The duke seethed. “This is my house, and I say she has more right to be here than you do. You were not invited. I warned you once, Markham, show her some respect.”
The man spluttered, his face going red. “I’m better than that…than that…”
“Careful, sir,” Rhystan warned. “You are treading in dangerous territory, insulting a duke’s guest in his own home. One would think you had a wish to meet with pistols at dawn.”
“Dueling is illegal.”
“We both know that peers are beyond the law, especially if it’s a matter of honor. If I call you out, yours would be in question, wouldn’t it?”
Sarani felt her belly quail at the threat. Goodness, no. He could not mean to fight Markham on her behalf. Her gaze scanned the room for Ravenna or even the duchess. The dowager duchess would not allow it, would she? But when Sarani found her, the duchess’s face was as implacable and as merciless as her son’s.
Sarani found her voice and stepped forward. “Stop this.”
Markham’s mouth twisted. “How dare you command me, girl.”
Rhystan opened his mouth, but Sarani forestalled him with one hand. She did not make a reply to the vice admiral but instead scanned the ballroom. Almost everyone was staring at her, expressions varying from curiosity to contempt. None of it signified, but she wanted to take in each and every face.
She did not control anyone else’s actions, only her own.
Her cold gaze returned to Markham, the man who had taken so much from her, stripped her of her very dignity as if it’d been his right to do so. “I am not a girl. I am a princess of Joor, and you will address me as Your Highness.”
She exhaled and surveyed the guests. “My father was an Indian prince, and my mother was a countess of English and Scottish birth.” She held her chin high. “My parents met and fell in love. I never knew anything but love from them. However, what I received from most of the outside world was just the opposite and much like what I see here: scorn, derision, and fear. I am not ashamed of who I am.”
She turned to Rhystan with a soft smile and then caught the duchess’s gaze and finally touched on Ravenna. “I thank the Duke of Embry and his family for taking me in when I had no one to turn to. They offered me safety when I needed it most.” She took in a clipped breath, knowing the next part would be the hardest. “However, I am no longer engaged to the duke. The purpose of our engagement was to keep me safe from the man who murdered my father.” Amid the loud gasps and whispers, she felt Rhystan tense at her side. “But now that the assassin is in the hands of the police, I think it’s best to release the duke from our betrothal.”
She narrowed her eyes at Markham for so long that he shifted in his scuffed boots, his face turning puce. “The truth, sir, is that you are the disgrace, not the duke. Not just for maligning me or for taking it upon yourself to punish someone for being different but for being so small-minded that you cannot see past your own ignorance. I pity you. The world is a big, big place, and you are but one measly, inconsequential prick.” Sarani smiled. “I mean speck.”
“How dare you insult me?” he fumed.
“I dare because I have a brain in my head and a tongue capable of articulating my thoughts. I am not afraid of you, Markham.” She smiled a shark’s smile. “However, if you want me to make it truly simple for your tiny little brain to comprehend, I dare because I outrank you.”
Markham’s face turned the color of an overripe tomato, and he lunged forward as if to strike her, but before he could get close, he was restrained by several large footmen. Sarani blinked as Her Grace’s voice cut through the noise. “Fullerton, this man is trespassing and is unwelcome in this house.”
As the butler and footmen dragged a kicking and screaming Markham out, Rhystan disappeared for a moment but then returned with a satisfied smile on his face. Sarani shot him a questioning look. His grin widened. “We’ll see how he likes being knocked out, thrown on a wagon, and shipped to Australia.”
“Can you do that?”
“He threatened and blackmailed a peer. It’s the least of what he deserves.”
Sarani opened her mouth to reply and then gaped in surprise when the duchess stepped up beside her and took her hand. She nearly keeled over in shock. Her Grace’s face was so hard it seemed made of marble as she addressed the now-silent throng. “If any of you are of the same opinion as that loathsome man, feel free to join him.”
When Ravenna came to stand on one side of her mother and Rhystan stepped up to Sarani’s other side, Sarani reeled at the absolute declaration of support by one of the most powerful families in England. In defense of her.
She couldn’t breathe, her throat was so clogged with emotion.
When all was said and done, a good number of the guests left. They’d come for the scandal and gotten one, and they were simply too set in their ways to change.
Among those who remained, Sarani recognized the French marquis and then froze in recognition of another. She went mute, her body shaking, as the man approached.
“Lord Beckforth,” she said. “You’re here.”
The earl smiled. “Does that surprise you?”
“I thought all Englishmen were like Talbot and Markham. And that you would want nothing to do with the half-blooded daughter of your disowned aunt.”
He laughed, and for a moment, she saw traces of her mother in his smile. The familiar sight of it made her eyes burn.
“I would like to invite you to dinner, if that’s not too forward. I’d love for my family to meet you and for you to get to know us. You are welcome to stay at Lockhart Manor for however long you like.”
Sarani’s heart soared. “I would love to meet them. Thank you, Lord Beckforth.”
“Henry,” he said. “My name, dear cousin, is Henry.”
