by Shayla Black
So Cropthorne had managed to rouse Darius’s ire, besides her own. “His grace is rather…”
“Arrogant? Presumptuous? Lacking in judgment?”
She repressed a smile, knowing she ought not to encourage Darius in this rage.
The wind whipped a loose strand of her hair across her mouth, and Kira brushed it aside. “I meant to say daunting, but I may be persuaded to your way of thinking.”
Darius grunted in disgust. “I overheard the pompous ass in the breakfast room with James moments ago.”
“The duke has returned from London?”
That realization set Kira’s blood running with a tingled rush of anxiety. She’d rather hoped he’d be gone at least another week, enough time to establish some bond with James’s mother. As it was, Mrs. Howland had scarcely spoken to her, except with contempt in her eyes. She’d also hoped for more time in deciding how to deal with Cropthorne and the disturbance he had on her peace of mind. Her odd awareness of him unsettled her. He affected her in a way she did not understand.
“Indeed,” Darius replied, “and from the sound of it, he did nothing but dig into this nasty scandal while in Town. The jackass even did his utmost to convince your fiancé to cry off.”
Kira swallowed, fear suddenly chilling her. From the moment James had insisted she meet his family before they wed, she’d feared they would hate her, scorn her mixed heritage, and believe the worst of her. Almost from their first meeting, Kira had suspected Cropthorne would try to persuade James to end their betrothal. But to hear it stated as fact unnerved her.
“What did Mr. Howland say?” Apprehension colored her voice no matter how hard she tried to avoid it.
“Thankfully he remains steadfast to you, sister. But I do not think his grace accepts his cousin’s decision. You have not heard the last of the mischief from Cropthorne.”
With a shaky nod, Kira agreed with Darius’s assessment.
“Cropthorne apparently learned of your birthmark from Lord Vance’s gossip, but he told James he verified its existence. Might his grace have paid your lady’s maid—”
“I truly think Kitty is loyal, Darius. Perhaps the duke lied to convince his cousin.”
“Perhaps. Or it’s possible one of the duke’s servants learned of it, I suppose.” Darius swiped a frustrated hand across his face. “Why did you ever plan to elope with Vance without telling me? Without telling anyone?”
Silence was the best response, Kira supposed. She felt all kinds of a fool for allowing Lord Vance to convince her that a secret engagement and marriage would be so very thrilling. How naïve he must have thought her. And she supposed she had been. Why had she thought she ever cared for such a man?
Darius sighed in frustration at her silence. “Bloody hell. Will you at least tell me how Vance came to learn of your birthmark?”
Kira swallowed. No, never. If she told her older brother that Lord Vance had taken her toward London, not Gretna Green, as promised, and bound her, stripped her naked, put his hands on her, and… She shuddered, refusing to dwell further upon that horrible night. If Darius learned the complete truth, he would stop at nothing to kill the cad. And since Vance was known as a crack shot, despite the fact dueling was illegal, Kira feared her brother would lose his life simply to protect her fallen reputation. If Darius died, her father would be heartbroken. She would be devastated by the loss.
Would their mother care? The thought crept in, unbidden. She shoved it away.
What mattered now was that once she’d realized Lord Vance had no intent to wed her, she had escaped and returned home.
“How Lord Vance learned of my birthmark is not important. He did not physically harm me, as I’ve told you.”
“Yes, and you say he did not rape you,” Darius returned impatiently. “But—”
“He did not.” Kira hoped the assurance would set her brother’s mind somewhat at ease.
The angry flush on Darius’s cheeks bespoke his fury. “But it’s clear he hurt you in some manner. You never smile anymore, Kira. You’re afraid of him, I can see. Why else would you protect him? Why else would you forbid me to hunt him down and punish him?”
Closing her eyes, Kira wished her brother could easily best the cad. Instead, she feared Darius would, in his righteous anger, become rash and reckless and ultimately the victim of Vance’s smoking gun at dawn. She could not bear the thought. Enduring slander was much easier. With her father gone from the country so often, chasing his soul across the globe like a trade wind, Darius was the only real family she could count on. What would she do without him?
