If the Duke Demands

by Anna Harrington

  He didn’t dare let loose the faint stirrings of hope that began to blossom in his chest. He knew better than anyone the obstacles still standing between them. Even with his heart pounding at the possibility, he shook his head, unwilling to believe it. “Society would cut her to pieces.”

  “My darling boy, you are a Carlisle. Your father was a soldier, your sister was a highwayman, and your two brothers are set on destroying St James’s Street, one club at a time.” With a knowing smile, she placed a kiss to his temple before she moved away toward the door. “When has anyone in this family ever truly cared about what society thinks?”

  He stared down at the glass in his hands, his fingers trembling with the enormity of all that he’d learned tonight. For the first time in two years, hope warmed inside him that his life might be more than the burden of the title. That he might find happiness after all.

  “She must hate me,” he murmured, giving voice to his worst fears. “After all the pain I’ve caused her…How do I begin to make up for that?”

  “Start by telling her that you love her.” She paused to smile at him before she slipped out the door. “After all, that’s what your father did with me.”

  * * *

  “Oh, blast it!” Miranda looked down at the ruined column of figures in the orphanage’s account book and nearly cried. Again.

  Shoving the book across the desk, she hung her head in her hands. She was utterly miserable, and the only thing that kept her from breaking into sobs yet again this afternoon was that she’d done almost nothing else since she returned to Islingham four days ago but cry. And think of Sebastian. Then cry some more…until she simply had no tears left.

  Not even her work at the orphanage was able to distract her. She’d hoped that catching up with the accounts would provide enough distraction that she might be able to lose herself for a few hours in the sums and columns. But her mind only continued to wander, and she’d messed up the figures…Three hundred pounds for soap? Oh, she should never have come into her office in the first place!

  But she would have gone mad if she’d remained at home.

  Aunt Rebecca and Uncle Hamish had been surprised at her unexpected return—and concerned, although they were kind enough not to press for the real reason she’d fled the city for home. All she could tell them was that her season had not gone as planned and that she missed Islingham. Which was the truth. For the past four days, she’d mostly stayed at home and paced, cried, then paced some more, until the silence and stillness of the house drove her into the village to the orphanage.

  But even here, amid the familiar noise and chaos of the children, her thoughts were not her own.

  By now, Sebastian had undoubtedly found a lady to formally court, and she would have eagerly accepted, knowing he planned on marrying her. After all, what woman in her right mind would refuse a man like him? If a handsome, golden-blond duke with a brilliant mind and witty sense of humor, a wonderful family, and oh, so much passion inside him just waiting to burst out had offered for her—

  But he hadn’t.

  And never would.

  Unable to stop herself from wallowing in misery, she folded her arms across her chest and hugged herself tightly as she wondered if Sebastian ever thought about her.

  But of course he didn’t. She cursed her foolishness as she wiped at her wet eyes, a few tears apparently left in her after all. Why would he? What they’d shared was precious but fleeting, especially for a man like him who’d left a string of broken hearts fluttering in his wake over the years. By August, he’d most likely have forgotten all about what happened between them.

  But she would never forget. And so she couldn’t remain here.

  Islingham was her home, and after having experienced the disappointments of London, she never wanted to leave it again, content to spend the rest of her days here with the orphans and the people she loved. But that was impossible now. She would have to find a position someplace else as a governess or a teacher, perhaps as a manageress for another orphanage. But she had to be gone by August. She had to. Having to see Sebastian with his wife, to see the children she would give him and the home they would create together at Blackwood Hall…Miranda squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hand hard against her chest and the shattered heart inside— Oh God, she simply couldn’t bear that!

  “Miss!” Mr. Grundy ran into her office, hat in hand and visibly agitated. “Miss, come quickly!”

  She sat up and swiped at her eyes, hoping he hadn’t seen the tears. But of course he’d seen them, although he was too kind to say anything. “What’s the matter, Mr. Grundy?”

