Duke of Thorns (Heiress Games 1)

by Sara Ramsey

  “Callie and I are becoming fast friends,” Octavia said. “Perhaps I’ll share Maidenstone with her when I win it.”

  The look on Lucretia’s face was something between annoyance and jealousy. “I shall return later,” she said, backing out of the room.

  Callie waved her in. The modiste sighed and reset the pin she’d just placed. “Please,” Callie said. “I want to talk to you.”

  She knew her voice didn’t sound like an invitation — she couldn’t keep the warning out of it. But Lucretia surprised her by coming in anyway. “I owe you an apology,” Lucretia said.

  “Is this like your last apology?” Callie asked.

  Lucretia looked confused. “Which apology?”

  “The one in which you apologized for how rudely you greeted me, then vowed to keep me from winning Maidenstone.”

  Octavia laughed. “That’s one of Lucy’s favorite apologies.”

  Lucretia frowned. “I am still sorry for my rudeness. And I am sorry for bringing Captain Hallett here. I can be sorry and still be determined.”

  “You haven’t learned anything about staying out of others’ lives, have you?” Octavia said.

  There was no humor left in Octavia’s voice. It was strange how quickly she could turn dark — as though there was a vast well of danger beneath a bright, brittle façade. Lucretia flinched.

  That flinch was so fast, so instinctual, that Callie wondered again what had come between them. Callie had no love for Lucretia. On the surface, Octavia was a far more entertaining companion. But Octavia had hidden depths that Callie couldn’t begin to guess. And Lucretia flinched as though Octavia had hurt her before — as though Octavia could only hurt her again.

  They’d played princesses in Maidenstone Wood. But which of them was the princess, and which was the villain?

  It wasn’t a question she could answer then. Stepping into their drama might provide a welcome relief from her swirling thoughts of Thorington, but she didn’t have the capacity to think of their problems while trying to solve her own.

  “I will accept your apology,” she said to Lucretia. “But only if you can assure me that Captain Hallett won’t cause any further trouble.”

  The way Lucretia avoided her gaze said everything.

  “I am sorry,” Lucretia said again. “I invited him without thinking fully about the consequences.”

  “Did he leave last night as he promised?”

  “He didn’t stay at Maidenstone. But I do not know with certainty that he left the neighborhood.”

  Callie frowned. “Thorington won’t like this.”

  “No, he won’t,” Octavia said. “It’s for the best that you’re marrying him quickly, and not just because it might improve my chances of winning Maidenstone. Men like Hallett would think twice before disgracing Thorington’s wife.”

  Her statement brought back a memory from the night before, when Prudence and Madeleine had taken Callie away from Thorington and escorted her to supper. She’d been far too angry to pay more than half a mind to their words — she had still been in that red haze, where comprehension and thought were impossible. But Prudence had laughed when Callie had said that Thorington was sending to the Archbishop of Canterbury for a special license.

  “He must be desperate to marry you, then,” Prudence had said. “When Thorington tried to force me, he insisted on planning a wedding at St. George’s in London.”

  Callie tried not to be jealous, but it was a hard fight. “I’m sure he wouldn’t waste such extravagance on me,” she muttered.

  “It wasn’t extravagance. His mother is buried there. Marrying there, even though I’m sure he didn’t care for me at all, seemed important to him. He must care for you if he’s putting you above that.”

  Callie stabbed blindly at some bit of food on her plate. “He isn’t accommodating me. He’s forcing me.”

  Prudence sipped her champagne. “I don’t know Thorington well. We had barely spoken before he decided to use me to take revenge against Alex for something in their past. But I feel confident saying that if Thorington were marrying you only for his benefit, you would know it.”

  Callie had awoken that morning, after her fitful nap, with the feel of Thorington’s hands still on her hips — and Prudence’s words in her mind. She thought of them again now, as Hallett’s name hung in the room like an omen.

  “Would you marry Thorington?” she asked Octavia and Lucretia. “If you had the choice?”

  Octavia frowned.

  Lucretia looked vaguely ill.

  “Well?” Callie said. “Let’s even say he offered for you properly, in private, rather than kissing you in public.”

  Octavia shook her head slowly. “I want peace. Thorington may not know the word.”

  “He would never ask me,” Lucretia said.

  She sounded bruised. Callie remembered, belatedly, that Thorington had told her of Lucretia’s offer to him. She softened her voice. “Do you wish he would have?”

