I still had trouble believing the mess I was in. It was such a great joke. I almost wished I'd thought it up and sprung it on Lazer. Just to see his face. Was this the Dead Duke's great prank on his peers? An American duke with an American duchess who worked in a bakery? Take that and stuff it up yours, peerage.
I was thirty-three. Used to dating experienced women within a few years of my own age. With her wide-eyed expression, the barefaced girl covered in chicken broth and noodles looked about seventeen. My heart squeezed. I was reacting to her. Like a whiff of a pleasant scent from the past, she stirred a memory of a younger, more vulnerable version of me. A guy who'd wanted to believe in happily-ever-afters. Shit.
I hardened my heart. I hoped Thorne's information was correct and she wasn't jailbait, because she sure as hell looked it.
Thorne had shared his dossier on her with me during lunch. The good old Dead Duke had been watching her, too. I wondered what the old boy had on her. I'd asked Thorne as much. He'd smiled and said the late duke left nothing to chance. I could rest assured the girl would take me up on my offer to make her my duchess.
"And if she doesn't?" I'd asked, hopefully. "I can't force a woman to marry me. There has to be an out for that."
Thorne had maintained his calm, masked expression. "The late duke can force her hand."
"But if he can't?"
"Then, yes, you would have an out, in a manner of speaking." He looked me directly in the eye. "Providing you haven't murdered her or intentionally forced her away."
"No acting like a douche to chase her off. Is that what I'm hearing?" I grinned.
He smiled, very slightly. But extremely slyly.
"And you would be the judge of that, I assume?" I wanted to know how much power Thorne had.
"Yes, Your Grace. Naturally."
Damn.
"Is there any penalty for me if she refuses?" I tried to not to tip my hand.
"The estate is yours, regardless," Thorne said.
"And the extra money, the part that isn't entailed?"
"If she refuses, it's yours on the birth of an heir."
"And the poison pill?"
"Held over your head, I'm afraid, until you sire a son. As long as you're making a good faith attempt, the pill remains in the cupboard, so to speak."
I wanted to see Haley for myself before deciding how to proceed. Although I didn't want to be a duke, I could handle having the title. Specifically, I didn't want the estate and all the headaches associated with it. Nor did I want a wife and the task of "siring an heir" as Thorne so bluntly and Britishly put it during lunch. As if I was a racehorse put out to stud.
There had to be a way out of this mess. I just needed a little time. More importantly, in the short term, I needed an ally. Particularly, I needed Haley Hamilton.
A sprig of parsley had somehow lodged on her nametag during her spill. She was small and thin, almost waiflike. Her hand delicate and weightless in mine. With large eyes that were striking for being two different colors—one green, one blue. And lashes so pale she looked almost lash-less. Her hair was bleached blond and pulled severely back. Her bangs were tipped with lavender and pink. Even being so thin, she reminded me of one of the cupcakes topped with pink frosting in the case. Totally tempting.
"You could take me a way from all this?" She picked a limp circle of cooked carrot off her blouse. "Are you kidding? Why would I ever want to leave this place?"
I laughed. She had a sense of humor. "We could use a baker who doubles as a waitress who knows how to take a fall in Flash's cafeteria."
"For comedic effect?" She shook her head and smiled up at me from beneath those pale lashes. "Do your waitresses often fall? Sounds like you'll have workmen's comp breathing down your neck soon. Maybe not a good work environment for me." Her smile was radiant.
And still full of that heart-wrenching hero look.
I was hoping to get to know her, my mind racing and plotting a way to ask her out for something innocuous like coffee. Something that wouldn't look like I was moving too fast, or was too eager, and that would satisfy Thorne. And give me a chance to talk with her privately and propose my plan. Once I came up with one.
"Why do you need a baker?" Her eyes danced with tease. "I didn't think you did any baking at the Flashionista cafeteria. Don't you order all your baked goods from commercial bakers? Do you even have any ovens?"
I was about to reply when Sally arrived with a junior employee carrying a mop and bucket, apologizing all over herself.