  “You’re needed in the rear garden—real quick!”

  Panic flashed through her, and dread instantly replaced her own sorrow as her mind immediately feared the worst. The children! They’d been quiet all morning, and even though they’d been squirreled away in their classroom, they’d been too quiet. And that was never good. She’d been too distracted by her own selfish problems to notice that something was wrong. If the children had hurt themselves because of her own self-pity, oh, she would never be able to forgive herself!

  She jumped to her feet and ran through the building, out the kitchen door and into the garden—and stopped.

  She stared and blinked in wonder. And utter bewilderment.

  The space had been transformed. The small spot of lawn within the garden walls where the housekeeper normally hung the laundry to dry and where the children played their games now resembled a fairy-tale land. Pink satin streamers billowed among white sheets strung up like curtains, and dark red ribbons stirred gently on the warm afternoon breeze. Everywhere, there were roses…dozens and dozens of them in all colors and sizes, spilling out of buckets and vases, pitchers and barrels, and whatever else could hold them, right down to teacups big enough to hold only a single bud. Their sweet scent filled the air and surrounded her like a soft cloud from heaven. And in the center, fashioned of papier-mâché and wood, stood a miniature pagoda, exactly like the one at Vauxhall.

  Around the small structure, the children had gathered in a group, all of them holding red roses. When they saw her, their faces lit with excitement and they began to sing.

  “What is all this?” Miranda rested a stunned hand on Mr. Grundy’s arm as the handyman gently led her forward into the garden, a beaming smile on his weathered face. She laughed with incredulity; the happiness of the children and Mr. Grundy was infectious, despite the heavy weight that pressed onto her heart. And always would. “What play is this? I thought we were studying Romeo and Juliet this—”

  “You are.”

  Her breath strangled at the sound of the deep voice, and her heart stopped.

  Sebastian.

  Like a ghost from her tortured dreams, he slowly stepped out from behind the rows of children and crossed the garden toward her. He held out his hand.

  But Miranda didn’t move to go to him. She could only stand there, staring at the apparition of him and pressing her hand against her chest, as if she could physically hold back the stuttering lurch of her heart. Because he couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be. He was in London with his family—

  Yet the agonizing torment swirling inside her chest told her that he was real, that he wasn’t a dream that her fevered mind had conjured up from her desperate longing to see him again. As she stared at him, every pounding beat of her pulse was torture, and each step that brought him closer sliced new agony into her chest. But even now, as the anguished memory of his parting words flooded back to her, she couldn’t look away.

  When he stopped in front of her, he reached to gently pull her hand away from her heart and folded his fingers over hers.

  She flinched at the burn of his touch. She couldn’t help it, or the way her fingers trembled in his. Or the soft cry of pain when he raised her hand to his lips to kiss her palm. His handsome face blurred behind the tears that now streamed unbidden down her cheeks. Leaving him in London had been agonizing, but having him return to her here—unbear
able!

  “Miranda,” he whispered, sudden concern darkening his face as he cupped his palm against her cheek and brushed at her tears with his thumb. Behind him, the children continued with their song, and the sheets danced around them on the soft breeze. But inside her chest, the pain was blinding, so terrible that she could barely breathe. “Don’t cry, sweet. You know how much I hate it when you cry. This was supposed to make us happy.”

  Happy? She forced back a sob of desolation. How on earth did he think that tormenting her like this could make them both happy? Unless…unless he was troubled about having to face his guilt every time he saw her in Islingham, unless he thought that making an elaborate enough apology would make them all get along again as if nothing had ever happened between them. Was that why he was here—an apology? Certainly, if she were willing to overlook what happened, to never give it another thought and go back to being no more than friends, life would be easier for him and his new bride. Her forgiveness would make him happy, even if it cut her into pieces.

