by Diana Bold
“Tomorrow,” her father repeated. “I want this situation resolved as quickly as possible. There has been far too much speculation already.”
DYLAN SPENT THE ENTIRE day holed up in his rented rooms at Mrs. Tweed’s. Loretta had given him until the end of the week to vacate the premises. He’d thanked her for the extra time and tried to ignore the pity in her eyes.
Then he locked the door and returned to his bottle, determined to remain here and castigate himself for his mistakes until the very last moment. Tomorrow, he intended to pay one last call on his father and then leave for Scotland.
Until then, he planned to wallow in his misery.
He hadn’t been sleeping well. Whenever he managed to drift off for a few minutes, nightmares plagued him. Usually, he managed to keep all thoughts of the war buried, but the events of the past few days had freed his demons.
Despite the dulling haze of alcohol, he’d come to the realization that it was time to leave London and all thoughts of Lady Natalia Sinclair far behind him. What good did it do to brood about it, when she’d told him to his face she wished she’d never met him?
And Aldabaran called to him.
Still, he couldn’t help thinking of the way she’d held him, or the taste of her mouth against his. She’d offered him a soft sweet haven from the harsh realities of life, made him yearn for things he’d never known existed. She’d said she loved him. Perhaps she’d even meant it, at least until she’d realized he betrayed her.
His self-pitying thoughts ground to a halt when someone knocked on his door. He rose unsteadily, made his way across the room, and muttered profanities beneath his breath as he struggled with the lock. At last, he managed to release the latch, but before he could think ahead to the next step, the door opened from outside.
Stunned, he found himself staring at the last person he’d ever expected to visit his humble abode—the Duchess of Clayton.
“Your Grace. What the devil are you doing here?”
Clarice shook her blond head and entered the room, shutting the door. She stared at him for a long, tense moment, and then wrinkled her pert little nose. “I’ve come to discuss a matter of great importance with you, Captain Blake. Unfortunately, you don’t seem to be in any condition to discuss anything.”
Dylan grabbed the nearest chair, cleared it of a pile of dirty laundry, and shoved it in her direction. “Please. Sit down. Can I offer you a drink?”
If there was one thing he had plenty of, it was gin. As he spoke, he poured himself another shot. The shock of her visit had sobered him to an alarming extent.
“No, thank you.” The duchess settled herself on the edge of the proffered chair, her posture painfully perfect. Dylan took the seat across from her, his heart pounding as he saw a way to make amends.
“I don’t know what you want from me. But I’ll do it. Whenever you want. As long as you promise to tell Natalia I never meant to hurt her. Please, just let her know that when I kissed her, I wasn’t even thinking about that infernal bet.”
“Do you love her, Dylan?”
Clarice’s soft question sucker-punched him, forced him to examine the emotions he’d been unwilling or unable to name. Self-preservation took over and he managed a casual shrug. “I care for her. Far more than I’ve ever cared for any other woman.” He couldn’t bring himself to admit any more than that. Not as things stood.
“Well, I suppose that will have to do.”
“Why don’t you get to the point, Clarice?” Under any other circumstances, he never would have presumed to call the duchess by her given name, but she had initiated the intimacy of informal address. He poured himself another shot, but she put her hand over the glass and barred him from drinking it.
“Drinking yourself into oblivion won’t solve anything. Besides, you’ll need all your wits about you if you’re going to be of any help to Natalia.”
Dylan felt a glimmer of anger. “If you’re here to get me to convince my brother to marry her, you can forget it. Michael’s not talking to me.”
“That’s not why I’m here.” Clarice closed her eyes for a brief moment, as though praying for patience. “The duke has already spoken to Viscount Sherbourne. Your brother refuses to wed Natalia.”
Dylan wasn’t surprised. Michael would hate to be anyone’s second choice. He had so little experience, after all. “Surely, the duke can find another suitable match. It isn’t as though everyone in London knows what happened.”
