“Even so, I shall speak with him.” Beatrice removed her bonnet and the expression on her face resembled a judge about to sentence a prisoner to death.
“I won’t do it,” Victoria interrupted. “If you demand that he marry me, I’ll say no.”
She knew what she was—a fearful coward of a woman who would only draw resentment from Jonathan if he were forced to wed her. And though the past few weeks had reawakened her dreams, she couldn’t bear to have him despise her.
“And what of us?” her mother countered. “Don’t you care what others will say about you, and the shame it will bring upon your father?”
Considering the ladies’ undergarments she was making, Victoria doubted if her compromised position was even worth noting. “Let Mr. Nottoway leave,” she insisted. “And none of us will say anything more about it. All will go on as it did before.”
“I don’t understand you,” Beatrice said quietly. “Today was the first time I’ve ever seen you set foot outside that door. Surely, he means something to you.”
He means enough to me that I will set him free, Victoria thought. The idea of forcing Jonathan to wed her was impossible.
“I won’t marry him,” she insisted again. “So put it from your mind.”
With that, she left the kitchen, retreating to her room. On the way past the stairs, she saw Jonathan leaning against the doorframe of the parlor. His dark blond hair was rumpled, and his green eyes met hers with the look of a man who wanted to follow her up those stairs.
Victoria’s hands curled against the banister, feeling as if he could see right through her veiled emotions.
“It will be all right,” she said quietly. “I’ve told her that nothing happened between us.”
The dark look in his eyes flared. “Really.” Then she saw his expression transform from annoyance to a look of ruthless determination she hadn’t seen before. As if he had his own intentions and she would have no say in them.
Startled by his sudden change, she walked up the staircase, fully aware of his eyes watching. And she had no idea what he planned to do now.
Jonathan had no doubt that Lady Lanfordshire would demand marriage to her daughter. He was prepared for her arguments, but it was Victoria’s calm response that dug into his mood. She’d promised to smooth matters over, to behave as if nothing had happened.
Something had happened. And he didn’t want to walk away from her, leaving her behind. The moment they’d shared last night had played over and over in his mind, splintering his conscience. He’d taken advantage of her innocence, touching her in a way only a husband should.
But worse was the dark sense of possession. He wanted no one else to share Victoria’s bed, and the thought of another man taking her intimately sent a haze of anger through him.
He needed a wife and heirs. It was a fact he couldn’t avoid, and though he already knew the sort of woman he was supposed to wed, he’d shied away from those matrimonial chains for years. He didn’t want a wife who would lie on her back and think of ways to spend all of his money.
He wanted Victoria.
He wanted a woman who would hold tightly to him, knowing he would keep her safe. He wanted to see her smile, to walk beside her until she was able to overcome her fear.
She wouldn’t want the life he led; he knew that. But there were other ways. He had amassed enough wealth now that he was nearly the richest man in England. If he wanted to keep his duchess to himself, isolating her from the others, then by God, he could do so. The more he thought of it, the more his mind pulled together possibilities. He had endless estates throughout England and abroad. When the war ended, she might enjoy living in Italy or somewhere on the Mediterranean where she could enjoy the sunlight and the sea.
He rather liked the idea of an isolated home where no one could hurt her. Where he could put aside his rank and responsibilities and simply be himself.
She would refuse the marriage, if he asked. Especially if she learned he was a duke. But he hadn’t acquired wealth by kindness or softhearted ways. He knew how to get what he wanted, by any means necessary. And though it might require forcing her hand, he didn’t care. He would do what was necessary to have her.
When Lady Lanfordshire entered the parlor, he cut off her opening argument. “I intend to marry her.”
The relief in her eyes was immediate. “Do you?”
He gestured for her to sit down, taking command of the situation. Keeping his voice low, he began with his trump card. “I am Jonathan Nottoway, the Duke of Worthingstone.”
Although he saw the surprise pass over her face, to her credit, Victoria’s mother kept her composure. “And what brings you to Scotland, Your Grace?”
“A land acquisition. One that went badly, I’m afraid.” He outlined the events of the past few weeks, ending with the revelation “Your daughter does not know of my title. I thought it best to keep it from her. Even so, I am in need of a wife, and it was”—Jonathan paused, trying to find the right words—“a welcome change to become acquainted with a woman who thought I was an ordinary man.”
The matron’s face softened. “You must be accustomed to women admiring you for your rank instead of your person.”
No, they’d admired him for his money.
“Quite so.” He cast another glance toward the hallway. “I have become friends with Miss Andrews, and I believe she and I would get along well enough. Though I’d rather keep my rank from her until after we are wed, given her fears.”
Lady Lanfordshire nodded, folding her gloved hands in her lap. “Your instincts are correct. While it is a great honor, Victoria would be overwhelmed at the prospect of becoming a duchess.” Raising her chin, she added, “But I believe she would make a very good wife. And in time, she would adapt to her new circumstances.”
From her willingness to accept him, either Lady Lanfordshire knew nothing of the scandal surrounding his parents, or she didn’t care. He suspected the former, and decided there was no reason to enlighten her. They were his father’s sins, after all.