  Anger swelled inside her, and she stepped back, breaking contact with him, unable to bear it another second. Oh, this was so typical of the Carlisle brothers and the way they’d always handled their mistakes. The bigger their blunder, the bigger the apology they had to give in order to set it to rights. But there weren’t enough roses in Lincolnshire to heal the damage Sebastian had done to her heart. And she doubted if she could ever forgive him. She should laugh at him—yes! Make him see that he meant nothing to her. Or slap him for humiliating her once again by putting on this show.

  Yet hurting him was the last thing she would ever do, because even now her foolish heart still loved him.

  “You don’t need to worry about me, Your Grace,” she whispered, the admission barely more than a breath. As she turned her face away so he wouldn’t see the pain he put there, she caught sight of the cook and housekeeper peering out the window at them. Oh, perfect! Now her humiliation was complete. She choked out, “I—I’m going away. I’ve decided to leave Islingham so that you won’t be bothered by me.”

  With a somber expression, he closed the distance between them. “I hope not,” he told her, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “It would be a shame if you continue to make me chase after you after I’ve come all this way.”

  “Chase after…” Blinking hard as confusion trampled at her heart, she tried to clear the hot tears from her stinging eyes, but only caused more to fall. “I don’t— I—I don’t understand,” she stuttered out between sobs. “Why are you really here, Sebastian? Why did you go to all this trouble just to…just to…” Just to permanently end what we shared?

  Unable to finish the sentence, she pressed her hand against her mouth, squeezed her eyes shut—

  “Just to propose,” he finished gently.

  Her eyes flew open, and she searched frantically for answers in his tear-blurred face. “Propose?” She couldn’t dare hope—it would be so utterly foolish and ludicrous…But her heart had a mind of its own when it came to this man. And always would. “To me?”

  He laughed gently and reached once more for her hand. “Yes, sweet, to you.”

  When she tried to wrench her hand away, he held tight, refusing to let her go. She feared he could feel her heart somersaulting furiously in confusion. “But—but you said you could never marry me.”

  “I was wrong.” His broad shoulders sagged with solemn regret, and he kissed her fingers tenderly, as if seeking absolution. “Since my father died, I thought I had to honor him by being the perfect son, which meant being the perfect duke.”

  “And marrying the perfect duchess,” she interjected. She couldn’t prevent the stab of jealousy that made her strike out at him even now. He’d hurt her, so inexcusably. “You thought I could never be that for you.”

  “Yes,” he admitted, remorse flitting across his features. “Because I wrongly thought that was what my father expected of me. But I know better now. Yes, the title was important to him, so was making certain its legacy would be respected. But he also knew how hard being a duke could be, that I would need help to oversee the dukedom and take care of my family.”

  “He didn’t mean me,” she whispered, lowering her face.

  “Maybe not you exactly, but a woman who loves me the way you do, who makes me laugh and smile, who makes me happy, now and for the rest of my days.” He cupped his palm against her cheek. “You do all that, and more. Forgive me, Rose, for not believing in you until it was almost too late.”

  She shook her head, her heart tearing anew. “But I’m…I’m not good enough for you,” she breathed out, so softly that her words barely made any sound.

  His face darkened with anger. “Don’t ever say that again, do you hear?” He cupped her face between his hands. “I’m the one who isn’t good enough for you. But if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, then I promise to spend the rest of my days proving my worth to you.”

  He leaned in to place a soft kiss against her lips, and she gasped at the raw emotion she tasted in him.

  “Forgive me, sweet,” he whispered against her lips.

  She shook her head, unable to find her voice beneath the tidal wave of emotions warring inside her. “You were so set on finding a society daughter to be your duchess—”

  “You are the woman I want to be my duchess,” he assured her, his eyes shining with unabashed certainty as he stared down at her. “You’re the toast of the London season and the savior of orphans. A woman so believing in love that you were willing to sneak into a man’s bedchamber to get it.”

  A hot blush colored her cheeks, and she turned her face away. Oh, would he never let her live that down?