"I'm so sorry, Riggins. I should know better than to send bakers out to do a waitress's job." She cast a disgusted glance at Haley. "Go on to the back and get cleaned up!"
"No harm done." I flashed Haley my most charming smile.
She smiled back at me and headed toward the counter before I could say more.
Thorne came back inside, pocketing his phone. He caught her attention, said something to her in a low voice I couldn't hear, and handed her his card. Arranging my marriage?
I caught the word "inheritance" and "meet with you" and turned away.
The solicitor had promised me a look at my future bride. I'd argued for a chance to get to know her. There had to be something Harry and my financial guys could do. I needed to talk to Justin, too. Warn him about this new threat. See if he had any solutions.
I waited for Haley to turn and stare at me. To gape. You mean I have to marry him?
Not to be narcissistic, but I wasn't insecure. I was, after all, the second hottest bachelor in the city. If nothing else, my money was an enticement. And now there was the added incentive of my title.
She surprised me by looking surprised, but not at me. She pulled her phone from her pocket and typed something in. To her calendar, I guessed. She shook Thorne's hand and disappeared behind the counter and into the bakery without looking back.
Thorne smiled at me. "Our work here is finished."
"What did you say about me?" I whispered.
"I didn't mention you at all. You're on the agenda for tomorrow's meeting." He gave me that calm, inscrutable look again. "Did you ask her to meet you at a local pub for drinks later for some alcohol-fueled flirting? A little Dutch courage never hurts. You might even work up the nerve to call her a silly cow." He actually winked at me.
"Call her a cow? Do you want her to walk out on me?" I shook my head and gave him a puzzled look. "Who taught you how to flirt?"
He looked at me, confused. "It works well in Britain. It's a term of endearment."
"No wonder the line is dying out. You Brits don't know how to flirt.
"And no, asking her for drinks would be moving too fast. We aren't in Italy or France. Seattle girls are aloof. You have to charm them and let them warm up to you. Haven't you ever heard of playing hard to get?" I tossed a tip on the table.
Since Seattle had enacted the fifteen-dollar minimum wage, the tip was included in most bills. I didn't give a shit and left a twenty. Better to be known for being generous. Especially now that I was trying to impress Haley.
I walked out with Thorne and waited on the corner with him for his Uber.
"What do you think of her?" He seemed genuinely interested.
What did I think? There was no reason to hold back my honest opinion. But no reason to spill my guts, either. "She's young."
He smiled. "Not as young as she looks, as you know. And surprisingly tough, resilient, and determined. Excellent qualities for a duchess." He paused. "And did I mention, loyal. Extremely loyal to those she loves."
I had no idea how he knew I prized loyalty above just about everything else. I shrugged. "Nice to know."
"You'll like her better when you get to know her."
I couldn't resist yanking Thorne's chain. "I have no intention of getting to know her better," I said, deadpan. "As soon as we're married, I'm sending her to England. To Witham House. To learn how to be a lady."
"You're going to lock her away like Bluebeard?" Thorne said in his cool, upper crust tone.
; I laughed and pointed a trigger-finger at him. He was too much fun to tease. "Got you, Thorne!" I paused. "I'm not a douche. But I thought you'd be pleased. For the late His Grace. Wouldn't it be nice to have the mistress of the manor onsite?
"And think of her happiness as well as the Dead Duke's. An adventure in England. Mistress of a historic manor house. What American girl wouldn't jump at the chance?"
Thorne raised an eyebrow.
"If you're going to force me into marriage, I'm going to have the perfect one." I couldn't help myself. I continued the joke. "Perfect harmony. Perfect agreement. Perfectly pleasant to each other.
"The best way to insure a perfectly happy marriage to a complete stranger is to be on separate continents with an ocean between us as much as possible. Perfect happiness is really only a matter of distance and personal space."
Thorne shook his head. "After you get her pregnant, I hope." There was a twinkle in his eyes.
Damn. He was teasing back.
I grinned. "We're living in the twenty-first century, Thorne. We don't need to be on the same continent for that. A dirty movie and a cup. A little wrist action. A spin in a centrifuge to separate the Y boys from the Xs and up our odds of a little heir. There's no time to monkey around or take a chance we'll get a girl the first time out. What if I'm hit by a bus? No, this is serious business, Thorne."
