How to Lose a Duke in Ten Days

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  “All right,” he said. “If you want a wager, I’m game, but I have conditions.”

  She looked at him warily, sensing the trap. “What conditions?”

  “You have to come back with me to Highclyffe and spend the ten days with me there. And,” he added before she could object, “during that time, you have to have dinner with me every night and spend at least four additional hours a day in my company. For two of those hours we’ll do whatever you like, and for the other two . . .” He paused just a moment, slanting a hopeful gaze over her. “. . . we’ll do whatever I like.”

  “None of which includes making advances on my person, or sleeping in my bed.”

  “I refuse to promise the former. Spurn my advances if you choose, but I will make them.” He lifted his gaze to her face. “As to the latter, I won’t come to your bed unless you invite me to, Edie.”

  Her jaw set. “That won’t happen.”

  “The odds don’t seem to be in my favor, that’s true, but I live in hope.”

  She thought it over for a moment, then she nodded. “I agree. It is only ten days, after all.” She started to step around him as if the discussion was over, but he blocked her.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked. “We have to agree on what happens if I win.”

  “That’s hardly necessary,” she said. “Since you’ll lose.”

  “A wager requires consideration on both sides. If I win, what do I receive?”

  “What . . .” She paused and swallowed hard. “What do you want?”

  He played his last card. “If I win, you agree to live with me permanently. No moving out, no running off to New York or anywhere else, no annulment or divorce attempts, no separation.”

  “Live with you for the rest of our lives? I can’t make a promise like that.”

  The horrified tone of her voice reminded him that if he pushed too hard, she might withdraw and go bolting off to New York first chance she got, but he didn’t care. If they were going to play this game, he intended to play for a win. “It’s nonnegotiable, Edie.”

  “It’s impossible!”

  “You’re the one who put the stakes this high. What’s wrong?” he added, as she continued to shake her head in refusal. “Afraid you’ll find me irresistible?”

  Her sound of derision made short shrift of that. “Hardly.”

  He spread his arms wide. “Well, then?”

  She bit her lip, head to one side, considering. “Oh, very well,” she said at last. “I fear this is the only way I’ll be rid of you without an exhausting legal battle. We’ll begin tomorrow morning. Eleven o’clock.”

  “That’s too late for breakfast and too early for luncheon, so I can only assume you have something else in mind?”

  “Meet me at Victoria Station, Platform 9, and bring your things. The train back to Clyffeton shall be our first outing.”

  “The train?” He groaned. “Edie, you are so unromantic.”

  “You’re the one who insists we spend these ten days at Highclyffe,” she reminded. “So we have to take the train sometime. And you said I have my choice of activities.”

  “But on the train, we shall have no time alone.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So that’s the way you intend to play it, keeping me at bay during every second we’re together? You’ll be dragging Joanna along as chaperone everywhere we go, I suppose?”

  She didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to. There was a little smile on her lips that confirmed it.

  “Have it your way and keep your secrets,” he said, but he knew if she insisted upon using Joanna as a bulwark, he’d have to find a way to get around it. “I shall purchase the tickets and meet you on the platform at eleven tomorrow. But the things I’ll plan for us to do will be far more enjoyable than hot, stuffy train journeys, I can promise you that.”

  A glimmer of something flared in her eyes—­worry, perhaps even alarm—­but it was gone before he could be sure. “Enjoy this game all you like, Stuart, but I’ve already instructed Mr. Keating to prepare a separation agreement, and ten days from now, you’ll be signing it.”

  “Only if you haven’t kissed me yet,” he answered blithely. “And since we’re sharing predictions, let me share mine. By the time that separation agreement arrives, you’ll be having so much fun in my company, you won’t want to leave me. In fact . . .” He paused and pushed his luck by leaning even closer to her. “I intend to have you panting for far more than kisses by the time those ten days are up.”

  “Panting?” she echoed in disbelief. “You think I’ll be panting over you?”

  He answered her in all sincerity. “I hope so, Edie. Because if I can’t make you want me, I don’t deserve to have you.” He paused, smiling a little. “Of course, you could just give in and kiss me now, so that we could move on to things even more pleasurable. I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”

  “And be deprived of all the glorious anticipation of panting over you? I wouldn’t dream of it.” Her hand came up between them, flattening against his chest, and she pushed him back with a smile that banished any scrap of hope on his part that she might be worried about the outcome.

  She had every reason to be confident, he supposed, as he turned to watch her walk toward the door. Because right now, the notion of Edie’s willingly kissing him seemed about as likely as a snowstorm in the Sahara.

  Chapter 8

  EDIE COULDN’T HAVE imagined a better deal than the one she’d made. As a result, the dark cloud of dread that had been hovering over her since her husband’s return began to lift, and relief took its place. To regain her freedom, all she had to do was refrain from kissing him for ten days. Since she had no desire to kiss him, how hard could that be?

  That thought had barely crossed her mind before Stuart’s words echoed back to her.

  I think I can make you want me.

  Her relief was displaced by a sudden glimmer of uneasiness. She tried to dismiss it. Stuart wouldn’t employ force with her. As he’d reminded her, he never had before, he’d said he wouldn’t now. One could never be absolutely sure with men, of course, but that wasn’t the source of her uneasiness.

