How to Marry a Duke

by Vicky Dreiling

  “Try not to worry,” Tristan said. “I’ll hire extra men to protect you. There are plenty of former soldiers who need employment. They’ll be stationed out of sight to avoid attracting attention. I’ll instruct them not to admit anyone at the servants’ entrance. Deliveries will be left outside the door. Admit no one into your home.”

  Broughton frowned. “But what about Hodges? He’ll want to call on Miss Powell after their recent engagement.”

  Tessa shook her head. “I don’t want either of them embroiled in this madness.” And she didn’t want her problems to overshadow the couple’s happiness. “I had better send her to his sister’s house.”

  “I’ll speak to Hodges and impress upon him the need to keep the matter quiet,” Broughton said. “Miss Mansfield, you must warn Miss Powell.”

  “I did so today,” she said. “I feared Mortland would try to corner her when she went out.”

  Tristan gazed into Tessa’s eyes again. “Once I capture him, you need never fear him again.”

  Bile rose up in her throat. Richard had threatened to spill his guts, the same way he’d done eight years ago. She imagined Tristan’s shock. His disgust. His anger.

  Panic clawed her lungs.

  For a moment, she could hardly breathe. But an image of Richard’s smirking face rose in her mind, and all her anxiety heated into fury. She’d suffered enough because of that rat. Eight years ago, he’d marked her as an easy target, and she’d walked into his trap. He’d humiliated her, but she was no longer a gullible girl.

  She couldn’t stop him from making his ugly claims, but this time, she would not curl up like a victim and weep. When Tristan confronted her, she would deny Richard’s every word, scoff and lie outright if she must. She refused to let Richard ruin her life again.

  Her bravado vanished, and a shard of fear lodged in her chest. Tristan knew too much about her. She’d told him part of the truth that day Anne had given her Richard’s letter, and Tristan would remember every detail. When Richard spewed her secret, Tristan would put all the puzzle pieces together. And he would loathe her for deceiving him.

  Oh, God. She should have told him the sordid truth the day he’d proposed, but she’d not wanted him to know because she couldn’t bear the shame. Now she could say nothing, could not confess in front of Hawk and Broughton. She’d waited till it was too late.

  “We’d better leave now,” Tristan murmured.

  His gentle voice stung her heart. He didn’t know she’d lied to him when she’d refused his proposal. He didn’t know she’d deceived him about her past. He didn’t know she’d masqueraded as a respectable woman.

  If she had told Tristan the truth the day he’d proposed, he would have understood she’d fallen for the lies of a scoundrel. But he would never forgive her for letting Richard blindside him.

  An hour ago, she’d thought losing him to another woman was the worst pain she would ever experience. She’d been wrong.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Two weeks later, Tristan slammed his fist on his desk after the Bow Street runner departed. He’d gotten his hopes up, but they’d soon fallen flat. The runner had found Lady Broughton’s emerald necklace in a notorious pawn shop in Petticoat Lane where the proprietor received stolen goods. The Bow Street runner had promised to redouble his search for Mortland in the gaming hells and bawdy houses.

  The devil. For the past week, Tristan had stalked the worst districts of the city, asking questions and offering money to anyone who could supply information. All he’d gotten for his trouble were false leads. Finding Mortland in the sprawling slums was akin to looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack.

  A knock sounded at the door. “Enter,” he said.

  His mother walked in and sat in one of the chairs before his desk. “Frustration is written all over your face. I take it there has been no progress in the search for Mortland.”

  “All I know is he has money, thanks to his sister’s jewels.” He related the information about the fence, and then he scrubbed his hand over his face.

  She sighed. “You may never find him.”

  “I will not give up. No matter how long it takes, I will hunt him.” Thirteen years ago, he’d refused to let ruinous debt defeat him. Through sheer determination, he’d succeeded, and he would again.

  “I know you are prowling the slums at night,” she said. “You are putting your life in danger.”

  “Tessa’s life is in danger,” he growled. The minute he uttered the words, he realized his mistake. Every muscle in his body tensed as he waited for his mother to express her outrage over his use of Tessa’s Christian name.

  She did not even blink. “I agree she is in peril. I do wish she would reconsider taking up temporary residence with Lady Broughton. Some excuse could be made—repairs to her town house or some such. It’s foolish of her to stay locked up all alone.”

  “I’ll call on her and try to persuade her,” he said.

  His mother fingered the ribbon of her quizzing glass. “That would not be wise since you’ve neglected to call on Lady Georgette and Miss Hardwick.”

  He stood and walked over to the hearth. After moving the screen, he retrieved the poker and stirred the hot coals. He knew he must honor his promise to the girls and their families, but he could not concentrate on them now.

  “Tristan, you delayed your decision at the house party, and you are delaying again.”

  He continued to stoke the fire until it blazed. “It is a lifetime decision. I will not rush.”

  “Your inability to make a decision tells me you have doubts. Call on Hardwick and Boswood. Tell them after much contemplation, you have concluded you are not yet ready for marriage.”

  He whirled around, still holding the poker. “I will not humiliate the girls and their families. The scandal would bring disgrace upon our family, too.”

