To Marry the Duke (American Heiress Trilogy Book 1)

by Julianne MacLean

  “Has your mother always been the way she is now?” Sophia asked.

  “As long as I can remember.”

  “That must have been very difficult for you, growing up. What was your father like?”

  To Sophia’s dismay, James gently lifted her off his lap and rose from the chair. “Worse,” he replied. He crawled onto the bed and pulled the covers back. “Come and lie down with me.”

  She suspected he wanted to make love again, and she wanted that too, but she also wanted to understand him better.

  “Was he cruel to you?” she asked bluntly.

  “Who?”

  “Your father.”

  The seductive look in his eye vanished with the sudden realization that she still wanted to talk. “Yes, he was vicious. I thought you might have heard the gossip about him in London, or at least from the Countess of Lansdowne.”

  Sophia remembered something else Florence had said: “Who knows what secrets live in that vast country castle of his? I would wager quite a few.”

  Sophia wished she had pressed her for more information about that. “No, I didn’t know the particulars,” she replied. “Only what you told me that day in the park.”

  His chest heaved with a sigh. Was it a sign of annoyance? Or defeat?

  “Well, now you know. Why not come to bed?”

  “Was he cruel to your mother as well?”

  James let his hand drop onto the covers. “He was cruel to her; she was cruel to him. Everybody was cruel to everybody. But my father’s dead now, and I think I’ve managed to exorcise this house of at least some of its demons.”

  “What sorts of demons, James?”

  He sighed heavily. “The sort that spoil my sleep. Are you going to keep torturing me like this? The least you could do is lean back while we’re talking, so that I cannot see down your night dress. It’s very distracting.”

  With a sudden sense of modesty, she pressed her hand to her chest. “I’m sorry,” she said ridiculously.

  He shook his head at her and spoke with a seductive smile. “No need to apologize.”

  He rose from the bed and approached, then drew her hand away until the gown fell loose. Sophia gazed up at him standing before her in the firelight, wearing only his black silk robe. She remembered the man he had been on their honeymoon. That man had not been real. The real James had been wearing a mask and she had been completely fooled.

  Now, at least she knew.

  She also knew that the mask was beginning to fall away—for she understood something about his family and the events that had shaped him. Perhaps it was possible that a bond could form between them, that the man she had fallen in love with did exist somewhere beneath this cool shell of indifference.

  “Did he beat you?” she asked, surprising even herself with her persistent interrogation, but she wanted to know everything.

  “Yes. He had a temper. He beat my mother and my nurses and governesses, who all took it out on me.” James pulled her smoothly to her feet, and she wondered how he could speak so casually about all of this.

  “What about Lily?” she asked, trying to fight the ache in her heart at the horror of what he was telling her.

  “Probably. Though I was gone by that time.”

  “Gone where?”

  “Off to school. Then abroad in the summers.”

  She laid her open palm on his cheek. “Not all families are like that, James.”

  “Perhaps not,” he replied. “But for us, it’s been a contagious disease that has been passed down for generations, and it needs to be snuffed out.”

  “Snuffed out?”

  “Yes.” He took her by the hand, led her to the bed and pulled her nightdress over her head so that she stood naked before him. Then he kissed her softly, whispering at the last moment, “By me.”

  He did not appear to be emotional about it. He seemed calculating and determined as he spoke those words and eased her onto the soft covers. Sophia wondered fleetingly how he intended to go about such a thing, then gave up all thoughts for a more tangible, pleasurable pursuit. She promised herself that she would learn more about it another time.

  Later, James held Sophia close while she slept and realized that she had opened a wound—quite deliberately.

  He shouldn’t have revealed so much, he thought, feeling the warmth of her soft body beside him and smelling the sweet fragrance of her perfume. His beautiful American wife had come here to nudge her way into his life, and he had permitted it. He had answered all her questions, and now he felt exposed.

