by Karen Ranney
“Yes,” he said. Whatever it cost him, he’d be there, if for no other reason than to prove he wasn’t an invalid.
He left her at the back entrance to Sedgebrook, claiming a need to speak with his housekeeper. In actuality, he was going to use the servants’ stairs to get to his room. That way, his painful ascent wouldn’t be witnessed by his guests.
He wasn’t lame, damn it.
Chapter 14
Martha was worried about Jordan, a fact she hid from her grandmother when she visited her. She hoped he’d been able to get some relief for his leg and was eager to go down to dinner to ask him how he felt.
Josephine, however, was running late again when she left Gran and went to get her sister.
This time, she was preening in front of the mirror attired in a dark blue patterned dress that was beautifully made with swaths of material in the train. Even though Josephine occasionally annoyed her, there was no disputing the fact that her sister was a beautiful woman.
When she complimented Josephine on her appearance her sister only smiled.
“Am I beautiful enough to be the Duchess of Roth?”
“What?” Martha stared at her sister in shock.
“What a pity he’s a cripple. But I could always live in London like Maman did for a while,” Josephine said, turning to survey herself once more in the mirror.
“You think the duke will offer for you?”
How odd that the words were so difficult to say. They clung to her lips like a dying man might to a life raft.
“Of course. He’s a man. All I need to do is to be in the right place at the right time.”
“What does that mean?” she asked, hoping that what she was thinking wasn’t what her sister was planning. However, she knew better than to underestimate Josephine. When it came to getting what she wanted, she could be ruthless.
Josephine turned to face Martha. Her smile had disappeared.
“Gran would be shocked to find me in a compromising position, wouldn’t she? Angry enough to demand His Grace do something honorable.”
“You wouldn’t do that. It’s calculating and . . . wrong.”
Not, however, beyond Josephine’s abilities to carry it out. From the moment she’d seen Sedgebrook, Josephine had wanted it. She was like a spoiled child with a treat held just beyond her grasp. She was going to engage in a tantrum—in this case, shocking behavior—until she got it.
“You wouldn’t,” she said.
“Oh, I would,” Josephine said airily. “I don’t suppose he’ll send me away if he finds me in his bed. Cripple or not, he’s a man.”
She stared at Josephine, horrified.
“Hopefully, I can ply him with wine during dinner. We’ll both encourage him to drink. He’ll be a little confused when he finds me in his bed, but not enough to do anything about it.”
“You expect me to help you?” she asked, finally able to speak. “You haven’t thought this through.”
“Oh, my dear Martha. Of course I have. Are you afraid I’ll lose my virginity? That disappeared a year ago. However, I can always make the duke believe he’s deflowered me. He’ll have no other choice but to marry me, don’t you see?”
“Please. You can’t do this.”
“Of course I can.”
She moved to the door. “Then I’m going to tell Gran. She’ll stop you.”
“Go ahead,” Josephine said smiling. “I’ll deny it, of course. I may even cry. I’ll ask Gran why you’re being so cruel, how you can possibly say what you’re saying. I might even hint that you’re jealous and you want the duke for yourself. Do you, Martha?”
She’d never before seen that particular expression on Josephine’s face, almost as if her sister viewed her as an enemy.
“Come, Martha, we’ll be late. I’d hate to tell the duke it’s because you were so slow.”
She stared after her sister as Josephine left the room.
Josephine had always been interested in Josephine to the exclusion of anyone else. Nothing had ever stopped her from getting what she wanted. A stable of new horses? Fine. They’ll arrive next month. A wardrobe filled with new gowns? As soon as the seamstress could finish them. Whatever she wanted was granted to her.
Somehow, she had to stop her. Not entirely for Josephine’s sake, but also because it didn’t feel right to harm a man whose only sin had been to take them in and offer his hospitality.
Jordan didn’t deserve Josephine’s scheming. Or her greed.