I warmed to my joke. "A freezer. A turkey baster. And we're good. No scandal."
"A true romantic, Your Grace." There was a hint of humor in his face. "Ah! There's my car." Thorne waved at it.
"I'm surprised the Dead Duke didn't think of this himself. He could have used a surrogate," I said. "Frozen his sperm and gotten a posthumous heir."
"The heir has to be legitimate," Thorne said, deadpan. "Since the duke would not have married a surrogate—"
"This really is from another century," I said, shaking my head. "You Brits!"
"May I remind you, you are a Brit, too." He paused. "The late duke had no desire to marry again. And even if he had, getting a widow pregnant after the duke's demise is a quagmire of legal ambiguity. By then the new heir would have taken the dukedom." He eyed me.
"I wouldn't have contested it." I grinned.
"The late duke believed in tradition, in doing things the traditional way. Without scandal."
"You mean he thought he was living in a Regency novel!"
Thorne gave me a startled look.
"Yes, I know what the Regency period is. Mom used to read a bunch of Regency romances." I paused. "Maybe she knew something."
Thorne's car pulled to the curb. "I'm meeting with Miss Hamilton tomorrow morning at ten. Be at the rented office tomorrow by eleven.
"I'll have the late duchess' engagement ring with me for you to give to Miss Hamilton. It's been in the family for nearly a hundred years. It's beautiful and extremely valuable. I think it will be appropriate."
He gave me a dry look. "Do try to think of something appropriately romantic to say to the young woman when you ask for her hand. The late duke specified that you should make an actual marriage proposal. He wanted this marriage to get off on the best possible footing."
I kept the sarcastic remark dancing on the end of my tongue to myself.
"In the meantime, don't worry about informing the press of your change in circumstances. While we've been meeting, the late duke's private secretary has announced to the London press that the duke's heir has been located and is delighted to be inheriting the title." He gave me a sidelong warning look.
"Yeah. Sure. I'm positively ecstatic. Can't you tell?" I laughed. "No? Must be my stuffy British side coming through."
He slid into the car. "The same announcement was sent to the Seattle press and the American media. Tomorrow. Cheerio!"
Cheerio? Really?
I realized Thorne was yanking my chain.
As Thorne's car pulled away, my phone came alive. I was bombarded with texts. I was about to turn it off when Justin called.
"What's this about you being a duke?" He was laughing. "It's all over the news, Your Grace."
Overcoming disbelief and snide comments were going to be my main challenges.
"We're of the same social status here," I said, remembering one of the few things my mom had taught me about British titles and their class system. "You can call me Duke."
Chapter 4
Haley
Riggins Feldhem had held my hand and helped me out of a puddle of chicken soup and soggy bread. The moment he'd touched my hand I'd felt that rare jolt of chemistry. My heart had raced. And I'd blushed to the roots of my pink and lavender hair. And then he'd said he could take me away from all this!
Only to bake brownies. He'd been joking. Or had he been flirting?
Damn Sally and fate's inconvenient timing! He'd been about to say something more, something profound. I saw it in his eyes. What had Riggins been about to say?
What, Riggins? What! I mentally shook my fists and fell to my knees, pleading with fate for an answer.
I rushed to the bathroom and dashed in to change back into my baker's whites. As I changed, my mind raced with all the wonderful things he might have been about to say. Like, "Haley, what a beautiful name. I've been waiting for a girl like you. One who takes my breath away."
And then he would ask me to go someplace with him. But where?
I was lacking in imagination on where exactly he would ask to take me. Where did billionaires take dates? Take me away to Saint-Tropez? Billionaires went to the French Riviera, right? I could see myself there. I would have settled, though, for coffee down the street. Like any of that was going to happen.
I coughed, choking on a puff of flour that came out of my double-breasted white baker's jacket. Yeah, I needed to do something about that. I gave my hair a quick pat, but when I returned to the dining room all that was left at his table was a twenty-dollar bill that Mary scooped up and pocketed with a triumphant grin.
