined a private conversation with her, this wasn’t even close to what he had hoped to accomplish. She was shaming him for doing his job, for maintaining the integrity of the newspaper.

  He didn’t like it.

  The board expected him to act swiftly and harshly in a circumstance such as this, a scandal that threatened all for which he’d worked so hard.

  And yet Pike had been a damned good employee. Had served as Duke’s right hand at HPC ever since Duke took over the reins ten years ago. Almost everything he had learned about the practical side of publishing had been from Pike . . .

  Christ almighty. She’s got you doubting yourself. Make a decision and keep going. Was not that the Havermeyer way?

  He straightened and leveled her with a glare normally reserved for rebellious editors. “You seem to believe that life is fair, Mrs. Walker. Let me be the first to assure you it is not.”

  A hint of something—Disappointment? Dismissal? Disdain?—flashed over her face before she schooled her features. “Thank you. I am certain Mr. Pike appreciates that lesson, especially at this
most charitable time of year.”

  He frowned and drummed his fingers on the table. What had happened to their flirting? He didn’t wish to argue with her—though he had to admit, the fire inside her appealed to him. No woman had stood up to him before, not like this. “Has anyone mentioned that you are quite opinionated?”

  A smile twisted her lips, transforming her from lovely to breathtaking, amusement sparkling in her blue gaze. “And yet that quality was precisely the reason I was hired.”

  “Indeed, I suppose you’re right. Tell me, from where did you gain your impressive wealth of knowledge, Mrs. Walker?”

  “I think you may call me Rose, considering no one can hear us.” She began lining up the silverware at her setting, ensuring the pieces were perfectly straight. “And my knowledge is not that impressive.”

  Her modesty was charming. “I disagree. There seems to be no topic on which you are incapable of opining. Plants and shrubbery, cooking, household matters, relationships . . . You are truly a marvel.”

  “An adventurous upbringing, I suppose. I’m not afraid to read and ask questions, as well.”

  “You know, I once asked Pike if he selected the questions for you, to find the easy ones. He told me the questions were chosen at random, that you had insisted on it.”

  “That is true. Otherwise, the column would grow boring—for both the readers and me. I’m frequently forced to investigate or research my answers. That is what makes it interesting.”

  “Have you ever been wrong?”

  “Once.”

  The tone of her voice changed with that one word, revealing a quiet sadness underneath. It was rude to pry, but curiosity urged him on. Besides, he was her employer. Hadn’t he a right to know? “What happened?”

  “I . . .” She reached for her wine and took a long swallow. “In the early days, before I received as many letters as I do today, I used to write every single person with an answer, whether it was printed in the paper or not.”

  He stared at her, astounded. That must have taken hours and hours. How had she managed such a feat? Instead of asking, he kept quiet, not wanting to interrupt.

  “A woman wrote to tell me about her husband. He was older and did not treat her kindly. She refrained from sharing intimate details, but much can be read between the lines when it comes to relationships. She said he had recently grown more violent and she feared him. Feared for her life. However, her religion told her to honor and obey him, so she asked me what to do.”

  Duke’s stomach sank. “You do not have to—”

  “Yes, I must.” Rose ducked her chin and focused on her plate. “I told her to leave him. She had a sister in Queens and I advised her to move there immediately. That God would understand putting herself and her safety above her marital vows. Never mind that he had promised to honor and cherish her, and how is beating a woman cherishing her? Anyway, I read about her in the newspaper not long after. The husband found her in Queens and strangled her to death in an alley.”

  “That wasn’t your fault.”

  Tears shimmered in her eyes, and the sight felt like a punch to his solar plexus. Her pain revealed a different side of her, one he suspected not many ever saw, and it affected him like nothing else. Something turned over in his chest, a shifting of some kind, as if puzzle pieces were being rearranged to create a new picture inside him.

  “The logical side of my brain realizes you are right. The fault lies clearly with the husband. However, the emotional part, the part here”—she placed a hand over her heart—“believes you are wrong. She might be alive if not for my advice.”

  “On the other hand, she very well might have died, living with a violent man like that. You cannot know for certain.”

  “No one is able to know for certain. That is why, even though I still receive far too many of them, I never answer those types of letters any longer. The consequences are too dire if I’m wrong.”

  His chest pulled tight with sympathy and something else. Something more. The reaction should have scared him, but he made up his mind right then. He wanted this woman, every bit of her, no matter who stood in his way.

  * * *

  The look on Duke’s face changed as the dinner continued, his dark eyes now glowing with heat and intensity, and Rose found herself squirming in her chair.

  Was he attracted to her?

  The idea was laughable, but something was going on inside that clever brain of his. The looks he gave her were hot and intimate, though no one else at the table seemed to notice. His knee even brushed her leg, a fleeting and forbidden touch that sent waves of electricity through her veins.

  She didn’t know whether to be thrilled or horrified.