At dinner Martha began to believe that Josephine couldn’t possibly have been serious. She had to be teasing—even if that teasing had bordered on cruelty—about seducing the Duke of Roth. Right now she was involved in batting her eyelashes at the duke, sending him simpering, idiotic looks, and generally making a spectacle of herself.
Did Josephine really think men succumbed to such behavior? Did she expect the duke to collapse on the snowy white linen and beg her to end his misery?
Oh, marry me, Miss York. Take my heart from its prison and set it free! Give me the peace only a look from your emerald orbs will grant. I beg you to release me from torment. Be mine!
True, Josephine had an effect on men. They tended to stumble around her. They stuttered. They fixed their gaze on certain portions of her anatomy and didn’t seem capable of wrenching it free. They bowed. They looked longingly after her as she passed.
Martha only hoped Jordan was immune. He’d certainly ignored her from the moment she descended the stairs. It was as if the camaraderie they’d experienced for the whole day had vanished. Gone was the man who’d asked her questions, argued with her, and criticized her polishing only to reward her with a smile later.
He was not the man he’d been this afternoon. His face was set in stern lines. His gaze was flat as he surveyed the table.
Something was wrong.
Martha realized what it was a moment after studying him. Although he sat at the head of the table, he gripped the handle of his walking stick until his knuckles shone white. She knew, without him telling her, that he was in pain and doing everything in his power not to reveal it.
“Your Grace,” Josephine said, “have you given any thought to our conversation about Ercole?”
He slowly turned his head and looked at Josephine.
Was Josephine blind? Anyone could see he didn’t want to converse. She suspected that he was having a difficult enough time just sitting there.
“My compliments to your cook,” she interjected in the silence.
“Mrs. Madison comes from France,” Reese said, blessedly taking up the topic. “She’s English, but was married to a Frenchman.”
“While my mother was French, but was married to an Englishman,” Josephine said.
Everyone turned to look at her. She angled her head slightly—in a way that flattered her—and smiled.
“Dear Maman returned to France after dear Papa died. I don’t think she can bear to remain in the country with all its memories.”
Josephine had never called their father dear Papa. Nor did her sister mention Dear Maman’s letter and her gushing enthusiasm about her new suitor, a count with a château in the south of France.
Of course I’ll send for you when it’s time, my dear, she’d written to Josephine.
No doubt Marie thought to wheedle her daughter out of her share of the York fortune. What Marie didn’t know was that Josephine was as greedy as her mother.
Had Josephine truly lost her virginity a year ago? Or had she only made the comment to shock her? She’d certainly accomplished that aim. Did Gran know? Is that why they were here? To find Josephine a husband before she was embroiled in some sort of scandal?
Surely Josephine didn’t mean what she’d said earlier? This frozen-faced man was not ripe for seduction. Nor could she imagine the duke ignoring the fact that Josephine had called him lame. Or had her sister forgotten that? Did she think she could say anything just because she was beautiful?
“May I come to the boathouse tomorrow?” Josephine
asked. “I promise to bring my own chair.”
The duke didn’t look at her. Nor did he answer. Instead, he was doing exactly as Josephine had hoped, drinking another glass of wine—his third. Was the man going to get sotted? That’s all she needed, for him to be drunk enough that Josephine’s plan might work.
As if he’d heard her thoughts, he turned to study Martha until she wanted to ask him to look away. His intent regard was embarrassing her, especially since the other two were joining the duke in staring at her.
Had some leek gotten caught in her teeth? Had she spilled some of her wine down her bodice? Was her abominable hair frizzing around her face?
She could feel her cheeks warm. She was not going to blush, not now. Not here, please God.
“Your brother was a talented painter,” Martha said, determined to direct his attention elsewhere.
When he didn’t say anything, she wondered if she’d committed a faux pas. Was the tenth duke not supposed to be mentioned?