The lunch rush was clearing out. The last group of Flash girls talked excitedly as they headed for the door.
"Can you believe it?" one of them said. "Riggins is the new Duke of Witham!"
I stopped short. A duke? I didn't know he was British.
One of the other girls nodded. "I know! It's all over social media—the first American duke. Did you see that British guy he was with? I bet he was the old duke's lawyer."
I had almost forgotten about the British guy. I'd been so distracted by Riggins when the British guy had stopped me that I'd barely heard a thing he'd said. I'd agreed to meet him tomorrow, mostly so I could escape, change, and get back out before Riggins left.
I pulled his card from my pocket and stared at it. What did a dead duke's lawyer want with me? He'd said something about an inheritance? Yep, it was right there on his card. He was a solicitor with a London firm.
With my sister Sidney being so sick and the rent due, I could use an inheritance. A big one!
At first, I'd been half inclined to believe the Brit was a scam artist or a crackpot. The city was full of them. Except that he'd been with Riggins, which gave him authenticity.
I looked at the card again and got goose bumps on my arms. A duke's lawyer was having lunch with Riggins Feldhem on the day it was announced that Riggins was a duke? Now that same lawyer wanted to meet with me?
Haha! Maybe the duke had left me something, too. Like a pile of jewels or one of his country houses. Maybe the London townhome. A girl could dream.
I grimaced. On second thought—what if Riggins and I were related? Like long-lost distant cousins or something? I shuddered. So much for my fantasies, then, of Riggins falling madly in love with me, white-knighting me, and taking me away to Saint-Tropez.
Then again, I was always dreaming of something. There were other billionaires in the city. Probably none that were also dukes, though. Huh. I tucked the card back into my pocket. Back to work with me. Fortunately, there was less than an hour left before closing.
Sally let us take home the day-old baked goods.
Which, naturally, were always the least popular items. Unless the head baker purposefully overstocked a fave. But that rarely happened.
Sid and I never lacked for bread. Or cake. Let them eat cake was a favorite joke between us. In the fall and winter it was usually carrot cake, which I loved. But apparently a lot of people didn't.
Sid was my nineteen-year-old baby sis. My adopted baby sis. Which wouldn't have been important or mattered at all, if not for the current circumstances.
She was half Chinese, half Anglo. After my mom's cancer treatment left her infertile, my parents had adopted Sid from China when she was almost one and I was five. Her bio mom had abandoned her on the doorstep of a Chinese orphanage hours after her birth. One-child rule. What self-respecting Chinese girl could hope for future happiness when her mom’s one child had the double curse of being a girl and half white?
Sid's tragic beginning had been the best thing that could have happened to our family. It sounded sappy, but she made us a complete, happy foursome. Sid was the perfect sister. Uncomplaining. Smart. Funny. Longsuffering. She and I were best friends.
I thought Sid was beautiful. Exotic. She certainly put me and my pale face to shame. Looking at her, she could almost be mistaken for being Mediterranean or Middle Eastern. Only the slight almond shape of her big, beautiful, dark, soulful eyes gave her away. I was always envious of her dark, straight hair. And told her so about a dozen times a day.
Sid was also sick. Very sick. Scary sick. So sick and underweight her cheekbones were prominent like a model's and her hipbones stuck out. Everything looked good on her. If only it hadn't been because she was ill and suffering. Sometimes society had it all wrong with its obsession with skinniness.
Sid had aplastic anemia. She'd been diagnosed at the start of her senior year in high school, two years after my dad died of a heart attack. Mom died when I was fourteen. Cancer. Since Dad died, it was just Sid and me living in the old family home with a couple of girlfriends who paid a bit of rent to help out.
The doctors couldn't determine why, or how, Sid had developed anemia. Sometimes it was hereditary. And sometimes it had environmental causes. It messed with her blood cell production, all the different types of blood cells, not just red blood cells like normal anemia, and suppressed her immune system.
The Billionaire Duke (The Billionaire Duke #1) Page 4
