The Duke Redemption

by Grace Callaway

  The true surprise had come from the fact that Beatrice Brown—whom he’d pictured as a prune-faced spinster, cackling as she penned her savage missives—was the most stunning female he’d ever met. No scar could dim a beauty as rare as hers.

  She had bone structure that would make a sculptor weep and eyes…God, her eyes. They weren’t blue, as he’d initially guessed, but a remarkable shade of lavender. The color was as unique as she was. Paired with her lustrous white-gold hair, she looked exactly like the angel he’d called her. And the other parts of her, encased in a severe plum velvet riding habit…well, he knew from experience that they could indeed transport a man to heaven.

  Just thinking about their lovemaking brought a rush of heat to his groin…and an uneasy twinge to his conscience. He’d had difficulty falling asleep the night before. Staring up at the crack in the inn’s ceiling, he’d mentally reviewed the cues he’d picked up on. How her kiss, while passionate, had held the flavor of innocence. How surprised she’d seemed by her own responses.

  How incredibly snug her pussy had been.

  At the memory of that lush, exquisite constriction, he swallowed. What was her degree of experience exactly? Surely no maiden would have gone to a masquerade and offered up her virginity to a stranger. And yet…

  He could not ignore the uneasy feeling in his gut. He had to know whether or not she’d been an innocent. For years, he’d striven to redeem himself for his early mistakes—to earn back the honor he’d lost during his days as a selfish, reckless rake. The notion that he might have regressed to his old ways was appalling and not something he could condone.

  If he had indeed compromised a chaste female, he would do the right thing. His code of honor demanded that he make an offer of marriage. Whether she—or he—wanted it was irrelevant. When you took a lady’s virginity, you owed her the protection of your name: that was how a gentleman conducted himself.

  Reaching the back fence, the farthest point from the cottage, Miss Brown turned abruptly. Sunshine filtered through the bowers of the apple trees, dappling her lovely features.

  “Mr. Murray, you and I have business to discuss,” she declared.

  Was it perverse of him to be aroused by her directness? In a society that valued demure females, he’d always admired women who knew their own mind and went after what they wanted. Even at the masquerade, he’d been drawn to her lack of coyness, her determination to take the bull by the horns…or, more precisely, him by his cock.

  Stop thinking about her and your cock in the same sentence, he chided himself.

  “Indeed, we do.” He decided to return the favor of her directness. “I know that you and I met two nights ago, Miss Brown. At the masquerade.”

  Beneath the brim of her bonnet, she paled. She did not lose her composure, however. She clasped her hands in front of her, her gaze steady. “I see.”

  “I did not know your identity at the time. But given our negotiations concerning your property, this rendezvous of ours obviously complicates matters.”

  Her glorious eyes narrowed. “In what way?”

  “I do not, as a rule, mix personal and business matters. Bad form and all that.” He cleared his throat, trying to think of the most courteous way to ask the question that no gentleman ought to ask of a lady…and that, as a gentleman, he had to ask. “Given that we have, ahem, blurred the lines between work and play, we must face the consequences. To wit, there is something I must say to you. Something that concerns both of our futures.”

  “I know what you want.”

  “Do you?” he asked with relief. He was not a tongue-tied sort, but devil and blast if he wasn’t making a hash of this.

  She gave a tight nod. “What you ought to know is that I will not concede to your blackmail.”

  He frowned, not comprehending. “My…blackmail?”

  “The fact that we slept together gives you no leverage when it comes to my land,” she said bluntly. “Nothing has changed since we last corresponded. I will not sell this estate, and there’s naught you can do about it. Threaten to ruin my reputation if you must, but Camden Manor still won’t be for sale. I don’t give a farthing what anyone says—”

  “Hold up.” He stared at her incredulously. “Are you implying that I would use the fact that we were intimate to extort you into selling your land?”

  “Your reputation as a negotiator precedes you,” she said with chilling incivility. “You’re known as a man who attains his desired ends—no matter the cost.”

  An unfamiliar roar sounded in his ears. It took him a moment to recognize it as…rage.

  How bloody dare she?

  “I am not a damned extortionist,” he said through clenched teeth, “and your accusation is nothing short of slander. If you were a man, I would call you out for the insult to my honor.”

  She reacted by lifting her brows. “If you weren’t intending to blackmail me, then what consequences did you wish to discuss? What were you going to say to me?”

  “I was going to ask if I’d taken your virginity,” he bit out. “Was I your first lover?”

  She was prepared for blackmail, not a query about her sexual experience. He caught her off-guard, and it cost her. She couldn’t form a coherent response, words dashing against her skull like maddened butterflies. At the same time, telltale heat throbbed in her cheeks.

  “Bloody hell.” He looked staggered. “You were a virgin?”

  Bea realized her ongoing silence was incriminating, but she felt paralyzed. She didn’t want to lie outright; she didn’t want to tell him the truth. He was looking at her, with his jaw taut and brows drawn, as if she were a creature he’d never beheld before.

  He went to bed with a butterfly, the voice in her head whispered. And woke up to a beast.

