To Marry the Duke (American Heiress Trilogy Book 1)

by Julianne MacLean

  “Well, now you’ve heard it all,” Miss Wilson replied. “And please let me apologize for prying into all your secrets, where it was really none of my affair. I only wanted to hear it from you.”

  He nodded and tapped his walking stick along the path as they moved on. “If you don’t mind, can we go back to what we were discussing before?”

  She drew her pretty brows together. “I’m sorry, after all of that, I cannot even recall what we were discussing.”

  He let his expression go serious. “You told me that I charm you when I am not puzzling you. If I may… You charm me, too. Quite remarkably, in fact.” It was the damned inconvenient truth. He hungered to touch her.

  All at once, he felt as if he were falling from a very high place. Apprehensions pierced through him, for none of this was going as he had planned.

  He took hold of her gloved hand and turned it over in his. With the tip of his finger, he drew a little circle on her palm. Even through the thin fabric of her glove, he sensed her body shudder, and her response shivered through him as well.

  Sophia gazed warily over her shoulder at their chaperones, who were slowly approaching.

  “You’re worried they’ll see?” he asked.

  She nodded, so he eased her mind by taking a single step to the side. Now his body blocked their chaperones’ view of her hand in his.

  James unbuttoned her glove at her wrist and peeled it back. Sophia sucked in a little breath—a dainty gasp full of socially appropriate shock.

  He paused to glance up and ensure she was in agreement, then slowly traced a line from the center of her palm to her bare, luscious wrist, drawing tiny little circles over the delicate blue veins. He said nothing. He merely admired the softness of her skin, then lifted his gaze.

  Her lips were mere inches from his own. Her bosom was heaving. His own heart was pounding.

  She spoke in a breathy little whisper. “That feels—”

  “Yes?”

  “Wonderful.”

  He smiled again, though inside, he felt like he was spinning in circles, out of control.

  “It tickles, Your Grace. I have gooseflesh.”

  James glanced over his shoulder at their chaperones, who were curiously slowing down, keeping their distance. Then with a heavy dose of physical restraint, he pulled her glove back over her palm and labored to bring his mind around to focus on his objectives. He was not here to fall in love with Miss Wilson. He was here for the five hundred thousand pounds.

  They faced forward and began to walk again. James took a moment to breathe while he fought to curb his vigorous and most inopportune lust.

  For a man of stringent control when it came to his passions, he was uncharacteristically flustered.

  They came to the end of the path and emerged out into the sunny open air, where groups of ladies and gentlemen mingled on the green grass. Miss Wilson opened her parasol again and their conversation drifted to lighter matters.

  Soon, Mrs. Wilson and Lady Lansdowne appeared, and it was time to leave. James escorted them to his coach, and they returned to Lansdowne House.

  He climbed out first to assist the ladies down, then walked with Sophia to the front door to say good-bye. Mrs. Wilson and the countess entered the house and James was left alone with the heiress on the massive front portico.

  He took hold of her gloved hand, raised it to his lips and placed a gentle kiss upon it. “No words can describe how deeply I enjoyed our time together this afternoon, Miss Wilson.”

  He let go of her hand and she lowered it to her side. “I enjoyed it too, Your Grace.” She gave him a flirtatious little grin and turned away. She walked through the open doors to where the other ladies were being greeted by the butler.

  James stood motionless, astonished by her skill and proficiency in this lovemaking game—a game he had expected to belong principally to him. Judging by the way his body was reacting to her now, however, there was enough evidence to suggest that she might be better at it than he was. The title-seeking American heiress had caught him and reeled him in and he hadn’t even realized until this moment that he was hanging from such a large hook.

  Chapter 6

  It was not James’s habit to share the luncheon table with his mother, so he had a plate sent up to his study where he could eat without tension-filled silences. The silence that arose from being completely alone, however, evoked a different type of tension.

  He had begun a courtship with a young single lady openly seeking a husband—a lady who had come to London to “hook” a peer. He had been seen out walking with her in Hyde Park, and all of London must now be whispering about his intentions. The English mothers were probably furious with him for allowing his gaze to wander off English soil. He was a bit furious with himself for becoming a thing he’d always despised—a fortune hunter.

  He supposed he should not be too hard on himself. Aristocratic marriages were almost always based on matches that were in some form advantageous for both parties involved. And he of all people knew that passion should not be pursued, at least not by the likes of him. He must find other reasons to marry, and money was as good as any other.

  What was his problem then? Was it because she was American? Did he feel somehow disloyal?

  Perhaps a little, but not enough to sound the retreat. He was determined now. The more dominant concern was the fact that she would not leave his mind, no matter how hard he tried to dislodge her from it. Nor would she give him a moment’s peace regarding matters that had less to do with the mind and more to do with the flesh. All he wanted to do was move past the courtship and proceed swiftly and without delay to the wedding night.

  A worrisome thought.