  “Do not sacrifice your happiness for the opinions of society.”

  He set the poker aside and replaced the screen. “It is no small matter. You of all people know the consequences of scandal.”

  “Since you brought up the subject, we might as well discuss your father. Sit with me,” she said.

  He shook his head. “There is no point in opening up old disagreements.”

  “I’ll not defend his mistreatment of us,” she said. “But there are things you do not know. Will you listen?”

  He joined her and regarded her warily.

  “I should have spoken to you years ago about your father, but you resisted every time I tried,” she said. “You’ve let your resentment fester so deep, you refuse to acknowledge your father had any good qualities.”

  He almost ended the conversation, but he kept silent. Let her make excuses for his sire. He’d refute every single one.

  She searched his eyes. “No one is all good or bad. Those who make poor choices believe they are justified. Even that blackguard Mortland has his reasons for what he’s done to Miss Mansfield.”

  He scoffed. “Yes, her money.”

  “Mark me. There is more to that story.”

  “You are right.” He told her about the village girl and his suspicion Tessa’s uncle had forced Mortland to take the commission. “Mortland transferred the blame to Miss Mansfield. He wanted recompense and thought to woo her, so he could get his hands on her fortune. When she snubbed him, he decided to force her.”

  “You are undoubtedly correct, but we stray from the original matter.”

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. His mother didn’t understand. He didn’t give a damn about his long-dead sire.

  “I think you need to know how your father felt about you.”

  Tristan knew his dissipated father had cared only about himself.

  “The day you were born your father was ecstatic. You were a big, healthy boy. I wish I could describe to you the look on his face when he first saw you. He lifted you up and exclaimed over his perfect son.”

  Tristan scowled at the carpet. Did she think that m
ade up for his father’s cruelty?

  “Your father was so proud of you,” she said. “James would take you up on his horse and ride along the grounds. You were barely out of leading strings, but he was determined. When he discovered you’d learned to read at age four, he bragged about it to all his acquaintances.”

  He’d not known, but it changed nothing.

  “I believe he wanted to be a good husband and father, but he let his resentment toward his own father overrule him. James could not forgive his father for forcing him to marry. Your grandfather had accumulated horrendous debts.”

  Tristan had known, but his father had gambled away the fortune his mother had brought to the marriage. “Frankly, I’ve no sympathy.”

  “As I said before, I am not excusing him. I only want you to understand. I truly believe he loved me, but he didn’t want to marry yet. He was seven and twenty, not ready to give up sowing his wild oats. But his father gave him no choice.”

  “He humiliated you,” Tristan muttered.

  She sighed. “I didn’t understand his sudden coldness after we married. I knew my fortune was a draw, and families made arranged marriages all the time. I was too young to understand why he blew hot and cold. In the intervening years, I’ve come to realize his inability to reconcile his resentment toward his father affected his feelings for me. He fell into dissipation with his rowdy friends, gambling and drinking to excess.

  “Five years after we married, I grew increasingly unhappy with his neglect. My father interceded and made empty threats. James realized I’d complained to my family. So he punished me by taking one mistress after another. He did not even try to be discreet. I blamed myself.”

  Tristan sat up and stared at her. “You did nothing wrong. He was weak and spiteful.”

  “I knew you felt powerless as a young man when you saw him with those women in our home. I didn’t know what to say to you. I didn’t trust myself not to break apart.”

  “He mistreated you and ignored Julianne. He wouldn’t even see her after her birth because she wasn’t the spare heir he wanted. The man was a selfish bastard,” Tristan bit out.

  “But you came,” she said. “You held her and cried.”

  “I was a lad,” he said gruffly.

  “Your father only realized on his deathbed what he’d given up. When you refused to hear his apology, he wept.”

  “He made his own bed.” Tristan looked at his mother. “He did not deserve you.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I held on to the happy memories of our courtship because I could not bear to think I’d wasted my life and heart on him.”

  His chest hurt. When he handed his mother a handkerchief, he felt like a devil. All these years, he’d refused to listen. He’d bristled every time she’d claimed to love his father. But Tessa had understood his mother’s complex feelings.

  “I count myself fortunate because I have you and Julianne,” she said, folding the handkerchief into a square. “Despite everything your father did, you both turned out well.”

  “Mama, it was your influence that formed our characters.”

  She looked at him. “I watched you set out with grim determination to restore our fortunes. And you defied impossible odds. I’m very proud of you, son.”

  “Thank you.” He swallowed hard. “Forgive me.”

  “I always understood,” she said. “I love you, son, and whatever you decide about the girls, I will support you. But if you have doubts, do not let a sense of obligation force your hand. After all you’ve sacrificed, you deserve happiness. There is always a way around what may seem impossible.”

  He didn’t bother to refute her, but there was no honorable way to back out now. Too many people would suffer.

  “You must call on the girls and their families soon,” she said.

  “I’ve not been able to think of anything but capturing that devil, Mortland. Lady Georgette and Miss Hardwick have devoted the entire season to me. They could not court other gentlemen. I owe it to them to give careful consideration to the matter. I will write to their fathers and tell them an urgent matter has kept me away. Next week, I will call on them.”