Clarice leaned forward. “That’s exactly what it’s like. Your brother and the duke weren’t the only ones who followed you out to the garden. Lord Jonathan Taylor was there as well. He’s told everyone who will listen how thoroughly you compromised my stepdaughter.”
“What a bloody mess I’ve made of everything.” Dylan put his head in his hands. His stomach clenched with nausea as he realized the full extent of the damage he’d caused.
“Yes,” Clarice agreed. “How do you plan to fix it?”
“What can I do? Natalia hates me, and the duke won’t let me near her to change her mind.”
His alcohol-soaked brain formulated a sudden plan to hunt down Jonathan Taylor and tear him limb from limb. Natalia might not appreciate the gesture, but it would make him feel ever so much better.
“Well... The duke is running out of options.” She surprised Dylan by grabbing his drink and downing it herself. “Natalia is furious with you, it’s true. But she spoke to me before all of this happened, and I know how much she cares for you.”
She might be telling the truth, but if so, Natalia had changed her mind during those last few minutes in the garden. “I wish I’d never met you.” Those words haunted him, echoed in his head until he thought he’d go mad.
“You must act quickly,” she continued. “Or she’ll be forced to marry Prince Nikolai Ivanovich.”
“Ivanovich?” The mere sound of the Russian’s name sent a chill down Dylan’s spine. Bloody hell. Ivanovich was the Russian prince Natalia was to marry?
Dylan had fought opposite Prince Nikolai at Balaclava. In fact, Ivanovich had delivered the saber wound that almost killed him.
Clarice nodded. “Have you heard of him? I believe he was a general in the Russian army.”
“Yes, I know of him.” He got up and walked across the room to where his Victoria Cross rested on a bed of crushed velvet in a small ivory box. He’d never felt he deserved the medal, and his current situation compounded his sense of worthlessness. He closed the box with a snap. “The man is a monster. He won’t be happy until he’s crushed Natalia’s spirit.”
“I haven’t met him yet, but Natalia told me the same thing. She’s trying to be brave, but Prince Nikolai terrifies her. She says he’s cold and cruel. She’s afraid he’ll punish her for this gossip once he hears about it.”
“Over my dead body.” Anger filled Dylan when he thought of Natalia at Prince Nikolai’s mercy. He couldn’t bear for Natalia to pay for his mistakes. “I won’t allow Ivanovich anywhere near her.” He’d follow them to Russia if need be, rip the bastard’s heart out with his bare hands...
“Then you must marry Natalia yourself.” Clarice’s voice brooked no discussion. “You were the one who compromised her. If you married her, the gossips will find something else to talk about.”
“I’d like nothing more.” Dylan gave a humorless laugh. “I asked her to marry me. She said she wished she’d never met me.”
“She had good reason for those angry words, don’t you think?”
“I never meant—” Dylan tried to defend himself, but Clarice held up her hand, cutting him off.
“Things have changed. I think she could be persuaded now that her choices are so limited. She must marry either you or the Russian.”
“So, I’m the lesser of two evils?” Dylan smiled. Hardly flattering, but it was something. It was a chance. He could accept that.
“We’ll see.” Clarice returned his smile. Apparently, he’d managed to win her over. “Natalia has agreed to let you plead you
r case before she makes her final decision. You’re welcome to come over tomorrow evening and try to do so, but only if you sober up.” She wrinkled her brow. “And bathe. And shave.”
“Of course.” Dylan ran his hand over his beard-stubbled chin, shamed and embarrassed by the depths to which he had sunk during the last two days. Natalia’s rejection had hit him harder than anything in recent memory, even his father’s final repudiation.
“Natalia and I are very close.” Clarice leaned forward, her tone confiding. “The duke had planned to come himself, but I convinced him to let me do so in his stead. I wanted to see for myself if you are worthy of her.”
Dylan eyed the duchess cautiously. “And what have you decided”
“You’re not, of course. But in my opinion, no man ever could be.” Clarice stood abruptly, handing him the empty glass. “Seriously, I think you care for her more than you want to admit. Don’t prove me wrong, Captain Blake.”
