To Marry the Duke (American Heiress Trilogy Book 1)

by Julianne MacLean

  With the thought of making love to her, his mouth lifted in a smile. “You realize I’ll be staying all night.”

  “Good, because I might have tied you to the bedpost if you tried to leave.”

  He smiled again. The time for talking was over. The need to have her became powerful beyond belief. He could not have fought it if he’d wanted to, for he was overcome by a ferocious compulsion to possess her. In every possible way.

  It was frightening. All of it. Because it was exactly what he had been trying to avoid all his life. Uncontrollable, unstoppable passion.

  For Sophia, the following few days were the happiest since she and James had arrived at Wentworth Castle. The guests brought laughter and conversation to the dinner table, and for once she was not embarrassed to wear her Worth gowns and extravagant jewels. Above all, James had been remarkably attentive, coming to her room each night and remaining until dawn. It was as if his cruel withdrawal was a thing of the past, and he had settled into the idea of welcoming her into his life and opening himself up to at least an outward appearance of intimacy.

  Even his lovemaking had changed. He smiled and laughed as he had on their honeymoon. He talked to her about Martin and Lily and changes he wanted to make in the running of the estate. She and James amused themselves in bed at night by going over all the little foibles during the party, how Lady Fenwick had gotten her heel stuck in a crack under the front portico, and how the dowager had tried to pull her free. The two ladies had grunted and groaned, each of them mortified beyond words, then immediately afterward, tried to pretend it didn’t happen. James and Sophia laughed so hard over it that he nearly fell out of bed.

  Of course, James had never once told her that he loved her, nor had she spoken those words to him since his return from London, for she sensed an emotional barrier that still remained—a barrier around his heart. She did not want to push him too far and cause him to retreat again, so she held back the full force of her love. But with all the changes in the past few days, she began to feel that there was hope for such sentiments in the future. That alone gave her the strength to press on with a smile.

  She wondered if he realized how far he had come, how different he was, and if he would ever mention it or acknowledge it. Perhaps he would one day.

  For James, the shooting party was fast becoming the best on record, for there had been a certain relaxed ambiance. Thanks to Sophia, there was a conspicuous lack of high-brow, tight-laced expectations—the kind his mother had always so carefully communicated in the past—and James was enjoying himself tremendously.

  Like a fresh summer breeze, Sophia had released the tensions of previous years. She’d hired an American accordion player whom she accompanied on the piano while the two of them played lively little ditties in the evenings (his mother had winced at every one of them). Sophia arranged games like Clap In, Clap Out and Blind Man’s Bluff, which—after a few glasses of wine—had everyone laughing uproariously by midnight. He could not remember a time in his life when he had laughed as often and as outrageously as he had that week.

  One particular afternoon, he and the other gentlemen were out with the guns, and Whitby moved to stand beside James. James and Whitby had avoided each other rather conspicuously during the week, speaking with civility whenever necessary, both of them recognizing the fact that their friendship had been maimed. The last time any honest words were spoken between them, Whitby had expressed his outrage at James for proposing to Sophia, and James had simply walked away. Afterward, he had put it behind him, pushed it from his thoughts, as James did with so many other unpleasant things in his life.

  Whitby aimed his shotgun and pulled the trigger. The shot rang out, and one of the lower birds in the flock fell from the sky.

  “Well done,” James said.

  “Not as impressive as that last shot of yours, but you always did aim high.”

  James felt his shoulders tense.

  “So how is married life?” Whitby asked. “Everything you thought it would be?”

  “Everything and more. Sophia is a fine duchess.”

  Whitby aimed and fired again. “I never doubted it.” He lowered his gun and turned to James. “She’s certainly made some radical changes around here.”

  James merely nodded.

  “I can’t imagine your mother is taking it well.”

  “Mother is taking it in stride.”