  That painful realization jolted her into action. She would not hang her head. Would not suffer the humiliation of being this man’s regret.

  She lifted her chin. “I find your question impolitic, sir.”

  “That’s rich, considering you seduced me under false pretenses.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Outrage replaced mortification. “I never lied to you!”

  “You led me to believe that you were a woman of experience.” His jaw could have been carved from granite, save for the ominous ticking of the muscle there. “You acted like you’d played that particular game before. You never, not once, mentioned the fact that you were a damned virgin.”

  Was he upset that he’d bedded a virgin…or a disfigured woman?

  What does it matter? she thought bitterly. He regrets lying with you.

  “The state of my virginity is no business of yours,” she said stiffly.

  “The hell it isn’t. I am not the sort of man who goes around deflowering innocents.”

  His eyes flared, hinting at the predatory instincts behind his sensual charm. A wise woman would not poke the sleeping beast.

  “Oh, please, you deflowered no one.” Wisdom had never been one of her finer qualities. She gave a dismissive wave. “I was an equal and willing participant.”

  “Be that as it may, my cock was inside your theretofore untouched cunny. That, I believe, is the very definition of deflowering.”

  “Your language, sir.”

  Her remonstration didn’t sound as indignant as she planned. This was due to her sudden breathlessness, in turn due to the memories steaming up her brain. The body part he referenced suffered an indelicate spasm.

  “You didn’t seem to mind my vocabulary during our interlude.” He raked a hand through his hair, pinning her with a baleful stare. “I would never have spoken to you in that fashion had I known that you were untouched. Hell, I never would have touched you.”

  Which was exactly why she’d disguised her lack of experience. Hearing that he regretted their encounter, no matter that he had good reason, cinched her throat. In the light of day, her fantasy was unmasked for the delusional and desperate ploy that it was. The truth was there, staring at her every time she looked in a mirro
r: she would never have a real lover.

  No man would want to wake by her side and make love to her in the sunlight. No man could accept her imperfection. No man would bring her happiness…for that, she had to rely on herself.

  Feeling the terrifying prick of heat behind her eyes, she took a breath and regained control. Yes, she’d acted like a fool. She, of all people, ought to have known that there were always consequences for the choices one made: the taut pull of her scar served as a constant reminder. The important thing was not to compound her stupidity. She had to manage the situation with Murray and get on with her life.

  She drew her shoulders back. “If I misled you, then I apologize. I would point out, however, that we are both adults who consented to spend an evening together. One evening. I believe I made it clear that there would be no messy entanglements, and you agreed.”

  “That was before I was in full possession of the facts.” He’d started pacing before her, the latticed sunshine picking out the bronze in his hair as he muttered, “How could I have known that you were a virgin? How many maids would infiltrate a blasted orgy? Only one…and I had the luck to find her. Of course.”

  His obsession with her prior maidenly state was beginning to annoy her. As was the fact that he seemed to be talking as if she were not there.

  “I may have been a virgin, Mr. Murray,” she said crisply, “but I was never a lunatic. I was—and am—fully capable of making my own decisions.”

  “There’s no other choice.” He came to an abrupt halt, his gaze locking on hers. “I must make you an offer.”

  Surely, he couldn’t mean…

  “An offer for what?” she asked warily.

  “For marriage.” His brows slammed together. “What else would I be referring to?”

  Pressure built at her temples. Breathe in, breathe out…stay in control.

  “Seeing as you’re also trying to buy my estate,” she said acidly, “there could be a variety of offers on the table. None of which I’ll be accepting.”

  “Your estate. Right.” He exhaled. “That is a complicating factor we’ll have to deal with.”

  “No, we won’t. Because I’m not going to marry you.”

  “You don’t have a choice, Miss Brown. Your honor and mine are at stake.” His tone gentled, as if he were explaining things to a slow-witted child. “I took your innocence, and I must do the right thing.”

  If he mentions my innocence one more time…

  The tension in her head burgeoned, but she managed to hold onto her temper.

  “No one knows what we did,” she pointed out. “Ergo, no harm done.”

  “You know, and I know. As a gentleman, I must abide by my conscience. And my honor dictates that, since I divested you of your virginity, I must offer you my name.”

  “Will you please stop talking about my dashed virginity?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize the subject offended you.”

  Her head felt like a corked champagne bottle that had been thoroughly shaken. “You made me an offer, and I don’t accept. Let us leave it at that. Your obligation is fulfilled.”

  “The circumstances are regrettable. But as I said at the masquerade, you could never be an obligation, angel.” He cocked his head. “Why won’t you consider my proposal?”

  Good God, where would she begin?

  “Clearly, we,”—she flicked her fingers at him, then herself—“are not a match.”

  He regarded her steadily. “Why?”

  He wanted to make her spell it out? Her cork popped. So be it.

  “You’re an Adonis. In the eyes of society, I’m hideously scarred.” She was proud of how matter-of-fact she sounded; the truth couldn’t hurt her if she didn’t let it. “We’re as mismatched as two people could ever be.”