“He was, wasn’t he?” Reese asked, rescuing her once more from the awkward silence. “He only painted scenes from Italian cities, however, which was probably understandable since he loved Italy so much.”
“Do you paint, Mr. Burthren?” she asked, grateful for his politeness.
“Me? I’m afraid not. I’ve no discernible talent in anything.”
“Don’t be fooled by his modesty, Miss York,” the duke unexpectedly said. “He’s one of the War Office’s rising stars.”
His words startled her. She’d corresponded briefly with several members of the War Office after her father’s death. They’d been interested in the York Torpedo Ship and had been disappointed in the news it didn’t work.
When dinner was over, she was surprised the men didn’t remain behind to smoke their cigarillos. Instead, the duke and Reese joined them in the Crystal Parlor.
She wanted to ask who had collected all the examples of glass art, figurines of every sort from dancers to shepherdesses to animals: dogs, cats, goats, cows, and a bull with delicate-looking horns. Everything sparkled in the yellowish light of the crystal gas lamps.
The Crystal Parlor was another room Martha didn’t care for, but it seemed to enchant Josephine. Her eyes were large as she took in the shelves of crystal statuary.
The maid assigned to this room must consider it a hellish task. Just moving toward the end of the sofa made Martha nervous. What if she accidentally swept the crystal tray off the table in front of her?
She kept a death grip on her skirt, wishing she was at least as graceful as Josephine. She sat, finally, looking up at the two men who’d taken up a stance by the fireplace with its crystal mantel.
The duke had a glass of brandy in his hand. What on earth was she going to do to stop her sister if Josephine was intent on seducing the duke?
Hadn’t Josephine given this idiotic plan any thought at all?
If she was found out, news of the debacle could reach London. There were just so many sins a fortune could mitigate. No man wanted a wife who would bring scandal to their marriage. She could just imagine the tales.
Did you hear? Josephine York was found at midnight in her nightgown, wandering through Sedgebrook. I think she was intent on a tryst, don’t you? Scandalous! Simply scandalous!
“. . . don’t you, Miss York?”
Josephine nudged her with her elbow, bringing her to the present. She glanced at her sister.
“The duke has asked you a question, Martha.”
Oh, dear. So much for being a proper guest.
Looking up at him, she decided posturing was not going to help. Little got past that stern gaze.
“I do apologize, Your Grace, but I was thinking of something else. What were you saying?”
“Weighty thoughts?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“About the York Torpedo Ship?”
He was more like her father than he knew. Not every thought, idea, or musing was about the ship.
Smiling, she shook her head. “I was thinking of something entirely different.”
She was conscious of Josephine’s irritated look and Reese’s glance of amusement, but she wasn’t going to be the first to look away.
“Care to share your thoughts?” he asked.
“They would only bore you,” she said.
“I doubt that. Perhaps I should be the judge.”
“In this, you’ll have to take my word, Your Grace. Unless,” she added, “you don’t believe a female can be trusted to keep her word.”
“I hold no antipathy for females, Miss York. In fact, I quite enjoy their company. As to trust, is it singled out by gender? Or by character?”
It was exciting to be in a game of wits with him. She’d been reared to believe her mind was the equal of any man’s, that ideas or insight was rewarded regardless of where it originated.
She smiled, thoroughly enjoying herself. “I would say character, but I suspect that is not an answer a man might give.”
“Then you’ve probably not been around the right kind of men, Miss York, if you’ll pardon the effrontery of my remark. Reese, for example,” he said, glancing at his friend, “is of the same opinion as I am. A woman’s word is the equal of a man’s. Yet her dishonesty can be the same as well.”
She inclined her head to grant him the point.
“Then you agree if I tell you my thoughts were unimportant?”
He smiled at her, an expression warming her entire body. Did he realize the power he held with one simple smile? She wouldn’t be surprised if he did. She suspected beautiful people were aware of their effect on lesser individuals.
