Only a selfish cull bartered for a bride as if she were a piece of property sold to the highest bidder.
True, but this was for Thea’s own good.
Releasing a resigned sigh, his shoulders slumping the merest bit, Reverend Brentwood shook his head once. A guarded look returned to his squarish features.
“Again, I must refuse your magnanimous offer, Your Grace.”
Of its own accord, one of Victor’s brows flew high on his forehead.
Was the man dicked in the nob?
It was one thing to be zealous about one’s beliefs—that, Victor could respect and even admire—but it was another entirely to force a daughter to marry a man she clearly loathed. Especially when the match would not improve her position or benefit anyone except the reprobate marrying her.
“You would deny your daughters the opportunity to improve their stations?”
The words had no sooner left his mouth than Victor realized how arrogant they sounded and that he’d made a grave mistake.
“What I mean is—”
Mr. Brentwood slammed his hand down, rattling the ink pot, and shot straight upward. Bracing his hands upon the desk, he glowered down at Victor, his contempt palpable.
“I know precisely what you meant. That a mere member of the clergy, a humble man, a poor man, is inferior to your blue-blooded peerage and heavy purse. You’ve wasted your time and mine, sir. Theadosia will marry Mr. Leadford as soon as the banns are read.”
Victor laced his fingers and considered the cleric.
“She doesn’t love him, and in fact, is afraid of him. Terrified, I’d say.”
That truth had been as glaringly apparent as the god-awful blemish on Leadford’s chin last night.
“And do you profess love for her, Your Grace?”
A sneer curled the reverend’s upper lip as he regarded Victor with the revulsion he might a pimp siskin.
“Perhaps not love—yet—but I have immense regard for her and want to provide for her and protect her.”
“And you think Leadford does not? He, at least, professes affection.”
“Leadford might be a man of the cloth,” Victor said, “but he is not the more honorable between us, as I believe you are already aware.”
“Honor?” Casting his mocking gaze heavenward, Mr. Brentwood choked on a scoff.
“God above, he speaks of honor.
“Even in Colchester, Duke, your sinful exploits are known. You’re a womanizer and a drunkard. Did you really think I didn’t see the whisky bottle Theadosia tried to hide? You dared to blaspheme holy ground with the devil’s drink, and persuaded her to aid you in your irreverence.”
And yet, the good reverend had kept his silence these past days.
Why?
Because Victor was paying for the new organ and choir robes. That said much about the man of God’s character and his priorities.
The nostrils of Brentwood’s wide nose flared, revealing an abundance of unattractive hair. “I also know you kissed her. Treated my Theadosia like a common strumpet.”
Another muffled bump echoed through the study door.
Whoever eavesdropped had ceased being covert.
“The Nabity sisters told me so the other day.” The reverend shook his head and slammed his fist atop his open Bible, crinkling the page. “I vow, I shan’t have another daughter sullied by a handsome face.”
Victor refused to discuss the kiss and have it reduced to a tawdry episode.
It had been a taste of pure heaven, and despite the impropriety, he didn’t regret it. Theadosia had enjoyed it too, and he clamped his jaw to refrain from telling the rector to bugger himself for daring to use Thea’s name and strumpet in the same sentence.
Victor neither frequented brothels nor dallied with harlots. The risk of disease was too great. Besides, now he had a killer disease in his bloodline to fret about.
“All the more reason Theadosia and I should wed at once to prevent any tainting of her reputation—as well as yours and the parish’s.” That latter might be a trifle overdone, but he wasn’t leaving anything to chance.
Cutting his hand sharply through the air, Brentwood shook his head in disdain. “She’s Miss Brentwood to you, and she’s not one of your whores to be tossed aside when you grow bored with her. I don’t doubt for a moment you’d resume your lascivious lifestyle within weeks of marrying her.”
Damnation. That was exactly what Victor had planned to do, but that was before he’d decided to make Thea his wife.