  “Well, she couldn’t possibly suggest that Sophia has neglected any details in planning this event. The sheer volume of food devoured this week has been matchless, James. The shrimp soup was fantastic. Your wife has a talent in that regard, to be sure. She’s an excellent hostess.”

  Whitby handed his gun to a servant for reloading, while James waited for the beaters to send out another flock.

  “Who is the Frenchman, by the way?” Whitby asked. “He’s been here for all the dinners, but never stays for cigars or dancing. Is he a friend of Sophia’s?”

  “No, he’s Manderlin’s guest,” James explained.

  “I see.” Another flock flew across the sky. Both James and Whitby aimed and fired. “Kind of a strange fellow,” Whitby said. “Doesn’t talk much, only to the ladies. Not into shooting, I take it?”

  “I presume not, or he’d be here, wouldn’t he?”

  They were quiet for a few minutes, each concentrating on their shots, then Whitby lowered his gun. “Look, James, we’ve been friends for a long time, and I feel I must apologize for making presumptions about certain things. Everything turned out the way it was meant to, and I would like to put it behind us if you’re willing.”

  James gazed down at the brown grass. He had not expected this today. Nor had he let himself admit how wretched he had felt over his estrangement from his oldest friend.

  With a deep sigh, James faced Whitby. He held out his hand and they shook on it. “I’m sorry, too, my friend. I hope you weren’t...hurt by any of it.”

  “Hurt? Me? God, no. The Marriage Mart is nothing but a cutthroat competition, especially when heiresses are involved. My pride was a little damaged, that’s all.”

  Another flock went up, and they both aimed and fired.

  As they reloaded, Whitby nudged James. “I haven’t given up, you know. There’s always next Season. No doubt, another steamship full of American beauties will be making the crossing as soon as the weather turns.”

  With a smile, James regarded his friend. “And you’ll be there to greet the ship of gold?”

  Whitby raised a cunning eyebrow. “Naturally. True love awaits me, just over the blue horizon I believe. Or at least I can always hope.”

  Two guests arrived late for the final two days of shooting, so Sophia stole a moment to return to her boudoir and consider the new seating arrangement for dinner. She sat down with her leather pad, which had slots cut into it for the insertion of name cards showing who would sit where, but when Sophia came to the new guests, she wasn’t absolutely certain where they should be. She suddenly had the worst fear that she would turn the whole table into a fiasco, and some pompous peer would scream bloody murder.

  She needed Debrett’s Peerage, which assigned a number for each peer and his family members. Unfortunately, Marion preferred to keep it in her room, since like everything else, it had belonged to her first.

  Sophia left her room and went to the dowager’s boudoir. She was about to knock on the door when she heard a gut-wrenching sob. She pressed her ear to the door and listened.

  Sophia hesitated for a moment, thinking she shouldn’t intrude, but when she heard another sob, a pang of sympathy for the woman tugged at her insides.

  Sophia knocked and a long silence followed.

  Finally, Marion responded. “Who is it?”

  Sophia didn’t bother to answer, because she knew Marion would only tell her to go away. Instead, she gently pushed the door open. “It’s me. Sophia. Is everything all
right? Can I do anything for you?”

  The dowager dabbed at her eyes and sat upright in her chair. “I did not say that you could enter.”

  Sophia stood in the open doorway. “But I heard you crying, Marion. Perhaps I can help?”

  “No, you should leave. I want to be alone.”

  It would be easiest to simply back out and close the door, but Sophia lingered. Then she remembered why she had come. She stepped more fully into the room. “I came to borrow Debrett’s Peerage again. I need to change the seating at dinner.”

  “Why? Is someone leaving?” She sounded overly hopeful.

  “No, Lord Whitfield arrived this afternoon with his wife.”

  Marion cleared her throat, taking a moment to collect herself, then she slowly rose from her chair to go and retrieve the book from her desk. She handed it to Sophia, without any of her usual criticisms or carping. Her eyes were red and swollen.

