Christmas With the Duchess
““Sir, you interfered with my shot,” Otto complained, retrieving the cue ball from the corner pocket. He had removed his coat for the game, but, otherwise he was impeccably over-dressed in black satin breeches and a silver-embroidered waistcoat. His white silk shirt was heavily adorned with lace, and he wore his usual diamond rings.
“I beg your pardon, sir!” Nicholas stammered, lingering in the doorway. “I am just arrived at Warwick Palace. I was told I might find some of the other guests here.”
“I dismissed them,” Otto explained. “I do not require an audience.”
To his surprise and annoyance, the younger man came deeper into the room. “You must be the Duke of Warwick,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Nicholas. Nicholas St. Austell. You have a magnificent home. Thank you for inviting me.”
Otto merely looked at his hand. “I am not the Duke of Warwick,” he said coldly. “The Duke of Warwick is only twelve years old. This is not my house. I did not invite you.”
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