“Like you, I believe Miss Andrews would eventually settle in.” He regarded her directly. “I do not require a dowry from her. I ask only that she conduct herself as a proper wife.”
He didn’t believe there would ever come a time when Victoria would want to be a duchess.
“You should know that Victoria’s father is a peer,” Lady Lanfordshire added. “My husband inherited the title of baron when his elder brother passed on. He is now Colonel Lord Lanfordshire.”
It would indeed make matters easier, though as the daughter of a lesser peer, others might still cast aspersions on her upbringing. “Lady Lanfordshire,” he offered, “as I cannot ask Lord Lanfordshire for his daughter’s hand, I would ask your permission to wed her.”
“You have it.” She gave a nod. “So long as you do not mistreat her or make her unhappy.” A furtive smile crossed her face. “I want what is best for her.”
He appreciated the woman’s candor, particularly her willingness to carry on his deception a little longer. “I will wed her here, in Scotland,” he said. “It would be best if we return to London or one of my other estates only after we are already married.”
Beatrice sobered. “Do you think you can convince her to marry you?” She sent him an apologetic look. “I fear she might refuse.”
There was little doubt of that. But he shrugged and said, “I believe I know of a way. It is not particularly kind, but it will work.” He gave her the details of the arrangement, and Lady Lanfordshire laughed.
“You are correct, Your Grace. She may not like your methods, but I believe she will indeed agree to your proposal.”
Chapter Twelve
“WHY WOULD you do this?” Victoria demanded, ripping out a seam in a short length of silk.
“Because the crofters need a more permanent place to live,” Jonathan answered. “Don’t you agree?”
“This isn’t right, and you know it.” She threaded her needle, wishing she could take a
pair of scissors and release her anger upon the fabric. Instead, she was forced to be careful with the delicate panel.
“Marry me, and I will grant them permission to return to Eiloch Hill,” he said. “They may rebuild their homes with wood from my forests or stone, as they prefer. It’s a beneficial solution.”
She tossed aside the needle and stood up, unable to keep up the pretense of sewing. “Beneficial to whom? Not I.”
With long strides, she crossed over to the window on the far side of the dining room. With her hands pressed to the glass, she fought against the choking anger. He was manipulating her to yield to his whims, as if the past few weeks had meant nothing at all.
“I will respect your wishes, of course.” His voice was cool and calculating. “But what do you suppose will happen to the refugees when your father learns they are here?”
She already knew the answer. The Colonel would force them to go.
“I am offering them a place to stay, for your sake,” Jonathan continued. “All I ask in return is that you become my wife.”
“But why me? We hardly know each other.”
From behind her, quiet footsteps approached. She felt his presence before he spoke, and the heat of his body made her yearn to lean back against him. His hands came up to her shoulders, and she felt his mouth near her ear. Shivers erupted against her skin when he spoke.
“I need heirs,” he admitted. “And I’d rather have a wife who would welcome my attentions in her bed.”
A rush of heat poured through her. She stood with her back to him, and he pulled her into a closer embrace, his arms crossed over her breasts. She already knew what it was to be touched by this man, and she did want more.
To stall from giving him an answer, she asked, “Heirs to what?”
He hesitated for a brief moment. “To my lands and estates.”
She’d never questioned him about his lands, though she’d guessed he was likely a lesser peer, like her father. “Even if I did agree to wed you, for the sake of the crofters,” she whispered, “I can’t leave this place. You know that.”
“You walked outside, just this morning.”
“Only because I was holding on to you.” She couldn’t see it as a triumph, for she’d barely made it past the door. “You ought to have a wife who’s not such a coward.”
“Another wife would have let me bleed to death. She wouldn’t have stitched me up when I was shot.”
Victoria stepped free of his embrace and turned to face him. “You aren’t marrying me for the right reasons. And I don’t believe you’ll turn your back on those people just because I refuse you.”
His expression turned as cold as the frost outside. “I have dozens of estates, Miss Andrews, from here to Italy. Their fate is of no concern to me—only to you.”
He moved back from her, limping slightly on his bad leg. “I’ve given you a choice. You may refuse to wed me, if that’s your wish, but I won’t make the offer again. The crofters can go live anywhere else in Scotland, and I’ll lose no sleep over their fate.” Giving her a slight bow, he turned his back and left her alone.
Victoria returned to the table, reaching for her needle and thimble. Normally the act of sewing brought her peace, but today it did nothing at all. In frustration, she gathered up the pieces and returned them to her basket.
How could he make such a demand? Yes, she wanted the life of a normal woman. Yes, she wanted a husband and children of her own. But it had always been a daydream, never something within her reach.
It was fear that held her back. Fear that if she dared to reach for the dream, he would be disappointed in her. She couldn’t wed a man like Jonathan and remain behind closed doors.
Then, too, she’d watched her parents grow further apart over the years until they seemed hardly more than acquaintances. Her father was kind to her mother, but she knew he’d stopped writing letters. Time had frayed the edges of their marriage, and though Beatrice had tried to hide her feelings from her daughters, Victoria had seen it weigh upon her mother’s spirits.
