He’d let the stroppy little beta take all the jabs at him he wanted.
Nolan would get bored of it long before Beckett ever did.
Jabs and attitudehe could take all day long. Two hours straight of sitting on his arse practising his letters, on the other hand, was about his limit.
Beckett threw down his quill, glared at the ink stains that spattered his fingers and the backs of his hands and had ruined the cuffs of his shirt, and decided he’d go back to being a footman for a nice break.
Whatever the other servants had to say about it.
He informed Nolan so, and got rudely waved away. He had one foot in Jack’s study when a tall, well-made alpha with dark-blond hair, sharp cheekbones, and furious, glittering blue eyes, came stalking in through the other door.
Ah, Beckett thought, taking in Jack’s expression.
This’ll be the brother, then. Lassit.
Jack didn’t spare Beckett a look. More likely than not, he’d prefer it if Beckett took himself back into Nolan’s office and shut the door, leaving them to it.
Beckett wouldn’t dothateven with a direct order.
The butler caught up, red-faced and angry.
“Your Grace—” the butler began.
“It’s all right, Palmer,” Jack said without looking away from Lassit. “That’ll be all.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Palmer backed into the hall where he stood and gesticulated at Beckett, silently telling him to leave the alpha nobs to their pissing match.
Beckett shook his head. Not a chance.
Palmer looked like he was going to pop a vein.
Nolan came to stand at Beckett’s shoulder. He must have signalled to Palmer, because the man stopped his gesticulating and drew the door shut. He didn’t stop glaring, though.
To Beckett’s surprise, Nolan also withdrew, and he didn’t even try to get Beckett to follow him. He touched Beckett’s side briefly and shut the connecting door with a click, giving them all privacy.
Beckett slouched against the wall, hands stuffed in his breeches pockets and chin kicked up, and watched Lassit.
He didn’t mess about, this earl. Strode on up to Jack’s desk, leaned in and braced both hands flat on it as he ground out, “I want my brother back.”
To Beckett’s astonishment, he saw something like sympathy flicker over Jack’s face. It was there and gone, but for a second, itwasthere. “No.”
Lassit loomed across the desk threateningly.
Jack was unimpressed. “Get off my desk, Las.”
With a hiss of annoyance, Lassit shoved himself back upright. “You hadnoright to take him from me,” he said.
“I had, and have, every right over Arden,” Jack replied. “He is my duch.”
Lassit’s lips curled back in a snarl. “He’s not your anything. The marriage isn’t legal. He’s?—”
“Mine. I have your father’s blessing.”
Lassit smiled—bright, wide, and wickedly handsome. Beckett wanted to smack him. “Unfortunately, Papa isn’t here to corroborate that, is he? A blessing? Pfft. That’s your word only.”
“If my word is not enough, may I remind you that I also have your father’s signature, on the betrothal contact and the settlements.” Jack relaxed back in his chair.
“Hmm, no. I don’t believe you have. I’ve been through Papa’s affairs. It’s taken me months to get through the mess he left me, but I’ve been through it all. Believe me. There is not one single document relating to Arden. No contract. No correspondence. Not even a single mention of Arden in his journals.”
