"I wouldn't call it arguing," Kit said. "Arguing implies two sides. I'm presenting a case and you're refusing to hear it."
"Precisely." She looked up with a smile. "Tea?"
He took the cup. He wasn't in the mood for tea, but he was already toeing the line with her patience, and he'd only asked her for the money once.
So he forced himself to sit back in his seat and relax. The drawing room hadn't changed since his last visit. The same blue silk wallpaper, the same portrait of Uncle James above the mantel.
His gaze lingered on the portrait and a sharp ache caught him off guard. It had been years since his uncle had passed, but he still missed him. And today more than ever.
Uncle James had been raised to rule the dukedom, and he'd found an equal partner in Aunt Philippa. But he'd died far too young, and without the heir everyone had expected. And now…
Well. Here they were. With his father wielding power without restraint, and his mother gallivanting around the continent with no worries at all. And Kit here. With his hat in his hands and nowhere else to turn.
"Tell me how you've been," the duchess said. Or rather, demanded.
"I've been fine, Aunt Philippa." Kit's smile came easily. "You know I wouldn't ask if it weren't important?—"
"You always say that." Her nostrils flared with impatience.
"This time I mean it."
"You always say that too." The duchess settled into her chair and regarded him over her teacup. She was a handsome woman with sharp dark eyes. Her demeanor often made him wonder if she'd been a general in a past life. Or perhaps a Roman emperor.
"Aunt Philippa?—"
"The answer is no, Kit. I am not in the habit of handing over large sums of money without knowing what they're for, and you have been conspicuously vague on that point."
Because he couldn't tell her what they were for. He wanted to growl in frustration. But he smiled brightly instead. "Can't a gentleman maintain a little mystery?"
"A gentleman, perhaps. But you are my nephew. And a bit of a rogue, I hate to say." Before he could retort, she added, "Where are you staying?"
"I have friends in town. Gage said he'd?—"
"The boy who runs that gaming establishment?"
Kit stifled a genuine laugh at that. Not the gaming bit. That was true. No, it was the “boy” part that made him laugh.
He had a difficult time imagining anyone calling his devilishly handsome friend Gage a “boy.”
"No," his aunt continued. "You'll stay here."
"But—"
"Too late. I've already made up your room."
"You made up my room?" He choked on a laugh at the very idea. "You did no such thing."
"I supervised, which is close enough." She set down her cup. "Kit, if you are in some sort of trouble?—"
"I'm not in trouble." This was true. Mostly.
"—then I would hope you'd trust me enough to say so," she continued.
"I trust you implicitly, Aunt Philippa. I simply don't need guidance or advice at the moment. What I need is a modest loan, which I will repay?—"
"With what?"
A fair question.