“Your accusations and concerns are just. I’ve not lived a monk’s life, but I give you my word upon my father’s grave and the dukedom, that I would be faithful to her. I hold Theadosia in the highest esteem and would never deliberately cause her sorrow.”
But do I love her?
How could he so soon?
For certain, he felt something compelling, and it wasn’t just lust. He was quite familiar with that carnal urge. But was it love?
It mattered naught.
He’d do what he must to keep her safe from Leadford. And if, after they’d married, she wanted a divorce, he’d grant her one.
If she’d have him and agreed to, Victor would elope with her today. They could be across the border and wed within hours.
God, to see Leadford’s face when they returned. Victor could savor that satisfaction for a great while.
“I cannot believe you, as a loving father, would force Thea to wed against her will.” He wasn’t ready to toss in his cards just yet. If Brentwood insisted on this ridiculousness, he’d do so knowing others were well aware of what he was making Thea to do.
“It’s no concern of yours.” Face a mottled red, Mr. Brentwood ran a finger between his cravat and neck, then wiped his brow and upper lip with his handkerchief. Did he always sweat buckets or only when under fire?
“Now I shall bid you good day,” Brentwood said, scarcely this side of civil. “I have a sermon to finish preparing.”
Victor rose and after pulling his jacket into place, cocked his head.
The reverend fidgeted with his Bible, looking everywhere but at him.
“Doesn’t your honor and paternal affection demand you consider your daughter’s happiness? Would you subject her to a lifetime of misery? Surely you know, or at least suspect, what type of wretch Leadford is. He’ll abuse her for certain. Can you live with that knowledge?”
Jaw slack, Brentwood paled to a ghastly shade before summoning his bluster once more.
“Do not presume to impugn my integrity. I know what is best for my daughter. You are no longer welcome in this house, and I forbid you to see or speak to Theadosia. I cannot in good conscience ban you from attending church services, lest your immortal soul suffer, but you shall not approach her.”
Something suspicious was going on here. The reverend was far too overwrought. Far too defensive and irrational. Like a man concealing an dark secret. Something that might ruin him and his way of life if it became known.
James might be just the person to prod around a bit in that area. Horse’s hooves had echoed in the drive a few moments ago. Hopefully it was James returning home, and before departing, Victor intended to have a word.
“I’ve known you to be a reasonable man my entire life, Reverend. Always fair and just, if a trifle hard and unyielding at times. This community and your parish respect you, as much for your dedication to them and your position as for your commitment to your family. The Reverend Brentwood I know would never force his daughter into a loveless marriage, much less with a man who gropes her whenever you aren’t looking.”
Mr. Brentwood’s head jerked up, and his gaze clashed with Victor’s. Within the clergyman’s gaze, anguish warred with indecision and . . . fear?
Did Leadford have something on him?
He must.
What the hell would cause Mr. Brentwood to sacrifice a daughter to a man of Leadford’s character?
Victor extended a hand, palm upward. “Mr. Brentwood, I can help you, but only if yo
u tell me what is going on.”
Self-righteous outrage snuffed out the other conflicting emotions from the reverend’s countenance.
Pride would be the cleric’s downfall. He’d do anything to save face. Even subject Thea to a debaucher.
“Once more you cross the mark, Your Grace.” His hand unsteady, Mr. Brentwood pointed to the door. “Please leave before I forget I’m a man of God and lose my temper entirely. My daughter is none of your concern.”
We’ll see about that.
Victor strode to the exit. His earlier anxiety had dissipated, and he had one focus now.
Protect Theadosia at all costs.
Was whoever who’d been listening still outside?
Making a pretense of grasping the handle and wiggling it, he gave whoever it was time to flee. If he had to guess, he’d vow Miss Jessica couldn’t contain her curiosity. Hopefully, she’d repeat everything to Thea.
This wasn’t over.
No, indeed.
Never before had Victor’s ability to keenly read people been as important. It was what gave him such an advantage at cards and other gaming, and was one of the reasons he’d been able to amass his fortune.