  Strangely, he still felt like he was in heaven as he lay with her—despite the trembling, emotional vulnerability that was sliding like a snake around his heart. None of their lovemaking was ever as simple as he would like. Yes, he found pleasure in her body, but at the same time there was an odd urge to leap into a deeper relationship with her—like he used to leap off the stable roof into the haystack below when he was a boy. What a joy it was—to sail through the air and land softly in the hay, even though there was fear, the second before he jumped.

  James thought of his father. He’d become a monster because he couldn’t be with the woman he loved, and because the woman he married was cold, distant, and cruel. Similarly, James’s grandfather had lost his head when his wife had run away with her lover. Jealousy had driven him to unthinkable acts of madness, and he had ordered their deaths. Of course, no one had ever been able to prove that they had been shot by anyone other than highwaymen. There were only whispers....

  Sophia was neither cruel nor cold nor distant. Nor had she ever given him reason to think he could not trust her to be faithful. She seemed to want love. With him. At least, that’s what she claimed.

  With a happy little moan, Sophia snuggled closer to him, and he held her tightly in his arms and kissed her forehead. He would sleep the rest of the night with her, he decided.

  Then he wondered if his father, in all his obsessiveness, had ever felt a tender yearning like this.

  Tender yearning….

  James felt a tremor of bewilderment. Is this love, or the beginnings of it, he wondered. For tender was how, in his purely logical mind, he’d always imagined real love would be. For those who were capable of it.

  Shortly before dawn, in another wing of the house, Marion sat at her desk by candlelight, laying an exquisite opal-and-diamond necklace into a box and wrapping the box in tissue paper. She wept quietly, so as not to wake her maid, lamenting the fact that the necklace was a family heirloom, and sending it to Paris was going to break her heart. She would never see the necklace again, but what choice did she have?

  If it would keep him from coming, it was worth the price of her tears.

  Chapter 20

  Lily returned to Wentworth Castle the day before the guests were due to arrive for the shooting party. Sophia was overjoyed to see her sister-in-law and ran out to the courtyard to hug Lily and welcome her home.

  “I suppose the Earl of Manderlin is coming,” Lily said to Sophia, after they hugged and exchanged pleasantries.

  “Yes, I invited him.”

  Lily sighed. “Oh, bother. I guess that’s why Mother was so adamant that I return.”

  “She’s not still trying to marry you off to him, is she?” Sophia asked, remembering the earl’s unromantic proposal back in London. If that wasn’t enough, the man was at least twice Lily’s age.

  “Probably,” Lily said, hooking her arm through Sophia’s to walk to the house. “Mother just doesn’t understand, nor does James. I’m so glad you’re here, Sophia. You won’t let them force me, will you?”

  “Force you? Good Heavens, Lily, this isn’t the Middle Ages.”

  Lily gave her a doubtful, sidelong glance.

  Sophia patted Lily’s hand. “Whatever happens, I’m sure James and your mother will have your best interests at heart. They just want you to h
ave a happy life.”

  “I wish that were so,” Lily replied, “but I know for a fact that Mother’s first priority is to attach me to the highest-ranking eligible peer around, no matter what he looks or acts like.”

  Sophia recalled her own flight from New York to escape the decidedly dull Mr. Peabody, who wouldn’t know what a smile was if it bit him on the nose.

  “And James....” Lily continued, “James won’t listen to me about what would make me happy. I can’t talk to him. He doesn’t want to hear....”

  “The Earl of Manderlin doesn’t seem like your type,” Sophia said.

  “My type. Exactly. What a wonderfully modern phrase. Is it American? Tell me, what do you think my type is?”

  Sophia laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. You’ll have to decide that for yourself. But I suspect you’ll know him the moment you see him. In your eyes, he’ll be the most handsome, most fascinating man in the world. Let us just hope that you’ll be fortunate enough to fall in love with a man your mother will approve of.”

  “Like you did?” Lily asked with a look of uncertainty.