She didn’t want the same thing to happen to her, nor did she want Jonathan to look upon her with regret or disappointment.
But you care about him, her heart insisted. You want to live with him and share his life.
God help her, it was true. But he was also keeping secrets from her. She’d never pried, never asked more about who he was or how much wealth he possessed. And yet, she sensed he had something to hide.
She walked away from the dining room, the house growing brighter in the afternoon sun. Her mother had gone to fetch Mrs. Larson and Mr. MacKinloch, believing that Victoria was settling her own betrothal in her absence.
Anger rose up within her that Jonathan would dare to put other people’s lives in jeopardy over this. She strode over to the door, letting the frustration well up inside her until she was ready to strike out at the wooden panel out of rage.
She sensed Jonathan watching her from the parlor door. His presence was palpable from the shadows, as if he didn’t believe she was capable of walking outside alone. Yes, she’d taken her first step beyond the door this morning. In his arms, she’d managed to look upon the face of her nightmare.
With her palms against the wood, she heard him take a few steps toward her. “Do you want me to walk out with you?”
“No.” She was so angry with him right now, she wanted him nowhere near her. The urge to prove to him that she did possess the strength to face her fear was gaining a foothold. She didn’t need him to hold her hands like a small child. She reached for the doorknob, her heart pounding so fast, she no longer knew if it was fury or fear.
“Are you certain?” There was no judgment in his voice, only a quiet offer.
In an act of defiance, she flung the door open, heedless of the freezing air. Snow swirled around her, but she held back the terror and took the step alone.
It was so cold, her lungs burned from the frigid air. The hem of her dress grew sodden in the snow, but she took a second step, then another.
With a glance behind her, she saw Jonathan watching. There was a slight smile on his face, but she wasn’t at all pleased by it.
“You see? I knew you had it in you.” There was pride in his voice, but it irritated her. The anger grew hotter, rising within her skin with a force she’d never imagined. She wasn’t an object to be collected like another piece of property. He couldn’t simply buy her, use her for his heirs, and discard her.
His marriage offer had shown her a darker side to him, one that she didn’t like at all. Did he honestly believe she would want to wed him after he’d made such a condition? The Scottish refugees were suffering in such cold, and if she’d had any control over their fates, she’d have allowed them to build houses immediately. It was wrong for children to be sleeping inside a barn, regardless of the circumstances.
“You should come inside,” he said. “It’s getting colder outside.”
“And what about the people living in weather like this?” she demanded. “Huddled in tents, trying to keep a fire going?”
“You hold the power to change their fate,” he reminded her.
His answer was like a match, flaring the oil of her anger into a fiery blaze. Victoria marched into the nearest drift, plunging her hand within it. Balling up the snow tightly in her palms, she flung it at his face. The snowball exploded against his cheek. “Don’t you ever demand that I marry you to keep other people from suffering.”
His amusement vanished. For a horrified moment, she couldn’t believe what she’d just done.
Jonathan stared at her, slowly brushing off the snow from his cheek. Gone was the proud gentleman and in his place stood a man with vengeance on his mind. He reached down and picked up a handful of snow, molding it in his palms.
“Don’t you dare,” she warned.
“You started it.” He advanced upon her, and she grasped her skirts, trying to get away. The deep snow caught at her until she nearly lost a shoe in the drifts. Though she strug
gled to escape, he was upon her in seconds.
“Now, then.” His voice turned dangerous, his expression predatory. “What shall I do with this?” He held up the snowball, catching her around the waist.
“I can think of a good place for it,” she shot back.
In response, he took the snow and crushed it against the back of her neck, the freezing droplets sliding down her gown. She let out a shriek, trying to push his hands away.
But then his warm mouth was upon her neck, replacing the cold snow with his heated kiss. The freezing flakes melted against her skin, and her body reacted violently to the sensuality of his tongue licking away the droplets of water.
His strong arms held her captive while he leaned in. The shock of hot and cold made her gasp. He pulled her hips against his, and she could feel his arousal against the juncture of her thighs.
“Was this what you wanted to start?” he demanded. He kissed her hard, his hands pushing past the pins of her hair, fusing their mouths together. She was drowning against him, helpless to do anything except kiss him back. His tongue entered her mouth while he gripped her hips, sending a ripple of sensation between her legs.
It was both a surrender and an empowerment. Her mouth was upon his, her tongue mingling with the heat of him, while he rocked against her.
“I want you,” he whispered harshly. “I want to take you upstairs and see every inch of your bare skin. And when I pleasure you, I want to feel you clenching me inside you.”
His erotic words spun a vision she could hardly imagine. But a part of her was broken, for not once had he mentioned love.
“What is your answer?” he demanded. “Are you going to marry me?”
She said nothing, burying her face against his chest as he helped her out of the snow. There was no choice in this. He held the power to give the crofters a permanent place to live, a shelter where the Earl of Strathland couldn’t harm them. She only had to sell herself.
Undone By The Duke Page 19
