Why Dukes Say I Do

by Manda Collins

  He hadn’t consulted her before he’d made his announcement the night before, but he was determined to convince her that it was the right thing for them to do.

  So, when she finally hunted him down in his study, he greeted her warmly. And indicated that she should sit down.

  “May I offer you some brandy?” he asked, moving toward the sideboard. “Or I could ring for tea, if you wish it.”

  Isabella’s brow lifted. “I have no wish for any sort of refreshment, Your Grace,” she said. “You know quite well why I am here. And I don’t need refreshment to do it.”

  “You’re angry,” he said, sitting down behind his desk.

  “Of course I’m angry,” she said with a toss of her head. “You announced our engagement last night before a ballroomful of your neighbors without consulting me about it.”

  “So, you would have been all right with my announcement if I had consulted you first?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

  “You’ll never know, will you?” she demanded. “How could you, Your Grace?”

  He watched the emotions play across her face, saw the hurt behind her eyes. “You’re not just angry,” he said, understanding dawning. “You’re hurt as well. Whyever for?”

  She looked away. Her profile was proud. Strong. And lovely. “My first marriage was entirely out of my control,” she said quietly. “My father agreed to the match before consulting me. My betrothal announcement was published in the Times before I could even consent to the match. And of course, my husband spent the entirety of our marriage making every decision for me. From what I was to wear to whom I was to socialize with”—she turned to look Trevor fully in the eye—“and when and how he would use my body.

  “For you to take control from my hands once again in such a high-handed manner was not only inconsiderate; it was no better than what Lord Wharton would have done,” she continued. “And I had thought better of you.”

  Silence fell upon the room as Trevor watched her. His gut twisted as he realized the truth of what she said. He had not considered just what a betrayal it was for him to so thoroughly take the reins away from her like he had done. He had only thought to take advantage of the moment afforded by Mrs. Palmer’s ill-timed intrusion. He saw Isabella bite her lip and wanted more than anything to go to her. To wrap her in his arms and reassure her in a way that would let her know that he had not meant to hurt her.

  But he knew that the last thing she wanted from him now was physical affection.

  “You are right,” he said at last, raising his hands as if in surrender. “It was wrong of me. I saw a means of turning the tables on Mrs. Palmer, and of salvaging your reputation, and I took it. I should not have done so without consulting you first.”

  Her surprise at his apology was like a punch in the gut. Clearly she was unaccustomed to being vindicated.

  “I…,” she began, her throat hoarse as she tried to get the words out. “I thank you, Your Grace,” she finally finished. “It means a great deal to me to hear you say so.”

  “I had no intention of hurting you, Isabella,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving hers. To his shock, he saw tears there. That he had brought such a strong woman to this point filled him with self-loathing. “Truly,” he continued. “I would not have done if it I’d considered how wresting control of our … whatever it is between us would look to you. Especially given your relationship with your late husband.”

  She nodded and, breaking eye contact, looked at her hands in her lap.

  Unable to stay away any longer, Trevor stood and walked around to perch on the edge of the desk before her. Leaning down, he slid a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face so that he could see her eyes. He stroked a thumb under her eye, wiping a single tear away. Softly, slowly, giving her every opportunity to push him away, Trevor kissed her. To his surprise and delight, she slipped her arms around his neck and held him to her. Opening her mouth beneath his to draw him in.

  After a moment, he pulled back.

  “Does this mean that you will consider marrying me after all?” he asked. Her eyes were luminous with unshed tears but also sharp.

  “I will,” she said, stroking his face. “Though I hope that you will never do such a high-handed thing again.”

  He shook his head. “I can only promise to try. There might be times when for your own safety or the safety of my sisters or, if we are so fortunate, our children I am forced to make decisions that affect us all. I will promise, however, to consult with you if at all possible if I need to make such a choice. And I will never, ever, take away your will as your late husband did.”

  She nodded.