  James pushed it away. He could not allow himself to slide into dark memories of his father’s volatile temperament. At least not for the time being. He must try and forget how the man had lost his sense of reason whenever his passions took over. Desire. Anger. Jealousy. James would find a way to deal with those issues later.

  A firm knock sounded at his door and he jumped. An unexpected banging or slamming always seemed to startle him.

  Weldon, his butler, walked in. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but Lord Manderlin wishes to speak with you.”

  James was taken aback. “Lord Manderlin is here? Now?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  James rose from his desk and moved to the window. He pushed the curtain aside with a finger and looked down onto the street, where the earl’s coach waited out front. “Send him up.”

  A moment later, footsteps tapped up the stairs and the earl walked into James’s study. Weldon announced him: “The Earl of Manderlin.” Then he backed out of the room and closed the door.

  “Good afternoon, duke,” the earl said. “Thank you for receiving me.”

  “How can I help you, Manderlin?”

  The earl nervously cleared his throat. “Well…you see…I have a matter of particular importance I wish to speak with you about.”

  “Please, sit down.”

  Manderlin lowered his slight, frail frame into a dark green upholstered chair. James watched him for a moment and wasn’t sure how he would respond if the man mentioned an affection for Miss Wilson. James knew she would never consider marriage to a man like Manderlin. Not because of his looks, mind you, but because the man had not the slightest clue how to stimulate her mind or rouse her interest. Miss Wilson needed a man who could—

  “I’ve come to seek your permission to speak to your sister, Lady Lily, about a possible....” He stumbled on his words at that point, then coughed into his fist and quickly recovered. “About an offer of marriage.”

  Shortly after the earl left James’s study, there was another knock at his door, this one quick and frantic, and he knew it was not Weldon. “Enter,” James said from behind his large desk.

  The door swung open and his sister, Li
ly, swept in with an almost musical turn to close the door behind her. Sometimes she reminded him of a leaf floating on a breeze, in unpredictable directions.

  “Oh, James, how can I ever thank you?” she blurted out, before he had a chance to even say good day to her. He rose from his chair, and she crossed the room and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “What’s this about?” he asked.

  “You know what it’s about. You are the best brother in the entire world.”

  “I honestly don’t know—”

  “Lord Manderlin! You sent him away!”

  James felt a slight tremor of unease and returned to the chair behind his desk. “Ah, the earl. You saw him arrive?”

  “Yes, I was in the front hall when he came to the door, then I hid in the servants’ corridor! Mother would have a fit if she knew!”

  “You didn’t need to hide in any corridors, Lily. You are only eighteen, and I am not a proponent of child brides.”

  “But Mother will pressure me. She can’t help it, and I don’t want to tell her that I don’t have to do what she says because you say so. That will only make her angry.”

  “It doesn’t matter if she’s angry. If she has a problem with it, she can speak to me directly.”

  “She never will.”

  “Precisely,” he said with a shrug. “And even if she did, I would explain to her that you are too young.”

  Lily rolled her eyes a little. “I am not too young, James. I simply don’t wish to marry a dull man like Lord Manderlin.”

  He sighed heavily. “You have some growing up to do, Lily. One day, you may come to realize that a dull man is often the better choice.”

  There was shock in her eyes as she stared at him. “Not you, too, James. I never thought you would turn out like Mother.”

  He stood up and moved to the window. “I’m not like Mother. I only want you to be safe. You of all people should understand that.”

  “But I don’t want to be safe. I couldn’t bear the boredom. Please don’t be so protective of me. You can’t just lock me away to keep me from danger. I want to live, fully and completely.”

  He gave her a look of warning and was about to continue the debate when another knock sounded at the door. “Enter,” James said.

  The hinges creaked and his mother walked in, hands clasped tightly, wringing in front of her. The cold, hard lines of her face were deeply drawn.

  What more today, he wondered, feeling tired all of a sudden.

  Lily backed away from his desk. “Hello, Mother.”

  The duchess did not reply. She merely stood there, and James knew she could not for long withhold whatever thoughts were boiling over in her mind.

  He turned to his sister. “Lily, why don’t you go and tell Cook that I will not be dining at home this evening. I have an appointment with my solicitor.”

  All smiles gone, Lily nodded and left the room.

  James turned to the window and looked out again. “What is it, Mother?”

  She closed the door and faced him, then looked around as if nothing were familiar to her, probably realizing how long it had been since she’d set foot in his private study.

  “I came,” she replied, “because I wish to make it known to you that I am not in agreement with what happened just now.”

  “Not in agreement?” he repeated, feeling almost amused by his mother’s way of telling him that she was furious, and wildly so, that he had sent the Earl of Manderlin away.

  Still, he supposed it was quite something that she was there to voice her opinion at all when she despised open confrontation of any kind. She usually got what she wanted through her intimidating manner—which was never more intimidating than when she said nothing. It was as if she possessed an invisible hand that could clutch one’s throat and squeeze out one’s resolve, without seeming to have been involved in the decision at all.

  James faced her squarely. “You don’t know what happened just now.”