  A crease deepened between his brows. “You cannot be serious.”

  “I see things as they are, sir. Of course, I’m serious.”

  “Then you’re also deluded,” he said brusquely.

  She bristled. “I beg your pardon?”

  “When I first saw your scar, I was surprised.” His tone was as no-nonsense as hers. “But it’s just a scar. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re a singularly beautiful woman.”

  Just a scar? she thought incredulously. He has to be lying.

  The memory flashed. Six months after her injury, her parents had forced her to attend an intimate soiree hosted by her then-fiancé the Duke of Croydon. She’d been looking for Croydon in the garden when she overheard him and Arabella, whom she’d believed to be her friend, having a whispered conversation on the other side of the hedge.

  “She used to be so beautiful. Perfect.” Croydon’s voice had been hoarse, ravaged. “To look at her now…”

  “You cannot blame yourself,” Arabella’s silvery tones had replied. “It’s difficult to see what Lady Beatrice has become. You’ve been very honorable to stand by her side when everyone has been calling her Lady Beastly.”

  Lady Beastly. The name no longer felt like a javelin to the heart but the twinge of an old injury. The last thing Bea needed was to re-open the wound.

  She faced Murray. “You strike me as a man of the world. As such, you ought to understand that society judges a woman’s worth by her beauty. When her looks are damaged, she has as much value as a cracked vase or a torn painting and might as well be relegated to the rubbish heap.”

  “Surely you are not classifying yourself as garbage?” He sounded incredulous.

  “Of course I’m not. That is society’s belief, not mine.” She gave him a scathing look. “Being rich, I have the privilege of deciding my own destiny, and I have no intention of accepting proposals motivated by pity.”

  “I don’t pity you,” he said with a hint of impatience.

  “Please.” She didn’t fight the urge to roll her eyes. “A man like you would be interested in a woman like me?”

  “Well…yes.”

  His voice deepened, causing a ruffling up her spine. Seeing the flare in his hazel eyes, she acted on instinct, retreating as he followed her step for step. Her spine collided with something—the fence. He didn’t touch her, his spice-tinged nearness setting off thrills of panic.

  “I proved my interest during our night together. Several times,” he said in a dangerous growl.

  Her bosom rose and fell in rapid surges, mere inches away from his chest. What he was suggesting…she knew it was not possible. Maybe once upon a time, but not now. A man like him could have any woman; why would he choose one who would forever be shunned by society? Who would make him a laughingstock?

  “Because I was wearing the mask,” she retorted. “You didn’t see who I truly am.”

  “If you’d stayed, you might have discovered what it would have been like with nothing—not even your mask—between us.”

  “Right.” She meant to scoff, but she only sounded breathless.

  “Do you think I’m that shallow of a man? That I can’t see beyond a mere blemish?”

  My scar is so much more than a blemish! she wanted to shout. It is how the world judges the entirety of my worth.

  She looked into his handsome, intent face…and saw Croydon. The relief that he hadn’t been able to hide when she’d released him from their engagement. When he realized that he wouldn’t have to marry Lady Beastly.

  “I think you’re a man.” She forced herself to shrug, feeling the rough scrape of the fence through her riding habit. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “Then why did you pick me at the masquerade?”

  Make it impersonal. Get rid of him. This has gone too far.

  “Because you were the best looking of the lot that night,” she replied emotionlessly. “And because you seemed like the kind of man who knew how to please a woman and to do so with discretion.”

  “Right,” Murray muttered.

  She wouldn’t let herself contemplate why he looked oddly disappointed.

  “Now that matters are settled, please move aside,”
she said in cutting tones.

  “Matters between us are far from settled.”

  She glared at him. “Pardon?”

  “We’ve settled nothing,” he said. “There’s still the matter of my honor to deal with. Not to mention the negotiations for the railway.”

  The railway. That must be why he was pretending to have a personal interest in her.

  The recognition hurt, but it also came as a relief. Now that she understood what his true motivations were, she could guard herself against him. She was no longer the same trusting twit who’d once been so easily deceived by others.

  “If you think to secure my property through matrimonial means, think again,” she advised him.

  He stared at her. “Are you implying that I’d marry you for your land?”

  “I’m not implying it.”

  “Damnation, woman.”

  He planted his hands on the fence next to her shoulders. The leashed power radiating from his strapping frame ought to have intimidated her...but all she felt was a deep, tingling awareness. Surrounded by his heat, his addictive scent, she pulsed with yearning.

  “First, you accuse me of blackmail, then of being no better than a fortune hunter. One might think,”—he dipped his head closer, his breath heating her ear—“that you’re deliberately trying to get rid of me, lass.”

  Heavens, was that the faint lilt of a Scottish accent? She felt woozy, every fiber of her being responding to this charismatic man. A man who wanted to marry her…

  Because he feels duty-bound. Because he wants your land. Don’t be a ninny—don’t lose control and let yourself be hurt again.

  “Only an arrogant cad would think otherwise.” To emphasize her point, she placed her palms on his chest and pushed.

  He didn’t budge, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Is that the best you’ve got, angel?”