  “Yes,” Sophia firmly replied. “I fell in love with James, and everyone approved of me marrying a duke. How could they not?”

  They hurried up the steps together and, after greeting the butler at the door, went straight up to Lily’s room. Lily told Sophia about her trip to Exeter and her aunt and some of the trouble Martin had gotten into, then they sat down on the large windowsill.

  Sophia touched Lily’s hand. “May I ask you something, Lily?”

  “Of course. We’re sisters, remember?”

  Smiling, Sophia nodded. “A few nights ago, James told me about your family...your father.”

  Lily pulled her hand away and frowned at Sophia. “What did he say?”

  “He told me that your father was...not a kind man.”

  Lily paused. “Yes, that’s true, but I don’t see the point in talking about it.”

  “Sometimes, talking about things can make you feel better about them.”

  “I don’t see how,” Lily said, turning her face away.

  Sophia sat back slightly. “Personally, I find that it helps to know that you’re not alone, or it helps to talk things through and make sense of them, to understand why they happened—to assure yourself that it wasn’t your fault, and to make sure it won’t happen again.”

  Lily gazed out the window. “We can only hope.”

  Sophia reached for her hand again. “What did happen, exactly? James didn’t tell me very much.”

  Lily answered with a heavy sigh. “James saw the worst of it. By the time Martin and I came along, Father stayed in London mostly. He had his heir and his spare, so there was no point remaining here when he despised all of us.”

  “Why would he despise you?”

  “I’m not certain. Martin has heard things—gossip mostly. He said James has broken a few jaws over things people have said about Mother.” Lily’s expression grew melancholy. “He was always getting into fist fights when he was younger.”

  “What gossip did Martin hear?” Sophia asked.

  Lily hesitated. “Promise me you won’t repeat this, especially to James. I wouldn’t want him to know that I told you.”

  Sophia agreed.

  “Supposedly, Father loved another woman, but Mother refused to turn a blind eye like most wives do. She insisted that he cut all ties with the woman, and she threatened to leave him if he didn’t.”

  “That surprises me,” Sophia said. “I would have taken your mother for the kind of Englishwoman who would do anything to avoid a scandal, including turning a blind eye.”

  “I believe it was an idle threat,” Lily replied. “Not because she loved him—though maybe she did in her own way—but because she couldn’t bear to be humiliated socially.”

  “How did James see the worst of it?” Sophia asked, her thoughts dashing back to him as they always did. “What happened to him?”

  “Everything erupted when he was a baby,” Lily explained. “James admits that he was a difficult child—that he used to throw temper tantrums, and that it didn’t help matters because Father was at his worst then, and the governess was bad, too. She used to lock him in a trunk to punish him, and once when he was nine, she slammed the lid on his hand and broke it. He didn’t cry out or anything. He stayed inside for over an hour, waiting. When his broken hand was discovered, it had swollen so badly, the surgeon thought he might have to amputate. Thank goodness he didn’t. Father didn’t even fire the governess. He blamed James for misbehaving. I don’t think anyone knew what to do with James. Martin and I had different governesses, who were quite kind, and we were quieter children, but we did occasionally feel the back of Father’s hand.”

  “I’m sorry, Lily.”

  She shrugged. “It could have been worse. It was for James, but it’s better now.” Lily smiled at Sophia. “You’re going to be a good mother, aren’t you? Tell me you would never let anything like that happen to your children.”

  The hair stood up on the back of Sophia’s neck. “Certainly not. I’d steal them away first.”

  Lily’s brow furrowed, as if she was puzzled by such a thought. “You can’t steal the heir to a dukedom. James wouldn’t allow it.”

  The thought of her and James ever being at such odds was an unsettling notion, to be sure.

  Lily stood up and moved to look at herself in her dressing table mirror. “Is there anyone new coming to the party this year?” she asked, changing the subject.

  Sophia remained seated in the window. “Yes. A friend of Lord Manderlin’s. Apparently, there is a gentleman from Paris staying in one of his cottages. He’s quite well-off, from what I understand, though he has no title. He’s here simply to travel and see England.”