  “Marion,” Sophia said softly, “please tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can be of help.”

  The dowager’s lips tightened into a thin line. “There is nothing wrong. Certainly nothing you would understand. So please leave.”

  Sophia held firm. “I can’t. Not knowing that you are suffering.”

  The dowager seemed to flinch at Sophia’s declaration, then turned away and walked to the window. “I don’t wish to talk about it.”

  Sophia wondered why Marion insisted on being so cold to everyone, when a little warmth might open up a world of happiness for her. Sophia supposed Marion had never been taught how to convey warmth toward another human being, and she had probably never been on the receiving end of it.

  Sophia moved closer. “You can trust me, you know. Whatever you tell me won’t go beyond these four walls.”

  “I have nothing to tell.”

  “Marion, I can see plainly that that’s not true.”

  The dowager remained at the window. “Why must you be so bold, Sophia? It is not becoming of a duchess.”

  “That is not important because in my heart, I am your daughter-in-law first and foremost,” Sophia said. “I am a duchess second. As your daughter-in-law, I want to help you.”

  Marion was quiet, then at last she turned and the unthinkable happened. She dropped her face into her hands and wept.

  Sophia hurried to embrace her, and the world seemed to shift under her feet as she held her mother-in-law and felt the wracking sobs shake her. Sophia rubbed Marion’s back and whispered soothing things.

  After a moment, Marion calmed and backed away. She kept her eyes downcast, as if she were ashamed of her emotions, and blew her nose into a handkerchief. “I apologize. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “There’s nothing to apologize for,” Sophia replied. “Something has upset you. What is it?”

  Eyes still downcast, she shook her head, refusing to say. Sophia took hold of her hand, led her to the bed, and sat down beside her. “Obviously, there is no one here you can talk to. Please let me be the one. I can help. I know I can.”

  “How can you possibly help?” she said weakly. “I have kept a secret, and I cannot reveal it. To anyone.”

  “But you must, for your own peace of mind. You must have someone on your side. You must have at least one true friend in your life, someone you feel you can trust, even if all they ever do is provide a sympathetic ear.”

  Marion again shook her head at Sophia, as if she couldn’t believe any of what she was saying.

  “Is there no one you trust?”

  Marion stood up and walked away again. Sophia supposed it was her habit to walk away, to avoid intimacy—a lifetime habit, hard to break.

  Sophia sat on the bed, waiting patiently for Marion’s reply. The dowager paced the room for a moment or two, then finally returned to sit on the edge of the bed. “There is something that no one knows, not even James.”

  Sophia swallowed uneasily. “What is it, Marion?”

  She paused for a long, electrified moment.

  “He is not the true heir to this dukedom.”

  Chapter 22

  Sophia’s stomach coiled nauseatingly. She had expected something trivial, like an embarrassing error in protocol during the shooting party, or a minor scandal. Perhaps one of the guests had been carrying on an improper affair with another guest. But this....

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. There is a secret in our past, and I’ve spent all my life fighting to keep it from the world.”

  “What is it?”

  Marion bowed her head. “It was all because of my husband, Henry. It’s his fault this has happened. His fault we are all in dire straits.” She met Sophia’s gaze. “I was not his first wife.”

  Sophia tried to contemplate what this meant. “You mean he had a child from his first marriage?”

  “Yes. A son. But he didn’t know that when he divorced her. He’d gone to live in France when he was a younger man, and he married Genevieve, a woman no one would have approved of. She was an actress, and she performed in one of those vulgar penny gaffs. Knowing Henry, he probably married her just to spite his own father, for believe me, that man was no saint.”

  Sophia squeezed Marion’s hand and rubbed the back of it.

  “At any rate, Henry never told her he was a duke, nor did he tell anyone from England that he had become a husband. He all but changed his identity and lived another life. He married Genevieve in Paris where they lived in a horrid place in the worst part of the city, but when he found out he’d inherited his title he returned to London, divorced her and married me very quickly.