  She shuffled her shoulders in the way she always did when she felt she was being opposed. “I know that he came here to declare himself to Lily and that you did not allow it.”

  They glared at one another. “I did not forbid it. I simply did not recommend it.”

  “But Lord Manderlin would be an excellent match for Lily,” she argued. “His title is most auspicious. He may not run in your ‘fast’ set, but the Queen has a very high regard for him.”

  James moved away from the window. “Lily is practically a child. She’s not ready for marriage.”

  “As you must know, James, what a young girl is ready for, or wishes for, is not always what is best for her. It is up to you, as head of this family, to see that the best decisions are made for her.”

  “Like they were made for you?”

  A muscle twitched at the corner of his mother’s mouth. “May I remind you, James, that I am the Duchess of Wentworth, and ours is one of the greatest families in England.”

  There was much he could have said to dispute that high opinion she’d always clung to, but he felt no need to repeat what he’d already said years ago, when he was young and full of fury and less able to control his impulses. His mother knew well enough what he thought of his family’s greatness.

  “The Season has only just begun,” he said, “and Lily is young. She has time to look around. That’s all I have to say on the matter.”

  The dowager was quiet for a moment, and James wondered why she was not leaving. Then: “I understand that you went walking with the American yesterday.”

  “Ah, the American,” he replied with a sigh. “Is that what’s really bothering you?” He strolled back to his desk and picked up a letter at random. He glanced casually at the salutation.

  The dowager took a few steps toward him and he looked up to see a mixture of frustration and fear in her eyes. Fear of the unthinkable. “It’s not serious, is it, James? You wouldn’t actually consider....”

  He did not reply to her inquiry. He merely watched her until she was forced to continue what she had begun.

  “She’s American, James.”

  “I’m quite aware of that.”

  “From what I have gathered from very reliable sources,” his mother continued, “her paternal grandfather was a bootmaker—a bootmaker!—and her maternal grandfather… Oh, I can barely even speak of it. He worked in a slaughterhouse. He butchered sows.” She waved her arm through the air. “This appearance Miss Wilson has—the Paris gowns and the jewels and the charming smile—it does not cover up what she truly is beneath it all. She is nothing more than the daughter of a pauper and she is here as a.... Oh, what is that vulgar phrase? A gold digger.”

  James had to laugh at that. “You forget, Mother, she is the one with the gold.”

  The duchess shuffled her shoulders again.

  “And her father is no pauper,” James added. “He is an enterprising man who built something from nothing, and I admire him for that.”

  “You’re scaring me, James.”

  He laughed again. “You’re frightened, are you? Well, don’t expect me to make it all better.”

  It was a cruel retort, and for a fleeting instant he wished he could take it back. Then he saw his mother’s eyes flash with that familiar cold fury—the disbelief that anyone could behave with such rebellion—and he did not regret what he had said.

  Suddenly there was a ripple in his mind—like a stone had been tossed into the still waters.

  A vague memory of his mother walking into the schoolroom… She found him in tears on the floor at his governess’s feet. There was blood. She quickly backed out and closed the door behind her.

  So many of those memories were vague, seen through mist and fog. He was glad, at least, that he was able to distance himself from them.

  His mother wanted the world and everyone in it to quietly obey and do t
heir duty without questioning it, even when it came down on one’s hand with a painful, resounding crash.

  She whirled around and left the room. When the door slammed shut behind her, James calmly lowered himself into his chair and returned to his correspondence.

  Chapter 7

  Sophia was coming to realize that the London Season was just one long line of assemblies, with balls and theater visits thrown in occasionally to mix things up. It was night after night of formal gowns and jewels and music and conversation. Of champagne and midnight suppers and plumed fans. Of dance cards dangling from slender gloved wrists and hostesses in great gaudy tiaras. To Sophia, at times, it seemed like a fairy tale, complete with a handsome prince who was, at this very moment, capturing her heart.

  She walked with her mother and Florence along the red carpet that led to the front door of Stanton House, where an assembly was already in full swing. Her heart did an anxious little flip as she glanced over the crowd that was moving up the wide staircase inside. She was looking for the man she hoped would be here tonight. Her prince.

  Heavens, when had her opinion of him changed so drastically, and what, in particular, had caused it? It was a bit of everything she supposed, and the past few days away from him had only intensified her longings. She’d done nothing but dream of being held by him and she trembled at the memory of his fingertip brushing like a feather across her bare wrist in Hyde Park. At the mere thought of it, she became filled with desire and wanted—more than she’d ever wanted anything—to be near him again.

  Sophia glanced around self-consciously, hoping her cheeks weren’t flushing with color.

  They reached the withdrawing room upstairs and Florence whispered, “This is largely a political party, so do try not to look bored if the conversation turns to whatever went on in Parliament this morning.”

  “I’ve been following the speeches in the papers,” Sophia replied.

  Florence leaned closer. “That’s fine, Sophia, but don’t pretend to know too much about it.”