  Lily faced Sophia again. “Really? From Paris? Have you seen him yet? Is he young? Handsome?”

  “I don’t know,” Sophia replied, chuckling at Lily’s romanticism. “He could be old or have no teeth for all I know, or perhaps he doesn’t even speak English. I do know that he is a bachelor, and his name is Pierre Billaud.”

  Lily flopped onto the bed. “Pierre.... How very French. Oh, how I long to go to Paris. I would do anything to see it. It’s such a romantic place, don’t you think? Does Mother know he’s coming? I can assure you that when she was in charge, Lord Manderlin would never have asked to bring a stranger. People feel more relaxed with you, Sophia. It’s quite refreshing.”

  “Thank you, Lily, and no, your mother doesn’t know. She doesn’t ask me about things, so I don’t feel it’s necessary to inform her of every detail. She’ll meet Monsieur Billaud when he arrives.”

  “Monsieur Billaud. I love the way you say it—with such...Frenchness.”

  Sophia laughed again. “I was educated in Paris for three years.”

  “Oh, Sophia, I envy you. And you truly speak French?”

  “Mais oui, Lily. And German, too.”

  Lily sat up. “So, if he doesn’t speak English, you could translate.”

  “Yes, I could, but I am sure he will speak wonderful English. Now I must go and dress for tea. I will see you downstairs.”

  Sophia left her sister-in-law to her daydreams and felt a pang of painful longing for her own childhood dreams, and for the childhood joys James had never known.

  When the guests began to arrive for the annual Wentworth shooting party, Sophia began to feel a renewed sense of purpose. There were people coming from all over England, some from as far as Wales, and she was determined to make everyone feel at home like never before at Wentworth Castle. It was time for some good old-fashioned American hospitality.

  One of the first guests to arrive was Lord Whitby, who stepped out of his coach with an exaggerated, sweeping bow. “Duke! Duchess!”

  Sophia waved from the top of the steps.

  “You inv
ited Whitby?” James asked dryly.

  “Of course.”

  James nodded, then he stuck out his hand to greet his old friend. “Good of you to come.”

  Sophia sensed a lingering tension between them. She had hoped they would have put aside their differences by now.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Whitby said. He turned his attention to Sophia and kissed her hand. “You look as radiant as ever, madam.”

  She felt a flash memory of the excitement during the all-too-brief London Season—the parties, the balls, the anticipation and the glitter. It all felt like a distant dream to her now as she stood on these cold stone steps with her heavy woolen shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She’d given up carrying her colorful, lacy parasols ages ago. The servants would probably have laughed her off the premises.

  She and James escorted Whitby into the front hall, where a footman showed him upstairs. The moment he was out of sight, James spoke softly. “You didn’t put him in the Van Dekker Room, did you?”

  “Yes, that’s where he stayed last year.”

  “But last year, your rooms were occupied by my mother.” There was a hard edge to his voice.

  “What are you getting at, James?”

  “Nothing.” Then he left her alone in the hall and climbed the stairs to his study.

  James sat down at his desk to read a letter from his aunt Caroline in Exeter. He broke the seal and read the long and involved description of what debauchery Martin had been up to, and how she could no longer see fit to have him in her home. Along with the letter was a bill for an enormous debt Martin had incurred at a local tavern, which naturally, she was refusing to pay.

  James leaned back in his chair and rubbed his throbbing temples. Martin was on his way home, the note said, which meant James would have to deal with this and impose some form of discipline.

  Bloody hell, Martin.

  What did James know about discipline? He certainly wasn’t going to beat Martin to a pulp or lock him in a trunk, so where did that leave him? He’d sent him away to Exeter as punishment for getting suspended from school, but the lad continued to behave recklessly, even under the watchful eye of his aunt, who was as stiff and dutiful as her sister, James’s own mother.