  “I don’t think Genevieve was sorry to see him go because he was a violent man, and that’s why she never told him about the son. It was years later that she discovered who he was, but by that time she was running a brothel and he, of course, didn’t wish to bring that kind of scandal back home, where his respectable English son James was being groomed to inherit. So, he began a costly affair with her, which was half-blackmail, half-sickening lust and power struggles. That’s where all our money went, to keep her quiet.”

  Marion began to weep again. “After Henry died, I didn’t hear from her, but she wrote to me not long ago insisting that I continue to support her financially, or she would reveal her son to the world. I just received this telegram, asking for more by the end of the week.”

  “But blackmail is not legal,” Sophia said, taking the telegram from Marion and reading it for herself.

  “What does that matter if the truth gets out? Paying her what she asks for is the only way I can keep James from losing everything. Oh, I wish she would just disappear!”

  Sophia squeezed Marion’s hand again. “Are you sure you shouldn’t tell James about this? He might be able to do something. Perhaps there’s a way. Maybe their marriage wasn’t legal in the first place. You say she didn’t know Henry was a duke. Did he use a false name? Because that could render the marriage contract void.”

  “He used his family name. I’ve seen the marriage certificate. I looked into it years ago. They were legally married.”

  “But why wouldn’t she just come and claim her son’s birthright? Why insist that you pay her? It sounds suspicious to me.”

  “She only wants money or jewels, so she can live a life of luxury and continue to operate as a...businesswoman.”

  Sophia shook her head. “You really should tell James.”

  “No. I’ve worked all my life to protect him from this filth, and I will not see him lose what belongs to him. He has a certain sense of justice, and I fear he might....” She didn’t finish.

  “You fear he might give the dukedom to his half-brother?”

  “He might.”

  Sophia stood up and began to pace the room. “But it would at least be his choice.”

  Marion’s face reddened. “You promised me you would keep this between us, Sophia.” />
  “Yes, I know, but—”

  Marion rose and approached her. “You promised, Sophia. I would never have told you any of this if you hadn’t convinced me that I could trust you.”

  What was Sophia to do? Keep this secret from her husband in order to win the approval of her mother-in-law, who had never been anything but hateful toward her? What if James found out?

  But perhaps this was why Marion had been so hateful all her life—because she had no one to confide in, no one to trust. How could anyone be anything but hateful without ever knowing true love?

  With pleading, vulnerable eyes, Marion watched her and waited.

  Debrett’s Peerage sat on the desk. Sophia’s duties as hostess were waiting.

  She went to Marion and held both her hands. “I will keep your secret for now, but I will also try to help somehow.” Perhaps, once Sophia proved to Marion that it was better to trust people than to shut them out, Marion might decide to trust James, too. Sophia would work on that...getting Marion to tell James. “You were right to have told me.”

  The desperation in Marion’s eyes dimmed slightly. She leaned in and hugged Sophia, who tried not to gasp at the surprising, unexpected gesture from this cold, unfeeling woman.

  Marion stepped back. “There is one thing more.”

  One thing more? What else could there possibly be after the last shocking torrent of scandal?

  “The brother that James doesn’t know about.... His name is Pierre and he’s here, at our house party. It’s Pierre Billaud.”

  After tea, the guests took an evening stroll through the formal gardens, then retired to their chambers to dress for dinner. Sophia was late getting back to her rooms, as she had to converse with Mrs. Mulley (fully recovered after her fall) about the turtle soup and remind her that four of the guests were strongly averse to onions. All this, while her mind was still reeling over what Marion had divulged. Pierre Billaud was James’s half-brother?

  She recalled the many times she had socialized with Monsieur Billaud over the past few days. He had done nothing to suggest that he had any sinister ulterior motives in mind. There had been no threats from him, no devious looks. There had only been the telegram from Madame La Roux, demanding another payment.