“Please, let’s not speak of this anymore.” Kira sent him an imploring look. “Mr. Howland is standing beside me, despite his family’s disapproval. Once we wed, they will see I am a suitable wife, capable of caring for him and, eventually, our children. They will come to realize I can be a good clergyman’s wife, that I will not behave in a scandalous manner, and that I am no lustful hussy.”
Her brother looked doubtful, and Kira sighed. “Time,” she assured. “Give the thing time. Between that and marriage, the talk will all go away. The ton will move on to another scandal, and I will cease to be of import. Since I’ve never had aspirations to social consequence, the opinions of the London rich hardly signify. Once I’m married and we settle in to James’s new parish, I shall have no cause to see any of the nasty gossips, I am sure.” She grabbed her brother’s hands. “I am willing to let the matter drop. Can you not do the same?”
Darius cursed and looked away.
Kira squeezed his fingers. “Please?”
“If you only knew the vicious lies—”
“I know.” And she did know, though she did not understand the reasons Vance said such things. At this point, however, his reasons hardly mattered. “I can do nothing to stop his lies, so I would simply rather forget them.”
“I cannot!”
Stepping on the tips of her toes, Kira put her arms around her brother’s stiff shoulders. “Try to forget. For me.”
Darius stood still and mute for very nearly a minute. Finally, he heaved a defeated sigh. The grip fear held over Kira’s heart loosened its hold a fraction. Perhaps now Lord Vance wouldn’t kill her avenging brother. She simply had to protect him.
“I shall try,” he muttered finally.
With a final squeeze, Kira released her brother, then stepped away. “Thank you.”
“I only said I would try.” Defiance tightened every line of his face.
She smiled, feeling more like a mother than a sister. “Try your best. I’ll not ask more of you than that.”
“Kira, it’s simply that— Damn it, you deserve so much better than to have your name bandied about on the tongue of every randy buck in London.”
“I understand how you feel, but you must have faith. My every wish may yet come true. We’ll simply have to wait and see.”
* * * *
Not long after the noon hour, Gavin answered the knock on his study door.
“Enter,” he called, fully expecting to see Aunt Caroline standing in the doorway. He was not disappointed.
“So you’ve returned.” She shut the door behind her. Her grim expression clashed with the gray and flaxen curls bobbing about her face. Anxiety glowed in her blue eyes. “What have you learned?”
“I heard all about Miss Melbourne’s exploits with Lord Vance. They are every bit as shocking as you claimed.”
Unfortunately, they were also arousing. Seeing Kira upon his return this morning—even fully clothed, walking upon the lawn with her brother—was all his unruly mind needed to spin fantasies of the half-Persian beauty, naked and wanton.
Since then, he’d chosen to bury his thoughts in a mountain of estate work instead. He wished to God it had helped to take his mind off James’s fiancée.
“And I have no reason to believe she improves upon closer acquaintance.” Aunt Caroline seated herself on the sofa across from Gavin’s desk. “She pretends such innocence.”
“Indeed.
” Gavin saw no reason to tell his aunt he had verified Vance’s claim, for she already thought Kira Melbourne guilty. “I also spoke with James. It’s as you said; he is unwilling to discard the chit. Stubborn, naïve fool.”
“Quite!” Caroline agreed. “And I have more bad news, I fear. Gossip may already be spreading here in Bramley Village. Only yesterday, that nosy Mrs. Baycliffe asked if Miss Melbourne and her brother were here visiting. I can only imagine Mrs. Baycliffe learned of their presence through the servants.” She sniffed. “I would hardly introduce them to the neighbors.”
Gavin frowned. Even local gossip may well start rumors of James’s engagement, which could be damaging indeed. Such whispers could easily reach London. “How did you reply?”