“I won’t,” Dylan vowed, as he saw her to the door. He only hoped Natalia would give him the second chance he needed to keep his promise.
Chapter Thirteen
“Here you are! I’ve been looking for you for hours.”
Natalia looked up from her embroidery to find Clarice in the doorway of the cozy little parlor where she’d taken refuge. For the first time ever, Natalia was less than happy to see her stepmother.
She wanted to be alone with her thoughts and had been sitting in near darkness for hours. Only the roaring fire and a small gas lamp shed light on her embroidery, but it didn’t matter. Her fingers worked independently of her mind as she tried to make the most important decision of her life.
“I wanted to be by myself for a while.” Hopefully, Clarice would get the hint and go away.
Clarice grinned, turned on another lamp, and settled in the chair across from her. “You shouldn’t do needlework in the dark. You’ll ruin your eyes.”
Natalia laughed. “I think poor eyesight is the least of my present worries.”
“You may have a point.” With a sigh, Clarice relaxed into an uncharacteristic slouch. “Have you made up your mind?”
Natalia stabbed the needle through the material with excessive force. “How can I make such a decision without hearing what both men have to say? It’s been years since I saw Prince Nikolai. Perhaps Father is right and my childish opinions of him were wrong. He might be completely suitable.”
“Children are usually far more perceptive than adults,” Clarice pointed out. “And haven’t you wondered why Prince Nikolai is so determined to marry you? The man is twenty years older than you and hasn’t seen you since you were a child. Something is wrong with this situation.”
“A lot of things are wrong with the situation.” Natalia realized she’d lost all sense of the design and tossed the fabric away. “Prince Nikolai’s intentions are no mystery. I imagine he wants my dowry, like all the others.”
Clarice shook her head. “It can’t be that. He’s got more than enough money of his own.”
“Really?” For the first time, Natalia actually considered the Russian. “Do you think it’s possible he might want me for myself?”
“How could he? He doesn’t even know you. He has no idea what kind of woman you’ve become.”
Natalia blinked and tried to hold back a sudden rush of tears. Clarice had a point, but that didn’t stop the disappointment. Was it too much to ask, that someone might love her for something besides that bloody money?
“Oh, Natalia. You’re being so dramatic.” Despite her harsh words, Clarice leaned forward and squeezed Natalia’s hand. “Quit feeling sorry for yourself because you’re an heiress. I was one, too, you know. But unlike you, I always considered my dowry a blessing.”
“A blessing?” Natalia gave an unladylike snort. “Didn’t you ever find that the money defined you, kept everyone from seeing who you truly were?”
“No, I never felt that way.” Clarice met Natalia’s gaze sadly. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who put such a low value on what you have to offer. Why is that, do you think? What happened to make you think no one could ever love you for yourself?”
Clarice’s words made Natalia wonder that herself. When had she started thinking no one would ever want her for anything except her fortune?
“I suppose it must’ve been in school. The other girls were so cruel. There was one... Amelia Lansdowne. She told me it didn’t matter what I looked like. She said I could be the ugliest girl in the world—implied I was—and all the men would still want to marry me.”
“Amelia Lansdowne?” Clarice shook her head and gave a small incredulous laugh. “Whatever made you listen to anything that little cat had to say? Surely, you realize she was just jealous?”
Natalia flinched. Clarice had managed to make her worst fears seem so ridiculous. “My father has never loved me. All my life, he’s made it clear he wishes I’d been a boy. He wants an heir more than anything.”
“Nonsense. The duke loves you a great deal. He’s just not very good at showing it.” Clarice’s voice filled with disdainful challenge. “You’ll have to do better than this, darling. So far, all you’ve done is make me wonder why I like you so much.”
Natalia sank back in her chair, feeling as though she been slapped. “Do I really sound that pathetic?”