  For two hours we’ll do whatever you like, and for the other two . . . we’ll do whatever I like.

  It was obvious his plan was to seduce her, but so what? She didn’t know just how he intended to attempt it, but seduction only succeeded if a woman wanted to be seduced, and she most definitely did not. She was immune to all that.

  Edie ought to have been reassured by that reminder, but instead, her uneasiness deepened. If she was immune, why did she need reminders?

  The clock chimed, and she shoved aside that pesky little question. It was five o’clock, and she was supposed to be downstairs having tea. Stuart’s five minutes had turned into half an hour, and she was still up here dithering.

  She grabbed her handbag and left the suite to join Lady Trubridge and Joanna, and by the time she entered the tearoom, she had succeeded in pushing aside any feelings of worry. He could try all he liked to seduce her, but it would be like trying to coax a fish to fly.

  Pausing by the door, she glanced around, peering between marble columns and potted palms, but the room was vast and every table filled with ­people, and she could not find her friend or sister amid the crowd.

  “Your Grace?”

  She turned to find the maître d’hotel at her elbow. “I’m here to meet Lady Trubridge and my sister.”

  “Of course.” The man gave a bow. “Lady Trubridge is expecting you, and I believe Miss Jewell is with her. If you will follow me?”

  He led her through the crowded tearoom and out to a beautiful terrace overlooking the Embankment Gardens and the river, where her friend and her sister were seated at a table by the balustrade. Belinda spied her approach, murmured something to Joanna, and both of them stoo
d up to greet her as the maître d’hotel stepped aside with the announcement, “Her Grace, the Duchess of Margrave.”

  “Edie, dearest.” Belinda moved out from behind the table to clasp her hands as the maître d’hotel departed. “It’s been ages. How wonderful to see you.”

  “And you,” she replied, pressing an affectionate kiss to her friend’s cheek. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Not at all,” Belinda said, and gestured to her companion. “I’ve had Joanna to keep me company.”

  “Yes,” Edie countered with a wry glance at her sister. “She’s been telling you all about my unexpected visitor, no doubt.”

  “A bit,” Belinda admitted. “But of course, I saw him before Joanna came down. He had just finished tea and paused by my table on his way out. When he learned I was waiting for you, he was kind enough to inform me you would be delayed.”

  “Yes,” Edie answered with a sigh, wondering how much more interference from him she could expect in her social calendar during the coming ten days. “So he told me.”

  “It was a bit of a shock, seeing him, I must admit.” Belinda added, “I knew he’d been injured, of course, but—­”

  “You knew?” Edie stared at her friend, astonished. “Belinda, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “He wrote to Nicholas, and one or two of his other close friends, but he didn’t want to be the subject of gossip and asked them to keep mum. Nicholas did tell me about it, but he made me promise not to discuss it with anyone. I assumed Margrave would write to tell you himself.”

  “Well, he didn’t. When I saw him, it was . . .” She paused, rubbing four fingers across her forehead. “It was rather a shock.”

  “I daresay,” Belinda murmured, her perceptive blue eyes studying Edie’s face.

  “But what happened upstairs?” Joanna asked, entering the conversation and cutting to the chase with her usual impatience. “Did you two make peace?”

  “Joanna, really!” Belinda remonstrated. “Didn’t you promise me not ten minutes ago that you would refrain from asking your sister any tactless questions?”

  “You might as well ask the sun to set in the east,” Edie told her friend, and when Belinda laughed at that, she was struck by the radiance in the other woman’s face. With her black hair and blue eyes, Belinda had always been a striking beauty, but she looked especially lovely today. “Heavens, how well you’re looking,” she remarked, happy to change the subject. “What’s your secret? A new face cream?”

  Belinda laughed. “No, not a face cream. Something else entirely, but that can wait. Let’s sit down.”

  She and Joanna resumed their seats, and Edie circled her sister’s chair to take the seat opposite her friend. “Well?” she prompted, still studying her friend as she pulled off her gloves. “Tell me what on earth is giving you such a glow these days.”

  Belinda actually blushed. “I’m expecting a baby.”

  “A baby?”

  She and Joanna said it at the same time, making Belinda laugh. “You seem so surprised,” she said. “But I have been married a year, after all.”

  “I think it’s wonderful,” Joanna said. “It almost makes me an auntie. I should love,” she added with a mournful sigh, “to be an auntie.”

  Edie kicked her under the table. “A baby, Belinda? Truly?”

  “You did say I was glowing,” her friend answered, pouring her a cup of tea from the pot. “I thought you’d have guessed the reason why before you’d even sat down.”

  “I didn’t. My . . .” She paused, laughing, confounded. “A baby. My congratulations. Does Trubridge know?”

  “Yes. He’s delighted, of course. Everyone is.” Belinda handed Edie her tea, and once she’d taken it, her friend leaned closer, her eyes dancing with mischief. “I think even Landsdowne may be happy about it,” she said, referring to her loathsome father-­in-­law, the Duke of Landsdowne, who’d been violently opposed to his son’s marriage. Belinda, despite having been married once before to the Earl of Featherstone and despite having lived a decorous life as a widowed countess prior to her marriage to Trubridge, was still an American, and Landsdowne loathed Americans. The consolation in that, as Edie had wickedly pointed out, was that most Americans, herself included, loathed him back.