  Thrilled, because she had admired him from afar since initially spotting him in the Havermeyer building. Horrified, because she had no idea how to proceed. She was supposed to be married—and Duke was her employer.

  There had been kisses over the years, but nothing more. What would a man like Duke expect from her, a supposed married woman? A torrid affair?

  That was out of the question. While Rose might be very, very tempted by Duke Havermeyer, Mrs. Walker of Mrs. Walker’s Weekly would never engage in an affair. Havermeyer had to know that, seeing as how he read her column each week. Mrs. Walker was about propriety and manners, not brazenness and infidelity. As much as Rose longed to test those forbidden waters, reacting favorably to his advances would be completely out of character. Worse, it meant he might discover her deception.

  You must ignore him. Put any ideas about you and Duke Havermeyer firmly from your mind, despite how long you have thought about—and lusted over—him.

  She caught Henry’s gaze and tried to impart the need for escape. Considering they had all finished eating, it was time for the ladies to separate off into the drawing room. Henry nodded and the two of them stood, signaling an end to the meal. The others rose, as well.

  “Will the ladies be so kind as to join me in the drawing room for coffee?” she asked the other women.

  “Perhaps we could dispense with that tradition just for tonight,” Duke suggested. “After all, we’re excited to watch you make the famous Havermeyer shortbread cookies.”

  Exactly what Rose had hoped to postpone.

  Dread clogged her throat. These dashed cookies were hanging over her head like the sharp blade of the guillotine.

  You will figure it out. Remain confident and they won’t suspect a thing.

  Yes, but what about when they actually put the cookies into their mouths? Her stomach knotted painfully.

  “Everyone would probably rather have coffee first, no?” Rose looked to the guests, trying to persuade them through sheer force of will.

  Her will was no match for Duke Havermeyer, unfortunately. Tall and commanding, a powerful scion of New York society, he addressed his board members. “I know this is bucking tradition, but I promise you shall be rewarded when you’re enjoying warm shortbread cookies with your coffee.”

  “And these cookies are your own personal family recipe?” one of the guests asked.

  “Yes,” Duke answered. “When my mother came over from Scotland, she brought this recipe with her. She’d never say how long it had been in her family, just that the recipe was precious to her.”

  Oh dear. Rose could feel the debilitating nerves building in her gut, like a looming deadline when she hadn’t yet put a single word to paper.

  “My dear?” Henry’s voice got her attention. “What do you think?”

  She appreciated that her friend was giving her the chance to stall but refusing her employer’s request would appear odd. Though this was supposed to be Rose’s home, it was clear to everyone that Duke Havermeyer was firmly in charge of the evening. “Shall we head down to the kitchens, then?”

  Duke’s mouth hitched in apparent satisfaction and Henry began leading the guests from the dining room. Rose started to join the crowd when a light touch at her elbow startled her.

  “Walk with me.”

  S
he glanced up at Duke, who stared down at her from his great height, his arm out. Nodding, she accepted his escort. He stood close, their shoulders brushing. He smelled of a soap she’d never afford, the kind Mr. Lowe and his ilk purchased, one with a scent too complicated to pinpoint. All Rose knew was that he smelled divine.

  He dawdled and let the other guests go on ahead. Soon they were in the back of the group, with enough distance between them and everyone else that no one would overhear their conversation.

  “I apologize if this has disrupted your plans for the evening.”

  Not an apology for his high-handed maneuvering, of course. “I sense you prefer to keep control of a situation whenever possible.”

  “Yes, that’s true. It is one of my many flaws.”

  Many flaws, like his ability to throw her off balance? The dashing way he filled out his black evening wear? Or the imposing self-confidence that drew her like a fly to honey?

  Stop. He is your employer and you need this job.

  “And do you always get your way?” she asked before she thought better of it.

  “Yes—but I’m not opposed to listening to reasonable arguments. Have you a compelling reason not to make the cookies right now?”

  No, other than terror over her ineptitude in the kitchen. “I fail to see what is so exciting about watching me move about the kitchen.”

  “I think there is very little about you that I would not find exciting.”

  Her heart gave a strange leap at that, her skin going up in flames. No doubt about it, he was definitely flirting with her. But to what end? He believed her married. Affairs might have been commonplace in his social circle, but not in Mrs. Walker’s world.

  This must remain on a professional level. “Thankfully, Mr. Walker seems to agree.”

  Duke made a noise, one that had her glancing at him sharply. He held up a hand in apology, though his expression hardly conveyed contrition. “He holds you in the highest esteem, I am certain.”

  The words sounded flippant. Did he suspect she and Henry were merely friends, not truly man and wife? The idea was ridiculous. They’d been excruciatingly careful tonight to maintain the ruse. Nevertheless, there was a hint of distrust, of superior knowledge, in Duke’s careful smile. She didn’t care for it. Not one bit.