  Trevor continued, “What he did you to, Isabella, was monstrous. And I trust you know me well enough to know that I would never use you in the manner that he did.”

  “I do,” she said with a rueful smile. “I would not consent to marry you otherwise, no matter how compromised my reputation might be given our interlude in the Palmers’ garden last evening.”

  He dropped his hand from her face and took hers, pulling her to her feet. “Would you prefer to be married in Scotland, which is not very far from here, or in London by special license? Scotland would allow us to get away for a bit by ourselves, while London will take a bit of planning, since I have every intention of taking my sisters with us.”

  She smiled. “I’ve never been to Scotland. I should like to take a quick jaunt north before we must travel to London and deal with the dowager and no doubt her long list of duties she expects you to fulfill for her as soon as you reach the ducal town house.”

  “Excellent,” he said, grinning back at her, his heart light now that they’d gotten past the tangle of last night’s actions. “I will set about planning our trip north.”

  “And I will find your sisters and explain to them that we will be traveling to London sometime in the next few weeks,” she said.

  Her cheeks turning pink, she added, “Thank you, Trevor.”

  His brows drew together. “Whatever for?”

  “For understanding. About my objections to last night.” She cleared her throat. “I will endeavor to make you a good wife. I know that my time with Ralph has made me … difficult, in some ways. But I will do my best not to let my first marriage color my marriage to you.”

  Unable to stop himself, Trevor gathered her against him and kissed her again. “Never,” he said. “Never for a moment think that I hold anyone but Ralph to blame for what he did to you.”

  With a hesitant nod Isabella pulled away and was gone.

  Fourteen

  “Of course I’ll look after your sisters and Miss Nightingale while you are on your wedding trip,” Lucien said with a frown. “I am shocked you even feel the need to ask.”

  Trevor had ridden over to his friend’s estate the morning after the ball. The weather had turned cold, as sometimes happened in early spring when winter seemed reluctant to release its hold. The chill suited Trevor’s somber mood as he pulled up his collar against the wind. He had much to consider and was grateful for the glass of brandy before the fire in Lucien’s study.

  “Isabella has told me that I should not take too much for granted,” he said wryly, savoring the fiery warmth of the brandy. “She’s right, of course. But it does make a man dashed nervous. Though I suppose she has had more reason to be wary than most.”

  “True enough,” Lucien said, stretching his long legs out before him and crossing them at the ankles. “Did I ever tell you that I was at Eton with Wharton?”

  Trevor frowned. “No. Why are you just now informing me of it?”

  His friend shrugged. “I don’t know. It didn’t really occur to me, to be honest. He was several years ahead of me. And I didn’t catch his notice, thank god.”

  “He was one of those boys, was he?” Trevor asked, not surprised. “Something tells me I won’t like what you’re about to tell me.”

  “Oh, I have little enough to tell about the man,” Lucien assured him. “He was simply one of the
older boys who enjoyed every bit of authority being older and stronger gave him. He thought nothing of requiring his underlings to wait on him hand and foot. Do his lessons. Polish his boots. If there was an unpleasant task that needed doing, he was sure to find a way to get out of it. Preferably by making some other poor creature do it for him.”

  “That sounds about right,” Trevor said morosely. “A bastard through and through. Or so I would imagine from what little Isabella has told me of him.”

  “I tell you this not so that you will feel sorry for her, Trev,” Lucien said seriously. “I tell you so that you will know just how much strength of will she must have to have survived years of marriage to the bastard with her spirit intact. A woman like that is stronger than you or I can possibly fathom.”

  “She is that,” Trevor said with a smile. “She’s managed to endure marriage to Wharton in addition to interference from the dowager. If she were any stronger she’d be a general.”

  “Or a duchess,” Lucien said with a grin. “I am happy for you, old fellow.”

  “Don’t get all maudlin on me, Luce. You look awful when you cry.”