“You have a family who loves you. You’re smart. You’re witty. You have such luminous unusual beauty.” Clarice ticked off each point on her fingers as she went. “Yet all you can do is whine about how unfair it is that your father is giving you a half-a-million-pound dowry.”
Well, when you look at it that way...
“I suppose I have acted a little bit ungrateful,” Natalia conceded, shamed.
“I’m not trying to hurt you.” Clarice squeezed her hand. “I’m just trying to show you there’s far more to you than you think.”
Natalia leaned forward and hugged her stepmother tightly. “You’re such a good friend. I understand what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate it. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“I just want you to be happy.” Clarice hugged her in return and then pulled back. Unshed tears filled her bright eyes, but she managed a smile. “I went to see your Captain Blake today.”
“You did?” Natalia stared at Clarice in stunned surprise, all her previous defensiveness rushing back. “Why on earth did you do that?”
“I wanted a chance to talk to him myself. To see if he truly cared for you, or if you are right, and it was only the money that interested him.”
“What did you decide?” Natalia feared the answer. Had Clarice been preparing her for bad news?
A mysterious smile played at the corner of Clarice’s mouth. With a sinking heart, Natalia realized Dylan had managed to charm her stepmother. “The man is a wreck. He looks as though he hasn’t slept in days. He’s been drinking heavily, and the first thing he did was beg me to tell you he never meant to hurt you. He said, ‘Tell her when I kissed her, I wasn’t even thinking about that infernal bet.’”
Natalia closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the picture Clarice painted. She wanted to believe Dylan was devastated about losing her. She wanted to believe it more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.
Clarice stood and brushed her fingertips lightly over Natalia’s cheek. “I’ll leave you alone. I know you have a lot to think about.”
By the time Natalia opened her eyes, Clarice had reached the door. “Wait,” she called, almost frantically. “What would you do, Clarice? What would you do if you were me?”
“I’d marry the man I loved.” Clarice gave her a gentle smile. “And then I’d do everything in my power to make him love me in return.”
Long after Clarice left, Natalia stared into the dying flames in the grate. Until tonight, she’d always thought of herself as an unselfish and caring person. But Clarice had shown her another side of herself, and she hated what she’d seen. She had a lot of growing up to do, a lot of things to learn.
How could she expect any man to love her, when she didn’t even love herself?
WHEN DYLAN ARRIVED at the Duke of Clayton’s townhouse the next evening, the butler led him to an elegant reception room on the first floor. “His Grace will be with you shortly.”
Dylan sighed moodily, dreading his coming conversation with Natalia’s father. He’d hoped to talk to Natalia first. Not that he blamed the duke for putting him through the wringer. He supposed he should be grateful Clayton was considering the marriage at all.
Nearly half an hour passed before the duke finally entered the room. Dylan did his best to hide his annoyance. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
The duke frowned at Dylan with obvious distaste. “Captain Blake.”
Dylan felt like a recalcitrant schoolboy who had been called in to face the headmaster. He forced himself to remember he’d given the duke plenty of reason not to trust him.
“Thank you for allowing me this opportunity to try to change Lady Natalia’s mind. I appreciate it more than you could ever know.” When the duke continued to frown, Dylan swallowed and tried again. “I understand your misgivings, but I assure you, your daughter means a great deal to me. I would never hurt her.”
“You already hurt her. You broke her heart and destroyed her reputation. Those hardly seem like the actions of a man who cares about a woman.”
Dylan flushed and looked away, unable to hold the duke’s penetrating gaze. “I’ve made some grave mistakes. But I plan to spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to her... If you’ll let me.”
The duke sighed. “You give me little choice. My only other option is to send Natalia to Russia, to marry one of her Ivanovich cousins. And although that was my original plan, I find that I can’t bear the thought of having her so far away.”
“You’re making the right choice,” Dylan told the older man. “Nikolai Ivanovich is a cruel, heartless bastard. Eventually, he would hear about the scandal. I’m afraid he’d make Natalia’s life a living hell if he felt you’d deceived him.”