  After she left, Tristan sat at his desk and penned the letters. Twenty minutes later, he rang the bell and instructed a footman to deliver them. Then he closed the door and leaned his back against it. He knew what he should do, but everything inside him rebelled.

  For the first time in more years than he could recall, he closed his eyes and prayed for guidance.

  Tessa retrieved her novel and walked downstairs to her drawing room. She kicked off her slippers and curled her feet beside her. She’d read Sense and Sensibility twice before, but she never grew tired of the story. After removing the ribbon marking her place, she read one page three times and realized none if it had registered.

  She set the book aside and looked at the empty chair where Tristan had sat tapping his thumb impatiently so many times. How long would it be before the memories of his distinctive voice and brilliant blue eyes faded?

  She missed him so much already she ached all over.

  Sixteen days had elapsed since she’d last seen him. That first week, she’d jittered with nerves, expecting Tristan to call and condemn her. But the hunt for Richard had proven fruitless thus far. She suspected Richard knew he was a hunted man. He might have left London until the pursuit grew cold. Richard would bide his time, perhaps for months.

  Tristan could not continue this quest much longer.

  It was unfair to let him continue. He needed to focus his attention on choosing a bride and get on with his life, without her. Every additional day he remained embroiled in her problems was another day he delayed his engagement. He’d insisted upon protecting her, but he didn’t know he was too late. She’d looked after herself all these years, and she would again.

  She would hire men to track Richard. With her fortune, she could finance a veritable army to hunt him. Lord Broughton would provide her with the contacts she needed. Tomorrow she would send Tristan a letter informing him of her decision.

  She would break this final tie with Tristan. The thought of never seeing him again sent a pang to her heart, but she could no longer prolong the inevitable. For both their sakes, she must end all contact with him. Though she would miss Tristan, she would always cherish her memories of him. Long ago, she’d resigned herself to a life without a love of her own. He would never know that in her heart he would always be her love.

  Sorrow threatened to overwhelm her, but she would not pity herself. Resolute, she padded over to her escritoire and penned a letter accepting Anne’s invitation to stay with her. Tomorrow, Tessa would send the letter, pack her trunks, and instruct Gravesend to close up the town house.

  The tension that had gripped her for more than a fortnight eased a bit. She’d felt powerless and victimized hiding in her own home, but she’d proven herself capable of managing her own life since her uncle’s death. Having made her decision, she felt more in control. She was not friendless, and she most certainly had abundant resources at her disposal.

  With a sigh, she returned to the settee and started reading. The light in the room had begun to fade when Gravesend shuffled into the drawing room, his shaggy white brows furrowed. She set the book down, replaced her slippers, and stood. “Gravesend, is something the matter?”

  “I hesitated to bring this letter to you. A ragged street urchin ran up to the gate and insisted upon leaving it with Jack.”

  She took the letter. Her heart nearly stopped as she recognized the handwriting of the address. Slowly she sank onto the settee and broke the seal.

  “My lady, your face is ashen.”

  “It is from Mortland,” she whispered.

  “I will send for the duke,” Gravesend said. “I swore to send him a message if ever you were in need.”

  She held up a staying hand. “Please be seated. Let me read it first. It may not warrant disturbing Shelbourne.” But as she unfolded the page, her fingers shook.

&nb
sp; Her lungs constricted as she read. Richard told her to follow his instructions exactly or she would pay. He told her to take a hackney to Hyde Park Corner at three o’clock in the morning and leave behind her bullyboys. He instructed her to bring a valise and fifty pounds. He didn’t care how she managed, but she would do it or he would send Shelbourne a letter that detailed all her secrets. She shuddered at the crude examples he’d provided. But he didn’t stop there. Richard said he couldn’t wait until he finally had control of Hollincourt.

  He meant to spirit her off to Gretna Green. She recalled his brute strength as he’d shoved Gravesend. He would think nothing of beating her into agreeing to wed him. Her chest rose and fell with each breath she took. “Never,” she muttered. “You will never have Hollincourt.”

  “My lady,” Gravesend said. “Did he threaten you?”

  She looked up. “He is blackmailing me.”

  “Let me send for the duke now,” he said.

  “I had better read the rest first. We cannot make a mistake.” As she turned to the next page, her heart beat so hard she feared it would burst out of her chest. Richard had threatened to ruin Tristan if she refused to do his bidding. He meant to send news of the duke’s many assignations with her to the scandal rags.

  She stared in horror at the evidence he’d provided. He’d listed dates and times of Tristan’s visits to her town house, including the night she and Tristan had argued about Miss Fielding’s engagement. Richard had been spying on her for weeks before he’d made his grand entrance at the opera. And of course he’d found her alone behind closed doors with Tristan.

  Think. They could deny the accusations, but it would not matter. A scandal would erupt whether the information was true or not. But would the scandal sheets dare print such damaging information about the Duke of Shelbourne? Of course they would. They had never hesitated to report royal scandals.

  Could she bribe them? She didn’t have enough time. Oh, God, she had to prevent him from sending that letter, but she refused to submit to his demands. She would never put herself in Richard’s power. Her life, if he let her live, would be worth nothing.