  The other man rolled his eyes. “I am serious. Or am trying to be.” He thrust a hand through his already-tousled hair. “Marry your Isabella and be happy. And don’t let the dowager do anything to separate you once the knot is tied.”

  “It’s not like you to be so melodramatic,” Trevor said, his brows drawn.

  “It’s just good to see you happy for a change,” Lucien said with vehemence. “I don’t think I’ve seen you smile this much since both your parents were alive.”

  Startled, Trevor realized that his friend was likely right. He hadn’t meant to become so serious, but he was saddled with a great degree of responsibility when his father died. It had necessitated him becoming much more focused than he had been before.

  “Have I really changed that much?” he asked his friend.

  “Only to those who know you as well as I do,” Lucien said with a smile. “Now, go to Scotland and leave me to look after your sisters and their governess.”

  Relieved but not quite knowing why, Trevor thanked his friend and headed back to Nettlefield.

  * * *

  As Trevor had said, the trip to Scotland was brief.

  To Isabella’s surprise, he chose to ride with her in the carriage. The conversation he initiated after a few moments of trivialities, however, was far from lover-like.

  “I want you to think of who might wish to frighten you or get revenge against you for my cousin’s death,” Trevor said, sprawled easily on the opposite seat, as if he were asking her opinion on the latest opera in Covent Garden.

  She had hoped the journey north would give her a bit of respite from worries over the person trying to frighten her. And her expression must have communicated as much.

  Taking her hand, Trevor gave her a crooked smile. “I know this is tiresome for you, but I wish to keep you safe. The more I know about the situation, the more I can do to ensure that this person is stopped.”

  Isabella sighed with resignation. She supposed she would have to discuss the matter sooner or later. And Trevor deserved to begin their marriage knowing as much as she did about the situation. “You are right,” she said, appreciating his willingness to be gentle with her. “I suppose I’ve grown so accustomed to dealing with this—and every other trouble that befalls me—on my own. And to be honest, it stings a bit to reveal the gory details to anyone. Even you.”

  “I know,” he said. As he shifted to take the seat beside her, Isabella felt a moment of panic. Which he must have sensed, because he was careful to keep some distance between them. “But you must learn to share the burden,” he said, reaching down to where their hands were joined. “I, too, have grown too used to being in control of things. But the devil of it is, Isabella, that we are none of us in control of things. It simply isn’t possible.”

  “I am in control of myself,” Isabella said quietly, looking down at their hands rather than at the man beside her.

  “You are,” he said, bringing her hand closer, and slowly, carefully, finger by finger removing the kid glove that covered it.

  She took in a breath and held it as they both watched him work the leather over her hand, unclothing her hand with as much care and finesse as if he were removing her gown.

  “No fair,” she said softly, raising her eyes to meet his. “Your hand is still covered.”

  He raised one auburn brow. “So it is,” he said with that crooked grin. “I suppose you’d better remove my glove. For fairness’s sake, of course.”

  “Of course,” she agreed, quaking inside despite her outward stillness. As he had done, she took his hand in both of hers and finger by finger removed the glove until his left hand was as naked as her right one. Tossing his glove to join hers on the opposite seat, she examined his hand. It was not the hand of a pampered gentleman. Though his nails were neatly trimmed, there were calluses where he’d held farm tools, or repaired bridges, or done whatever else the village of Nettledean had asked of him. It was the hand of a man who was not afraid of hard work. A strong hand.

  Wordlessly he entwined their fingers and held her hand against his. Palm to palm.

  There was something about the feel of his naked hand against hers that was more intoxicating than a kiss, more intimate than sex.

  “Our hands fit well together,” Trevor said quietly. Isabella noted absently the tiny lines radiating from the corners of his blue eyes. They were the eyes of a man who laughed, who showed compassion, who labored alongside his tenants when necessary in the warm sun.

  He was everything her late husband was not.

  She wanted to look away, suddenly frightened at being the focus of such a good and honorable man. But she did not have the strength to do it. For all his virtue, he also commanded a degree of power over her.