In the past fifteen minutes he’d learned something interesting.
He opened the door, and after checking to be sure the corridor was empty, faced Mr. Brentwood.
“Leadford’s blackmailing you, isn’t he?”
Why had Victor sought an audience with Papa?
Fighting back stinging tears for the umpteenth time since last night, Theadosia marched through the Fielding’s apple and pear orchard, her basket rhythmically thumping against her hip as she trudged along. She refused to succumb to the moisture prickling behind her eyelids. She wasn’t a blasted watering pot.
When Jessica had rushed into the garden and told her Victor had called, asking to speak to their father, Theadosia’s heart had dared accelerate in hope. For what, she wasn’t certain, but Victor had seen her desperation last night.
He’d given the slightest nod when she’d mouthed, “Help me.”
It was much too brazen of her. She’d no right to ask it of him, but from the moment he’d re-entered her life, she’d trusted him more than any other person. Although they’d only spent a few days together, she believed he would aid her.
Then, first thing this morning, he appeared at the parsonage door. Surely that must mean he’d found a way out of her horrible dilemma.
She could not—would not—marry Mr. Leadford.
How could Papa expect such a thing?
If she refused, would he disown her as he had Althea?
Her situation wasn’t the same at all. Her sister had eloped with a man she adored, but Theadosia was being forced to marry a sod she loathed. Nonetheless, her father expected blind obedience from his daughters, especially after Althea’s betrayal.
He might very well chastise Mama for allowing Theadosia to leave the house on this errand. When she’d swooned last night—a first for her—he’d been livid that she’d humiliated him thusly. Oh, he hadn’t permitted the duke and duchess to see his ire, but the instant they’d settled into the carriage, he’d threatened to lock her in her room until the wedding.
Mama, angrier than Theadosia had ever seen her, had called him an unreasonable tyrant and presented him the back of her head. This morning, she still wasn’t speaking to him.
That was also a first.
Mama must’ve known Theadosia needed to escape the house, especially after she’d seen Victor sitting in Papa’s study. Her mother had defied Papa and sent Theadosia to deliver a cold meal to the Fieldings. Plump, cheerful, and obviously adored by her equally jolly and rotund husband, Mrs. Fielding had delivered her fifth child yesterday.
Theadosia loved children, especially babies, but she’d rather become a dried up, shriveled prune-of-a-spinster than allow Mr. Leadford to bed her.
A forceful shudder rippled down her spine at the disgusting notion, and she hunched deeper into her spencer.
She’d brought a shawl today as well, but in her haste to leave the parish, had forgotten her bonnet. This summer was proving to be one of the coolest she could ever remember. However, revulsion rather than the disagreeable weather caused the chill juddering her spine.
Drawing in a deep breath, she ordered her careening thoughts to order. Responding like a ninny wasn’t going to help the situation.
A plan. That was what she needed. A logical plan.
And she needed one speedily.
On the ride home last evening, her father had declared he intended to read the banns for the first time this Sunday. If Victor hadn’t persuaded him otherwise during his visit, that was.
How she’d wanted to slap Mr. Leadford’s smug face as he leaned against the squabs, all self-satisfied arrogance. She’d bet her boot buttons he’d orchestrated this, but how, in such a short time?
Another wave of frustration engulfed her.
How could Papa be so callous? So hard-hearted?
How could he completely disregard her feelings and wishes? What possible reason could there be for rushing the nuptials? She scarce knew Mr. Leadford.
She might argue the same about Victor, but that was much different. She enjoyed his company and anticipated seeing him. When she wasn’t with Victor, her thoughts continually drifted toward him. Upon first awakening, he infiltrated her mind, and as she drifted off to sleep, he hovered on the perimeters of her consciousness.
Now she understood why Althea had fled with Antione Nasan, a French artist who’d been sketching likenesses with a traveling troupe. He’d approached Papa and asked for her hand in marriage. Papa had all but thrown him out of the house, and he had locked Althea in her room. Two nights later, she’d picked the lock and fled with her lover.