  “Really?” She gave her friend a skeptical glance over the rim of her teacup. “Will he stay happy if it’s a girl?”

  “Probably not,” Belinda said, laughing. “But as much as I detest that man, I can’t blame him for wanting a boy. Every peer wants that.”

  “Yes.” Edie took a gulp of tea, and her cup rattled a bit as she put it back in its saucer. “Every peer wants that.”

  Belinda, always quick to appreciate nuances, shot her a worried glance across the table, but she was too tactful to ask any questions with Joanna present. Edie was glad, for the last thing she wanted was to discuss her own marital situation, especially with Belinda. Her friend was a matchmaker, and though she knew now that Edie’s marriage to Margrave wasn’t the love match she’d originally thought when she’d endorsed it to Edie’s father, Belinda was enough of a romantic to find notions of separation hard to accept.

  “I can’t believe we’re both in town at the same time,” Belinda said instead, tactfully changing the subject.

  Edie jumped onto the new topic at once. “I know! When I called at Berkeley Street earlier today, I fully expected your butler to tell me you’d already gone off to Kent.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t in when you called. I was actually here, having luncheon with a client. Open less than a fortnight, and the Savoy is already a favorite with our fellow Americans. Still, you received my invitation to tea and were able to accept, so everything turned out well.”

  “You still have clients?” Edie asked, rather surprised by that. “Trubridge has allowed you to keep up your matchmaking business then?”

  It was Belinda’s turn to be surprised. “Why wouldn’t he?”

  Edie shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Men don’t usually allow their wives to engage in commerce, do they?”

  “He knows better than to try and stop me,” Belinda said, laughing. “And he can hardly disapprove. Since he’s engaged in commerce himself, it would be hypocritical.”

  Not many husbands would care about the hypocrisy of it, but Edie refrained from pointing that out. Instead, she gave a polite smile, took another sip of tea, and reached for a tea cake from the tray.

  “So,” Belinda went on, “despite being married, I still come to London quite often, even in August. Your arrival in town, though, is a shock.”

  It wasn’t, really, considering the circumstances, but of course, she couldn’t explain what had brought her here. “Is it?” she asked, and took a bite of cake.

  “Of course it is! Darling, prying you away from Highclyffe in summer is like prying a barnacle off a rock.”

  The tea cake in her mouth suddenly tasted like sawdust. Edie took another swallow of tea, but that didn’t help. It didn’t stop the awful reality that no matter what happened with Stuart, her days at Highclyffe were numbered. Soon it would no longer be her home. She’d known that from the moment she’d seen her husband standing on the platform, yet, until this moment, she hadn’t appreciated just how awful it would feel. She hadn’t considered how it would be to say good-­bye to the only place she’d ever lived that felt like home.

  You’d really let it all go? Turn your back on everything you’ve built?

  Stuart’s words echoed back to her, and her spirits began sinking. She’d have to relinquish Highclyffe, for Stuart would never let her continue to have charge of it now that he was home. And why should he? Highclyffe was his home. It could no longer be hers.

  No more picnics at the Wash. No more digging for clams with Joanna on the shore, or exploring the tide pools, or bathing off the rocks. No more picking chestnuts in autumn and planning new spring gardens during the ra
iny wintertime. No more work with the village charities, work she’d always found so gratifying. No more purpose to her life.

  “Heavens, Edie, what’s the matter? You’ve gone quite pale.”

  Belinda’s voice pulled her out of these dismal contemplations with a start, and she found both her friend and her sister staring at her with concern.

  “Edie?” Joanna put a hand on her arm. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, dearest,” she lied, forcing a smile to her lips. “I must not have eaten enough lunch today. The sugar in the tea and cakes is going to my head a bit.”

  Joanna seemed satisfied by that, for the concern in her face diminished, and her hand slid away from Edie’s arm. “You didn’t eat much at lunch, that’s true.”

  “Have a sandwich,” Belinda suggested, but as Edie took one, more of her husband’s words insisted on invading her mind.

  I wanted to ravish you over the cucumber sandwiches in the worst way.

  Damn it all, she thought as she took a bite of sandwich, she didn’t want to be ravished. And if leaving Highclyffe behind was the price she had to pay to avoid it, then she’d pay that price.

  There were other places to live. There were other houses that could be made into a home. She could go anywhere in the world she wanted. But as she thought of where she might go when the ten days were over, Edie feared no place on earth would ever seem like home again.

  WHEN IT CAME to women, Stuart had never been the sort of man who needed to plan ahead. Not for him carefully written romantic letters, or bouquets of flowers chosen for their appropriate sentiment. Not for him long courtships with lingering glances and chaperoned walks and quick, furtive presses of hands. For him, winning a woman had never been a thought-­out campaign or a chess match.

  But during the cab ride from the Savoy to his club, he had cause to wonder if a little planning ahead in regard to Edie might not go amiss.