Read Online Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right by Kieran Kramer - Free Book Online

you’re not terribly good at, you might notice you can do other things better.”
    “Like what?”
    Nicholas thought. “Like, um—”
    He thought some more, poised the arrow, and then shot it directly into the bull’s-eye.
    “See?” Frank let his hands drop to his thighs. “You do everything right. Which makes it so I can’t. So why should I try?”
    Nicholas handed him the bow and arrow, stood behind him, and twisted him toward the target. “Because you were gifted with a brain, and a healthy body, and devoted parents who gave you many opportunities to prove your worth. Until Mother died, of course, and then Father became quite useless.”
    Blast. He hadn’t meant to add that last bit.
    There was a beat of silence.
    Frank shot the arrow ten feet to the left of the target. “If you’d let me shoot barrels with a blunderbuss, I guarantee I’d do better than you.”
    “We have no barrels—”
    “I do. I’ve loads of them.”
    “Nor blunderbusses.”
    “You could get one.”
    Nicholas clenched his jaw. “Well, it’s clear that today, we don’t have them. So let’s go again, and this time pretend the target is me.”
    “I hate archery and you.”
    “Very well, Frank.” Nicholas strove to keep his anger in check. “I won’t dwell on the fact that if you had any integrity whatsoever, you’d try to be a decent brother because that’s the right thing to do. But if you want your allowance to continue, you will stop stealing spoons from White’s or any other establishment and you will alert me if you get into any scrapes.”
    “You always were a nosy bastard,” Frank said.
    “Yes, I suppose I am. The Drummond name’s at stake.”
    “I think you’re jealous. You want to know what I’m up to because my life’s much more exciting than yours. That’s it. You can’t let me have any fun because you’re the boring older brother.”
    It was the same old story.
    Nicholas gathered up his things. “I’ll see you around.” He began to walk away, then turned. “Are you staying at that hotel for long?”
    Frank’s lower lip stuck out. “None of your bloody business. But you saw—my bed is no better than a pile of straw. And I’m down to two waistcoats.”
    Nicholas felt a war being waged within him, but then he reached into his pocket. “Here.” He threw Frank a leather pouch filled with gold coins. “An advance on your next allowance.”
    Frank sneered, but he grabbed the bag. “I’m not going to thank you, you old miser.”
    “Then don’t.” Nicholas turned away and refused to look back.
    “Hey.”
    Very reluctantly, Nicholas stopped. Turned around.
    “Is it true you’re marrying Lady Poppy Smith-Barnes?” Frank asked sullenly.
    Nicholas hesitated but a moment. “Yes.”
    “She’s a morsel I’d like to pluck.”
    “No, you wouldn’t, Frank, because if you did I’d kill you. And I’ll maim you if you ever say something rude about her again.”
    Frank narrowed his eyes, then he whipped around and took off at a run. He held the leather pouch up in the air and said, “The first thing I’m doing with this is bed a whore, and I’m going to imagine it’s Lady Poppy Smith-Barnes when I do.”
    Nicholas stopped and inhaled a deep breath.
    You will not kill your own brother . His parents’ words echoed in his head.
    But when he walked back to the Albany, he was angry. Angry that he was saddled with an immature idiot as his brother. The only thing that kept him trying to help Frank was the memory of his father’s face whenever he’d talk about his big brother, Uncle Tradd.
    His father James had needed his brother.
    Near the end of his life, the duke had asked Nicholas to carry him that morning to the shore—which, of course, Nicholas had done.
    “We try to deny it,” James told him while they watched the waves pound the sand, “but blood is thicker than any grievance or separation. No matter how irreversible—or in your case with Frank, how sensible—the parting, at the core