Jessica and Theadosia had kept watch to make sure Papa didn’t catch her. He had no idea they’d conspired together. Theadosia suspected Mama knew the truth, but she’d never hinted at any such thing.
Theadosia inhaled deeply again, savoring the earthy aroma beneath the gnarled trees where a few wax cap mushrooms had sprung up. Mere weeks ago, these same trees had dripped with fragrant pinkish-white blossoms, promising an abundance of fruit this autumn. Unless Papa changed his mind about her marrying Mr. Leadford, she wouldn’t be here for the harvest.
If she must, she’d run away.
To Althea in France.
Just this morning, in a hushed whisper, her mother had confessed she’d secretly been writing to Althea and receiving letters in return. Althea had two little boys, and her husband had become a successful portrait painter. For months, she’d been begging Mama to visit and bring Jessica and Theadosia.
Her mother hadn’t dared.
Risking Papa’s fury, James had helped Mama and Althea correspond.
He’d help Theadosia escape too. She didn’t doubt it.
But to never see her mother or Jessica again? That risk was very real. A probability, unless Papa died.
Pain stabbed Theadosia to her core, and she slapped a hand to her middle, gasping at the agony of that awful truth.
There must be another way.
How could Althea bear it?
Because she had a man who loved her and whom she loved in return.
Tears threatened again, but Theadosia swiped them away.
As she climbed the gentle slope toward the lane leading to the Fielding’s house, she caught a movement from the corner of her eye.
Alarm skittered across her shoulders, and she whirled to face her stalker.
“Why are you following me, Mr. Leadford?”
He emerged from behind one of the gnarled old apple trees and offered a repentant smile.
“I was looking for an opportunity to speak with you but feared I’d startle you.” He thrust a handful of blossoms toward her. “Here, I picked you flowers.”
Likely filched from the Church’s gardens.
Sliding the basket onto her other arm, she made a pretense of adjusting the cloth coveri
ng the food and grasped the bottle of lemonade. She’d not hesitate to crack him over the nog with it if he attempted to accost her.
“So, you skulk about like a thief? Couldn’t you have waited until I returned home?”
Skewing a brow, she leveled him a dubious look, but made no effort to take the fast-wilting blooms.
She didn’t like being alone with him one jot, and the Fielding’s house was still a quarter of a mile away. He’d already proved he was no gentleman.
If only she had told Mama about his harassment. She would’ve sent Jessica too. Except Theadosia had really wanted to be alone to sort out her thoughts.
Angling away, she dismissed him. “I must go. The Fieldings expected me some time ago, and my mother awaits my return. We’ve preserves to make.”
Not exactly the truth, but he needn’t know that.
“Permit me to accompany you.” He hurried to reach her side, his gaze straying to her breasts.
He tried to lay the flowers in the basket, frowning when she drew it away.
“I don’t like my betrothed walking about unescorted.”
“As to that, we are not officially betrothed, and I intend to do everything in my power to see that we never are.” She tightened her grip on the bottle. Though not nearly as large as the duke, Mr. Leadford wasn’t a simpering fop either. He could easily overpower her. “I’d prefer to walk alone, if you don’t mind” And even if you do. “I’ve done so dozens of times without fear of harm.”
“But I do mind.” He grasped her elbow, none too gently, and yanked her to his chest. Triumph glittered in his frosty blue eyes.
His reptilian smile sent a ripple of stark fear through her.
“You will marry me, Theadosia. I have the means to force you to.”
“I don’t think so.”
They whirled to see a hatless and gloveless Duke of Sutcliffe sauntering up the hill.
Despite his leisurely approach, his chest rose and fell quickly as if he’d been hurrying. Everything about him shouted masculine animal grace, but primal danger exuded from him too. His gaze took in the hand gripping Theadosia’s arm, and the murderous look he leveled Mr. Leadford caused another hair-raising shiver to scuttle across her shoulders.
Only a Duke Would Dare Page 8