Aunt Caroline sputtered, “I—I could think of nothing to say except that James and Mr. Melbourne are acquainted and that he and his sister are merely passing a short visit here. I do not think Mrs. Baycliffe believed me. What are we to do, Gavin?” She wrung her hands. “Only in recent years have I felt the shadow of your father’s scandals fade, and now to be confronted with this…”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Gavin tried to ward off an encroaching headache. What would they do if another scandal darkened their door? Aunt Caroline had been just a young bride when her brother had so publicly shocked the ton and humiliated the family. She neared forty now and would likely find the strain much more taxing. Pain bit into his gut when he remembered that hideous morning all of London had discovered the depraved truth.
For himself, Gavin hated the whispers and stares. And he wasn’t naïve enough to believe that all his years of wholesome living, of leashing the lust inside him, would preserve his status with society. Without question, he, and worse, his sisters, would be judged by James’s actions and found wanting.
“And that is not the half of my concern.” Caroline regarded him with beseeching eyes. “I fear for James. How he will suffer! Miss Melbourne does not care for him as a wife should.”
Gavin, patting his aunt’s shoulder, silently agreed.
“She does not look upon James with affection,” his aunt went on. “Miss Melbourne is too worldly for my sweet boy. She will disappoint him someday and crush his trust cruelly, I fear.”
Again, Gavin agreed with his aunt’s assessment. Miss Melbourne would eventually grow weary of a quiet country life and the retiring position James held. She was the kind of woman who would want excitement, adventure—passion. When she did not find that with her husband, she was likely to seek it elsewhere. Even though James did not love her, he would expect faithfulness from his wife. Her perfidy would devastate him, not to mention damage his status with his congregation and church superiors.
Seeing his frail aunt tremble, Gavin took her hand and patted it. “Do not fret.”
“If James marries the terrible girl, how can we stop the gossip? How can we protect him from the hurt she will inevitably crush him with?” she challenged. “It’s impossible, I fear, for he’s quite decided to wed her.”
Again, Aunt Caroline was right. Gavin sighed, knowing suddenly what he must do. “Then James cannot be allowed to marry the girl. I will think of some way to prevent their marriage.” He kissed Aunt Caroline’s cheek, hoping to ease the worried expression from her loving, familiar face. “Leave everything to me.”
* * * *
The next morning, Kira entered the music room, a small brightly-colored place rarely inhabited by others, she had observed. She eyed the pianoforte, an instrument as lovely as she had ever seen, but had no urge to play it, despite the fact she missed making music.
Instead, she sat on a cozy sofa, curling her feet beneath her, and held a volume of poetry that included the works of Percy Bysshe Shelley and Robert Southey. In fact, she’d been surprised to find the book here at Norfield Park; Cropthorne did not seem the type of man to enjoy poetry.
Sighing, Kira opened the book. The fire burned cheerfully in the hearth, and peace drenched the landscape outside the window, which had seen rain not an hour before. It was the perfect time to relax.
Still, anxiety niggled at her. Kira knew she should be concerned about her future. Darius wanted to confront the odious Lord Vance. Mrs. Howland disapproved of her, though likely held her tongue for James’s sake. The duke watched her with a sharp, disconcerting stare. Still, she refused to think of such inconveniences today. Within a few weeks, she and James would be married, and all these problems would be behind her. They would move to Tunbridge Wells in Kent. No one there knew her, and once she became Mrs. James Howland, hopefully no one would know about her unfortunate incident with Lord Vance or care about her heritage. She hoped then to finally have some peace, some acceptance.
Stifling a yawn, Kira settled deeper into the sofa and closed her eyes, only to hear the lifting of the door’s latch.
Who would come here, after the room had been empty for days? James and Darius had agreed to exercise the horses almost the moment the rain paused. Once alone with Mrs. Howland, the woman had pleaded a headache and retreated to her rooms, which left—
The Duke of Cropthorne.
A glance over her shoulder confirmed he stood in the portal, watching her with dark, unwavering eyes. Had he come here in search of privacy? Or in search of her?
“Your grace,” she greeted cautiously.