* * *
Rhystan dimly registered Beckforth talking with Sarani. All he could hear replaying in his head was her voice calling off their engagement. It gutted him, left him in a state of strange inertia. He felt untethered as though his ship was unmoored in the middle of the ocean with no engine, no sail, and no rudder. She was all those things to him.
The truth hit him with the force of a snapped mast.
Because he fucking loved her.
“No,” he said to no one in particular, shaking his head. “No.”
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” Sarani said, glancing up at him. “Are you well?”
He took hold of her elbow. “No, I’m not well at all. Please excuse us, Beckforth. I have something to say to my fiancée.”
Sarani’s expression was confused, considering she’d just declared to the entire ballroom that the engagement was over. The earl shot him a perceptive grin and nodded, making himself scarce.
“Your Grace, what are you doing?” she asked.
“Setting the record straight,” he said, gaining conviction by the second.
“What do you mean?”
Huge apprehensive hazel eyes stared into his, and he squeezed her hand in reassurance. It was more for him, however. He wanted to scream it, get it out before it burned a hole in his chest. Shout it to the rooftops so that there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she was his.
“I love you.”
She stared at him in shock.
“I have loved you from the very first day I set eyes upon you. Things beyond our control drove us apart, but then we were given another chance. I won’t lose you again.”
“You love me?” she whispered.
“You are the only woman for me,” he said. “You are my match in every way, and whether we make our home here or on the seas or in Joor or a quiet seaside village somewhere, I need you by my side.” Rhystan swiped at the tear that rolled down her cheek and clasped her hands. “If you’ll have me, I mean.”
The entire ballroom went quiet. Again. Those who had stayed, hoping for som
ething more, were about to be rewarded. Because she was either going to say no, whereupon the scandal sheets would be rife with caricatures cataloging his epic rejection, or she would say yes, and a ducal wedding would be the toast of the season.
“What about the dukedom? And the scandal?” Her eyes were wide and achingly transparent, so many emotions running through them. “People will talk, Rhystan. You saw how many of them left tonight.”
“I don’t care about any of them,” he said. “‘A moment of happiness, you and I sitting on the verandah, apparently two, but one in soul, you and I.’” He sank to a knee, right there in the middle of the ballroom. Whispers rose in a crescendo around them. “‘The stars will be watching us, and we will show them what it is to be a thin crescent moon. You and I unselfed will be together, indifferent to idle speculation, you and I.’”
Her throat worked, tears gathering at the powerful, poetic words. “Rumi?”
He nodded. “He called it ‘A Moment of Happiness,’ but I insist on a lifetime of it. Marry me, Sarani, and make me the happiest of men.”
“What about Ravenna?” Sarani asked, her beautiful face filled with worry.
“What about her? She’s thrilled beyond belief.”
Sarani shook her head. “No, I meant, her marriage prospects.”
“If any suitor thinks she’s not worthy of an offer of marriage because of my wife’s heritage, then he can go sod himself with a pointy stick.”
“Your Grace!”
He shrugged. It was true. If a bigot like that refused his sister, then she was better off without him. He’d prefer Ravenna marry a poor man who loved her for her than a wealthy, titled fop with hate in his heart and ignorance in his brain. If he could get the headstrong chit to marry at all, that was.
He sucked in a shallow breath, his voice lowering. “So what do you say, my love? Shall we jump on this ship and sail it to parts unknown?”
Sarani gazed at him, cheeks damp with tears. Were they happy ones? The love of his life dropped to her knees with him, cupped his face in her palms, and kissed him. People gasped, and his sister might have given a scream of joy, but Rhystan did not pay it any mind. The only thing that consumed him was Sarani. When she broke away, he suddenly felt uncertain.
“Is that a yes?” he asked.
Her gaze searched his, for forever it seemed, but he waited because in the end, it was her choice. He’d chosen her, but she also had to choose him.
“I realized something important a while ago,” she told him. “You see, I was so worried about losing my heart to you, but the truth was, I couldn’t lose it. Do you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve had it in your keeping all along.” She stared at him with aching sweetness, her fingers cradling his jaw. “Five years ago, I gave it to you gladly. My heart is yours. I’ve always been yours. So yes, duke of mine, I’ll marry you.”
The ballroom erupted in cheers, and Rhystan lifted his future bride into his arms with a ragged laugh and inhaled her sweet scent. “Minx. I thought you were going to say no for a moment there.”
“How could a girl resist a proposal from the man of her dreams who quotes Rumi?”
He gathered her close, loving the feel of her in his arms, right where she belonged. “Because he’s a gorgeous, manly, virile, rich duke?”
Sarani rolled her eyes. “One day, your head will pop and it will be your own fault. For your information, it’s in spite of the dukedom.” She put a tender palm over his heart. “I fell in love with the man underneath it all.”
The musicians began a celebratory waltz, and he moved them to the center of the floor. It felt like they had crossed an entire ocean in between their last dance and this one. And perhaps they had in a symbolic sense.
Rhystan knew times ahead could be difficult, that there would be those who might look down their noses at such a match, but a wise soon-to-be-relative had recently told him that scandal was just noise. They would weather those storms together.