  “We fit well together,” she agreed. “For now.”

  At last she managed to break the spell and look away. And it may have been her imagination, but she could have sworn she felt his disappointment.

  “For as long as you’ll have me,” he said, after a moment. He lifted their joined hands to kiss the back of hers. “I’m not Wharton, Isabella. I won’t hold you captive or try to bend you to my will. I don’t want that kind of marriage.”

  In spite of herself, she was curious. “What kind of marriage do you want?” It had never actually occurred to her that he would have any sort of expectations about their marriage. Foolish, she realized now, but she’d been so busy wrestling with her own fears and expectations about marrying again that she’d not considered he might have some sort of fears over the match. He was a man after all. And men, as she well knew from past experience, held all the power in marriage.

  “I would very much like a marriage like my parents had,” he said without a trace of bashfulness. It was one of the qualities she most appreciated in Trevor—his matter-of-fact way of explaining things. “Theirs was a love match, of course, so we’ve already missed the mark there, of course. But what I would like, very much, for us is to have the sort of partnership they shared.”

  “I do not know that I’ve ever seen a marriage such as that,” Isabella said truthfully. She had hoped for such a match with Wharton, or at least something amicable. But he’d been too unwilling to allow her any sort of free will for that sort of marriage to develop between them. “I should like to try it, though.”

  “I think we’ve already proved we work well together,” Trevor said, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. “We managed well enough with Eleanor and Belinda.”

  “When you weren’t ripping up at Eleanor over her gown,” Isabella said with a grin. “I thought the talk about redheads and their tempers was an old wives’ tale.”

  “She’s my little sister,” he said with mock affront. “I am not ready to think of her as able to wear a gown like that. If it were up to me she’d wear pinafores and her hair in braids for the rest of her days.”

&nbs
p; “Which is why it’s a good thing I was there to smooth the waters,” Isabella said. “I suppose you are right. We do work well together.”

  “An excellent start for a marriage partnership, I think,” he said. “But now you must allow me my male pride and let me slay this dragon for you.”

  “Which one?” Isabella asked without irony. “There are several chasing me at the present time.

  “Not,” she added, “that I acknowledge you alone will be the one to find this person, mind you. I still believe that I should have a hand in ferreting them out and making them pay.”

  “That bit of stubbornness aside,” Trevor said seriously, “I think we should work on the unknown dragon first. Thistleback is likely on his way back to London now. And my grandmother is there are as well. We will deal with her when we travel there in a week or so.”

  Isabella couldn’t stop the gasp of surprise she felt at his announcement. “Do you mean it?” She was so relieved that she felt tears well in her eyes. She hadn’t known how much her worries over the dowager’s threats against Perdita’s match had been preying on her mind.

  At his nod she threw her arms about his shoulders and hugged him close. “Thank you, Trevor. Thank you so much. I know you did not wish it, but I will be so relieved to have this particular worry removed from my mind. You cannot even imagine.”

  “I did promise you that I would go there with you if you agreed to spend time with me doing some estate business. And with the Palmers’ ball out of the way, you have attended all of them.”

  “I know,” she said, pulling back from him and hastily wiping the tears from her eyes. “But, as you know, I am not accustomed to gentlemen who keep their word.”

  He handed her his handkerchief, which she took with a sheepish grin. “I hope you will learn to expect it, my dear,” he said, squeezing her hand. “You deserve it.”

  She wasn’t so sure about that, but she could hardly argue with him when he was being so incredibly good about everything. Still, she was feeling a bit uncomfortable with the degree of emotion she’d just shown, so she turned the subject back to the one he’d begun with. “I cannot think of who might wish to frighten me. Only a few people know the true circumstances of Gervase’s death. My sister, Georgina Mowbray, the dowager, and your personal secretary, Lord Archer. To everyone else we put it about that Gervase’s death was a terrible accident.”