  He took her chin and turned her back to look at him. “When you sing hymns at Sunday service, you dream of being an opera singer, and every time you read or watch a play, you dream of being onstage. You cause mayhem everywhere you go, and there’s not a peer in England safe from your spilled wineglass.” When she stared at him, her lips parting in incredulous disbelief that he would say that as a compliment, he added tenderly, “And you’re the woman I love. The only woman I want for my wife.”

  A sob tore from her. The nightmare had turned into a dream.

  “I love you, and I need you to be by my side to guide me, to counsel me and argue with me, to challenge me and love me…to save me.” His sapphire blue eyes took on a pleading aspect as he took both her hands in his. “Save me, my sweet Rose.”

  He lowered himself to one knee and withdrew her red slipper from beneath his jacket. The same slipper he’d been holding hostage since January. In all the turmoil and confusion of the past few weeks, she’d forgotten all about it and their pact to help each other find love this season. And how he’d promised that she would get it back only when he’d found a bride and the marriage offer was accepted. She laughed through her tears.

  “Will you marry me, Miranda?” He reached for her leg and gently lifted her foot to remove her shoe, then placed the slipper delicately into place. “Say yes so that I can go hat in hand to your uncle Hamish and beg the man to let me have you.”

  She could barely breathe for the sudden rush of emotion pulsing through her, all the love she held for him surging to the surface and filling her to her soul. Her fingers trembled as she touched his cheek. “Sebastian—”

  “Marry him!” the children shouted at her, urged on by Mr. Grundy, who circled around them and waved his arms to encourage them to shout even louder. Unable to contain their curiosity any longer, the housekeeper and cook rushed through the door into the garden and joined in the chorus of chants. “Yes! Yes!”

  She glanced around the garden at the people who helped her with the orphanage, at the elaborate trouble they had gone through to make this moment as romantic for her as possible, and at the children she loved—then her eyes landed on Sebastian, and the way he gazed up at her made her heart bounce. He wasn’t seeing the troublemaking girl in braids, nor the seductress in masquerade…He had finally come to see the woman
she was and the role she could play in his life. And he loved her.

  “Yes,” she choked between fresh tears, this time of pure joy. Stepping into his arms, she laughed and nuzzled her face against his shoulder. “Yes, I will marry you!”

  Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her down onto the grass with him. He leaned over her and gave her a scandalous kiss that sent the orphans cheering.

  “You knew I’d say yes if you asked,” she whispered, cupping his face in her palms. “You know how much I love you.”

  He flashed her a crooked grin. “Well, I’d hoped.”

  “Then why all this?” She waved her hand to indicate the transformed garden, the magical pagoda, and all the children who had once again broken into song. “You went to so much trouble.”

  “Because you are worth it.” His arms tightened around her. “And because I know how much the children mean to you. I wanted them to be part of this. Besides,” he told her, his eyes gleaming as he leaned in to kiss her again, “Romeo and Juliet needed a proposal scene.”

  EPILOGUE

  Chestnut Hill

  One Beautiful August Day

  Miranda laughed as Sebastian ran with her down the hall, the skirt of her rose-colored gown held up to keep from tripping as they fled from their own wedding breakfast for a moment’s privacy.

  “Shh,” he warned, his mouth coming down to capture hers as he opened his bedroom door and pulled her inside. “They’ll find us.” His lips trailed down her throat. “And the last thing I want right now is to be found.”

  Neither did she. But she couldn’t tamp down her happiness and laughed again even as he continued to kiss her, even as he walked her backward across the room to the bed. Their bed now, and her heart somersaulted with joy.

  Through the window, open wide to let in the fresh air of the warm summer day, she heard the noise of the party on the lawn below and tried to summon any feeling of guilt that they’d abandoned their own celebration. But when his hands brushed up her body, caressing over the satin gown and the aching curves beneath, she abandoned any possibility of feeling anything else today but sheer bliss.