With a shout of joy, he spun her around, and she laughed, the uninhibited sound making him want to kiss her again. But the kiss he had in mind wasn’t one for the ballroom.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked when her toes touched the floor again.
“Because I want to kiss you.”
Answering flames flared in her eyes. “Then kiss me.”
He gave a husky laugh. “If I kiss you now, Sarani dearest, I won’t stop, and the day the duke ravished his beautiful bride and tossed her skirts over her head in a ballroom in Mayfair will be fodder for the gossip rags until the end of time.”
“I expect those drawings will be quite scandalous,” she said, blushing. “Maybe they will make your shoulders twice as broad and your muscles twice as large, though I’m sure certain parts of you won’t require any…padding.”
Certain parts of him went as hard as stone.
“Fuck,” he groaned and dragged her toward him to disguise his erection.
“You say that word far too much for a toplofty duke,” she teased. “It’s vulgar and common, Your Grace, and offending to a lady’s delicate sensibilities.”
“Then you should stop provoking me.” He shunted his hips into her belly, eliciting a gasp from her. “And the only thing delicate about you is the most succulent pair of silky brown nip—”
Cheeks flaming, she shoved her fingers against his mouth. “You are wicked, Your Grace.”
“Categorically.”
Desire lit her eyes, the gold flecks in them burning like hot embers, and Rhystan couldn’t help wondering if she was as wet as he was hard. His mouth watered with the urge to strip her bare, until she was clothed in nothing but her beautiful, luminous skin.
Wasn’t this dance over yet? He had new plans to drag her to an empty room and see for himself. Preferably with his tongue. He was so caught up in his fantasy that he didn’t realize she had spoken until her laughter reached his ears.
“Having fun?” Sarani asked with an altogether wanton, knowing smile. Her eyes had gone dark and her cheeks were warm, too, as though she’d been imagining similar things. To his utter alarm, he felt his face flush, and his beautiful fiancée’s smile widened. “I sincerely hope you’ll share those thoughts with me later.”
“Count on it,” he said. “Because I promise to spend the rest of my life making up for those lost five years.” He grinned, so enormously happy, it felt like he would burst. “To think, we could have had half a dozen little Rhystans running around by now.”
“Half a dozen?”
“I should warn you that I’m not planning to let you out of my bed anytime soon.”
His future duchess laughed, eyes bright with love, and wrapped her arms around him. “I can absolutely live with that.”
Epilogue
Her Grace, Sarani Huntley, the ninth Duchess of Embry, lay naked and sated in her husband’s arms listening to the sounds of the waves crashing against the shore. He’d bought her the country estate in Hastings as a wedding present two years before, and though they split a lot of their time between London and the ducal ancestral seat in Kettering, they made the effort to spend time alone in their little slice of paradise, enjoying each other’s company and being themselves.
The first years of marriage had been bliss, and apart from the occasional brush with bigotry, they’d kept themselves insulated from harmful gossip. People did talk and social invitations were fewer, but none of that mattered much to them.
Lord Talbot had squawked like a chicken for weeks but had quieted when Gideon paid him a short visit. Apparently, all he’d had to do was mention that Talbot’s old chum Markham had ended up in Australia, and the craven earl had changed his tune. Rhystan hadn’t quite forgiven him for leaving bruises on her wrists, though, and after a few months, the earl had suffered a sudden reversal of fortune that had left him destitute. Word
had it that he’d gone back East in search of employment.
As far as Joor, her snake of a cousin had gone missing some six months after he’d stolen her father’s throne—Sarani suspected that Talbot might have had a hand in that—and another heir had been named prince. From what she could discern, the new prince was both kind and capable, but she’d still insisted on a trip to Joor to see for herself; she’d had enough of half-truths and lies. The people seemed content with him, and the truth was, apart from making sure her people were in good hands, Sarani felt her efforts were better served in London, where she could make a difference.
Going back home had hit hard, especially with her father not being there, but it had also been a chance for her to say her goodbyes to him properly. She was touched to see that a statue had been commissioned to be built in the palace in his memory. Asha, her dearest friend, had chosen to stay in Joor with her family, but Sarani had made sure that she would never have to work again. Sarani would miss her, but at least she still had Tej, who would no doubt be an excellent man-of-business one day.
Rhystan, for his part, had taken to being duke like he was made for it, supporting efforts in the House of Lords to improve the conditions of the people in India and humanizing popular opinion in Britain, hitherto shaped by biased reports. He championed bills that stood against the injustices brought on by colonialism, not just in the east but also in the West Indies, and fought for fair practices in trade and commerce. Unlike most peers, he listened to her ideas and saw them to fruition in chambers, which pleased Sarani to no end. It was satisfying having a hand in changing the tide. She might not wear the wig and the robes, but she was determined to be part of the solution.
Forming close ties with other like-minded women in London, she attended functions organized by the India Office, including events for visiting Indian dignitaries during the season. She had even started a charitable organization for those who had resettled in Britain and needed assistance. Her work kept her busy, but she loved every moment of it.
Rhystan still sailed, but only on occasion. The bulk of his fleet was managed by Gideon.
The Princess Stakes Page 29