He nodded, a regal incline of his head. Then he closed the door behind him with a decisive click.
Kira watched the improper gesture. Her mind turned. Her heart began to beat. Why would he shut the door in such a deliberate manner? She was still an unmarried lady, he an unattached gentleman to whom she was not related. Reputations were ruined this way.
Apparently he believed hers already beyond repair.
Warily, she rose to her feet, laying the poetry down on the table before her. “If you should like the room to yourself, I will be more than happy—”
“Sit.”
It was an order, not a request. Instantly, she chafed. Did he think her as biddable as a dog? Kira cocked her head in his direction—still standing—and cast him a defiant stare.
“Please,” he growled, jaw clenched tightly.
Kira paused. She doubted Cropthorne said the word please very often. With her arms crossed over her chest, she took the fact he’d forced the word from his throat as a victory and sat.
“I’d like the door open, if you please,” she said.
“No. What I have to say is better said in privacy.”
Clearly, he intended his words to be ominous. And they were.
Wordlessly, she regarded the man she feared was about to become her nemesis. He looked tired, his dark eyes underscored by gray circles beneath. He had discarded his coat and wore only his breeches and a crisp white shirt open just enough to show the strong column of his neck. The garment showcased his wide shoulders and narrow torso. He’d had his dark hair severely shorn while in London, Kira realized. She remembered the hint of curl along his nape before his haircut. That was gone now, and she wondered why he’d felt the need to have something so natural eradicated so completely.
“Miss Melbourne.” He moved between a pair of overstuffed chairs and settled himself into the one closest to her. His movements held both military precision and confidence, as if he knew exactly what he was doing.
Kira watched, dread growing and swirling in her belly.
“You can have no illusions that my aunt or I approve of your betrothal to James.”
She had feared his words, suspected they were coming even, and still Cropthorne stunned her. He was direct, blunt. His weighty gaze never left her.
She refused to fidget under his intense stare. “Your opinion changes nothing, your grace, though I had hoped for amiable family relations. Only time will prove to you that I mean to be a good wife to your cousin.”
“You do not love him, I suspect. Nor does he love you.”
An acknowledgement of such a sentiment from Cropthorne? Kira would have never thought it possible. Thus far, he’d shown no si
gns of having a heart, much less believing in it.
“Love has never been a requirement for marriage.”
“Perhaps not,” he conceded. “But if you cared anything for James, you would put a stop to this farce.”
Anger surged. How dare the pompous duke presume to tell her what she ought to do! “I have a great deal of affection for your cousin. He is precisely the sort of gentleman I always conceived of wedding. He is considerate and well-mannered—”
“Indeed. But what can you give him in return? Mixed blood? A damaged reputation? Do you imagine either of those… qualities will help James advance in the church?”
Kira wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Cropthorne’s gaze sharpened yet again, until looking at him felt like trailing a razor across her finger.
“He does not have the sort of ambition to which you refer.”
The duke scoffed. “He is intent on saving you, on making you his act of charity. Do you imagine he would tell you of his ambitions, knowing you will likely ruin his chances?”
Kira refused to allow Cropthorne to hurt her. She was not merely charity to James; they shared mutual respect and friendship. Day by day, she saw evidence of the boundless goodness of his heart. He fully accepted her as she was, believed her innocent of Lord Vance’s terrible claims. James was truly one of the best men she had ever met.
“I will care for him every day. I will cook his meals, tend his clothes, and raise his children. I will endeavor to be the kind of wife a clergyman such as he requires. And he wishes to marry me. Why should that not be enough for you?”
“James deserves more.” Cropthorne leaned forward aggressively in his chair. “He deserves a woman who will not be shunned by his parishioners. He deserves a woman who can give him the whole of her heart, not one who is merely accepting his charity. James deserves a woman who comes to him unsullied, who can remain faithful—”
“How dare you!” Hot and cold shot through her in a shock of sensations. Kira bolted to her feet, glaring, chest heaving with angry breaths.
