The Duke Goes Down (The Duke Hunt #1) by Sophie Jordan

“Did, er . . . nothing untoward happen yesterday when you were in the village?” Thurman queried.

Perry considered that for a moment. The question seemed rather arbitrary, which was not a word he would have applied to the rigid butler in any sense. If one word could be applied to Thurman, it was deliberate. “Why do you ask?”

“You did nothing to offend anyone whilst there?”

Perry contemplated that, playing the morning over in his mind. “No. Not to my knowledge.” True, it was not in his habit to consider how others might perceive him, but certainly he would know if he had caused offense to others when he was out and about.

“Think on that a bit,” Thurman prompted, clearly convinced Perry should recollect.

“What are you getting at, Thurman? Speak plainly, man.”

“There have been . . . stories circulating.”

“Stories?”

Thurman appeared discomfited. A definite first for the man. He might not be nobility, but he carried himself with more hauteur than a king. “They would best be described as . . . rumors, I fear.”

“Rumors?” he echoed. “Since yesterday?” He snorted. “I attended church with my mother. No more than that. What could have happened that was so scandalous in such a short passage of time?”

“I would not say these rumors are scandalous precisely . . . merely unfortunate for the subject. And in this case, the subject is you.”

“Me?” He pointed to himself with bewilderment. “Well, out with it, man.”

“It is purported that you wear a wig and are stark bald beneath.”

“Bald?” He reached for his hair and tugged fistfuls of his thick locks. “Does this look like a bloody wig to you?”

“All rubbish, certainly.” Thurman nodded forcefully.

Perry released his hair. “What else? What else is being said about me?”

“Nothing too . . . damaging.”

“Thurman,” he warned. There was clearly more.

“Only that you possess twelve toes.”

He shot up straight, his outrage a lightning bolt to his spine. “S-slander!” he sputtered.

The only thing Perry had going for him was his charm and appearance and now that was under attack, too. Brilliant.

Thurman lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “In ancient times, it was believed a sixth toe was a blessing reserved for kings.”

“Except it does not apply to me because I have five toes on each foot.” He waved angrily to his boots.

“And there are those who believe it to be a witch’s curse,” Thurman admitted, still continuing as though Perry did, in fact, possess extra toes.

“With my recent misfortune, I am certain there are more than a few people who believe me cursed.”

He dropped his head back against the wall with a thunk. “What am I going to do?”

The question was posed more for himself, but Thurman answered. “You’ll go to the Blankenship ball and waltz so closely with every heiress present so that they will have no doubt you’re in possession of a full head of hair.”

“What of this twelve toes nonsense?”

Thurman made a sound in his throat that reflected how little he thought of that rumor. “Nonsense indeed. And if it were true, who really cares about one’s toes?”

“Ladies,” Perry snapped. “Ladies care about toes. Especially the ones who are superstitious when it comes to extra ones.”

Thurman shrugged. “And I am assuming this bad kissing business is a rumor, too.”

“Bad kissing?” he demanded.

Thurman blinked. “Did I not mention that is also being bandied about?”

Indignation swelled up in him, threatening to choke him. “No, my good man, you failed to mention that.”

“Oh.” Another shrug from Thurman. “I did not think it overly significant compared to the other rumors.”

Not overly significant that he was a bad kisser?

Perry lowered his head into his open palm. That ranked as significant to him. To females, too, he knew, it ranked as extremely significant. “The ladies tend to care about that, Thurman.”

Thurman offered up yet another unhelpful shrug and gestured toward the stairs leading from the cellar. “Dinner, if you remember, sir? Please do not keep your mother waiting. She abhors tardiness.” With that, the butler turned and took his leave.

Bad kisser?

Perry’s ego stung from that. Perhaps more than it should have, but that was one complaint that had never been lodged against him, and London was a place where gossip thrived. If such tittle-tattle had been spun about him among the ton, it would have reached his ears in record time. As, apparently, it had done here in Shropshire. Gossip was gossip everywhere. He grimaced at that cold truth.

This bad kisser rumor was perhaps the most damaging one of all. He had to clear his reputation on that matter. He needed to prove his kissing prowess and soon, so that the eligible ladies of Shropshire knew that particular rumor bore no substance. Of course, it meant finding a candidate who would not mind advertising the fact that she had kissed him. Not necessarily an easy task.

Again, the idea of uprooting himself and seeking his fortune on some far distant shore dangled before him and the notion was not without merit.

In either circumstance, staying here or leaving, he would have to prove himself. That much was undeniable.