“I doubt any of your thoughts could be considered unimportant, Miss York. You seem to me to be a singular female.”
“You mustn’t say such things to Martha, Your Grace,” Josephine interjected, a trilling laugh accompanying her words. “She isn’t used to flirting. Why, she hated her season, can you imagine? She said she’d had her fill of people saying all sorts of things they didn’t mean.”
Was there anything more exasperating than being talked about as if you weren’t sitting there listening?
“Another example of your uniqueness, Miss York,” the duke said, punctuating his remark with a small bow to her.
Josephine was not to be outdone. Evidently tired of being ignored she said, “Do you not entertain at Sedgebrook, Your Grace?”
“I do not, Miss York,” he said. He moved his right leg slightly, leaning heavily on his walking stick.
Why on earth didn’t the silly man sit if he was in pain? The answer was just as swift. Because he didn’t want to be seen as different from Reese. She frowned at the other man, but he didn’t get her hint. If he didn’t sit, the duke wouldn’t, either.
“What about traveling to London? I adore London. So much to see and do. I don’t think I’ve ever seen as many people in one place. And the fashions!”
If she didn’t stop Josephine, she would go on and on and by the glazed look on the men’s faces, she would succeed in boring them entirely.
She could either excuse herself and she and Josephine could leave—although she wasn’t entirely certain Josephine would do so without an embarrassing verbal tug-of-war. Or she could come up with another topic. Weather? She couldn’t think of anything to say. The days had been fair, not a cloud in the sky.
“Do you like to travel?” she asked when Josephine took a breath. “Have you done a great deal of it? What is your favorite country to visit?”
The two men looked a little bemused at the onslaught of questions, but thankfully the duke answered.
“I’ve done a great deal of it, although I don’t think I prefer traveling over remaining at home.”
“I have as well,” Reese said. “I like it, unlike Jordan. My favorite country? It’s a city, instead. Paris. I quite like the French.”
Josephine smiled.
“Do you feel the same about Paris, Your Grace?” Josephine asked.
“It’s not my favorite city, n
o,” he said to Josephine’s obvious disappointment. “Although it does have history to recommend it.”
Should she ask about their reading next? Or simply give up, stand, and hope Josephine came along without an argument?
The duke saved her from having to make a decision.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, placing his half-empty snifter on the mantel, “I must leave you. I’ve correspondence I need to ready for the morning post.”
With that, he headed for the door, leaving them all staring after him. Josephine evidently wanted to continue to charm him. As for her? She was glad he was gone. Truly. Perhaps now he would rest his leg.
She couldn’t help, however, but anticipate meeting with him in the boathouse in the morning and wasn’t that the height of foolishness?
He didn’t know what Josephine had planned, but Reese knew it was something. He knew that determined look. He’d seen it in his own eyes.
For some reason, titles attracted the venal and the amoral. Josephine, for all her youth, was both.
He liked her, though, and that surprised him. She was both greedy and unapologetic about it.
He wanted her, too, another surprise. He preferred mature women, those who knew what life was about. He suspected Josephine wasn’t a virgin, but he doubted she was all that experienced.
She was doomed to failure, however. Miss York didn’t understand that Jordan didn’t give a flying farthing for grasping, mercenary women. Her sister had a better chance with Jordan only because she didn’t seem to care about a ducal title or the fact that Sedgebrook was one of the great houses of England.
It was also one of the great millstones around Jordan’s neck.
Just because she was determined didn’t mean Josephine was without virtues. She was a beauty, he’d give her that. Plus, she intrigued him on several levels. He admired ambition. He had it himself. He also admired practicality. She was, if nothing else, eminently pragmatic. He had a feeling that she was willing to barter what she had to get what she wanted.
The question was: did it include her virginity? If she was a virgin, no doubt she guarded her virtue, knowing it was worth something in the marriage mart. Or perhaps he was wrong. She was one of those females who would always look innocent, but she’d be a whore in the bedroom.
