Royally Claimed - By Marie Donovan Page 0,13

was. “Don Franco, if you would excuse me, I have to check on some building supplies.”

“Fine, go.” Frank waved his hand and forced himself to read his email from the mainland. Problems with wine caskets, grapevines, animals needing the vet, two of his fieldhands fighting over the same girl. Fortunately, relatively small things, although Frank recalled the girl in question being quite pretty and flirtatious. And with a mean, burly father. He toyed with the idea of inquiring whether the two fieldhands had turned up with black eyes and fat lips received after their fight, but the more he stayed out of their personal business, the more smoothly it ran.

Involving the Duke in romantic quarrels would bring shame and embarrassment upon the parties involved. Better that the Duke focused on his own romantic problems. And even better that the Duke stopped referring to himself in the third person.

Frank grinned and immersed himself in estate business for the next couple hours, thoughts of Julia always at the edges of his mind.

Benedito popped into the kitchen again. “Boa tarde, Don Franco.”

“Yes, good evening to you, too. Did you take care of those building supplies?”

“Yes, and picked up the paint, as well.”

“Paint? But we never chose any colors.”

“But I did, Don Franco. So you would have more time to spend with the young lady.” Benedito nodded conspiratorially.

Frank bit back a groan and thanked him. What hideous palette did Benedito choose?

“And Don Franco, I received a call from the mainland.”

“You did?” He didn’t even know Benedito had a cell phone.

“Yes, yes.” Benedito waved his hands impatiently. “Leonor, my beloved wife…” He paused dramatically.

“Yes, I know who she is.” Leonor was the housekeeper at the fazenda. In addition to the traditional agricultural holdings for an annual pittance Frank leased use of several outbuildings for small local businesses and artists’ studios. It boosted local income and kept families together since they didn’t have to send the men and young people off to Lisbon for jobs.

“Leonor needs me at home.”

“Is she all right?” Frank asked. Leonor had the constitution of a mule and if local legend was correct, had last been ill in the early 1980s—a mild cold.

“She, ah…she, well…she has, um, female problems!” Benedito finished triumphantly.

Frank supposed it was possible, not being in that line of work, although Leonor had to be in her late sixties. But the magical phrase “female problems” was like playing the ace in a game of poker—the trump card that nobody argued with. “Female problems.”

“Yes, yes. Oh, terrible female problems.” Benedito shuddered at the horror, whether real or imagined.

“And I suppose they came on suddenly and you need to rush back to the fazenda to help care for her.”

“Oh, Don Franco, I am glad you understand.”

Frank clapped him on the back. “I do indeed. When do we leave?”

“We?” Benedito’s dismay was comical. “No, no, Don Franco, it would be a sin, a sin, I tell you, if my poor little problems were to take you away from your business here in the islands.” He drew himself up. “I will call my wife and tell her—” he paused for effect “—that you need me here. She will manage.” He looked nobly across the sea toward the mainland, the brave husband separated from his ailing wife.

Oh, bravo. Frank was ninety-nine percent convinced Benedito was lying through his coffee-stained teeth, but what if Leonor were indeed ill?

“Oh, go on. Go home.” He waved his hand at Benedito.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Benedito clutched his hand, but when he bent to kiss it, Frank had enough.

“No more of the grateful peasant routine! Why aren’t you more agreeable to me the rest of the time?”

Benedito widened his eyes. “Your Grace, I have no idea what you mean.”

Frank decided to see if Benedito actually had a phone or was lying even more. “Call the blasted airline and change your return flight.”

His eyes darted back and forth. “My phone, the battery failed just as I was saying goodbye to my dear wife. It stopped right in the middle of hearing her precious voice, right in the middle of our tender farewells…”

Frank tossed him his phone, cutting off the rest of his nauseating description. “Here, use this.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Benedito said meekly, turning his back to make his call.

“Peasants,” Frank grumbled. “Everything went to hell when we were no longer allowed to whip them.”

The older man’s shoulders stiffened in outrage and Frank grinned. Served him right, although he had his doubts about being able to best Benedito in a physical