  Lucretia eventually shook her head. “He would have run me over within a week.”

  They both spoke as though Thorington was unmarriageable. As though Thorington’s skill for surprising her was a bad thing. As though sparring with him was unwelcome.

  He had promised her dragons, not treasure. She should have run from such an offer.

  Instead, she didn’t want anything else.

  Callie realized then that she was doomed.

  * * *

  “I trust you’ve guessed why I have assembled you here,” Thorington said to his siblings.

  They were in one of the receiving rooms in the Tudor wing’s State Apartments, as far into the row of rooms as one could progress before reaching the bedchamber Thorington and Callie had made use of two nights earlier. Thorington had oddly begun to feel like the wing belonged to him. The heavy wood paneling and well-worn stone suited him, perhaps more than the elegant trimmings of wealth he’d amassed and lost over the last few years.

  His siblings, though, belonged in the modern era. Portia and Serena sat in chairs facing him, separated from him by the table he had taken as his makeshift desk. Anthony stood behind Portia’s chair, leaning on it with studied nonchalance. Rafe’s nonchalance wasn’t studied — he lounged on a couch at the side of the room, resting his head on one arm and his booted feet on the other.

  “Are we here to congratulate you on your marriage, brother?” Portia asked.

  Serena made a shushing gesture at Portia, but Thorington cut her off. “If you wish,” he said.

  Portia’s jaw dropped open.

  Anthony’s face matched hers. “Do you truly mean to discuss it? With us?”

  “I would rather not,” Thorington said. “But I should explain why I’ve condemned you all to poverty.”

  From the couch, Rafe snickered. “No Italian shepherdesses in your future, Gav?”

  Thorington cast him a dark look.

  Serena waved an impatient hand, mirroring one of his usual gestures. “I’ll find a husband if I have to, but that’s neither here nor there,” she said. “Are you happy?”

  No one had ever asked him that. And it wasn’t a question he had an easy answer for.

  Could ‘happy’ describe how he had felt the previous night — that odd, desperate mix of need and want? He had been so determined to save Callie from harm, so victorious when he’d done it — then so sure he’d somehow ruined everything with his best-laid plans.

  But she had sought him out after. Sure, what she offered was the opposite of what he wanted from her. He couldn’t imagine a future in which he shared her bed but couldn’t talk to her — a future in which he took everything from her body while she gave her laughter to someone else.

  Memories of the last week washed over him whenever he closed his eyes. Callie in the clearing, staring him down as though she could conquer anything. Callie in her divided skirt, asking for her pistol. Callie with the sea behind her, offering him sympathy. Callie waltzing in his arms, dazzling him. Callie drinking whisky a
nd asking for a kiss. Callie in the shadows of the Tudor wing, giving herself to him, but taking just as much in return.

  Callie. It was always Callie.

  It would always be Callie.

  Thorington wasn’t what she deserved. But he could try to be.

  And if he made her happy, he’d be the happiest man alive.

  At the moment, though, he had to lock questions of the heart away until he knew she was safe. “I will be happier if my bride survives unscathed until our wedding day,” he said.

  “Surely you’re the only threat to Miss Briarley’s safety,” Anthony said.

  His tone was acid, but his smile was lighter than any Thorington had seen from him since entering Maidenstone a week earlier. “I am the only threat to your safety. But Callie has other enemies.”

  “So it’s Callie now?” Portia teased. “What happened to your propriety?”

  “Propriety is for the middle classes,” Thorington said. “Now, will you entertain my request for help, or should I dismiss you all?”

  As a request for a favor, it was poorly done. Thorington was mostly out of patience and entirely out of practice. But, rare as it was for him to ask for help instead of giving orders, even a badly-phrased statement such as that one resulted in stunned silence.

  “I beg your pardon?” Anthony finally said.

  Thorington had to unclench his jaw before he could respond. “I need your help.”

  The silence was heavy enough to match the furnishings. Thorington glanced at Rafe. Rafe had swung his legs off the couch and sat up when Thorington mentioned Callie’s safety. But even he, the sibling who knew Thorington best, seemed unable to form a sentence.

  “If you don’t wish to help your future sister, I shall find another option,” Thorington said after a few moments. “You are all dismissed.”

  Serena finally found her voice. “Of course we want to help her. I think I speak for all of us when I say we’re pleased you’ve chosen Callie.”

  They all nodded in unison as Serena continued. “It’s just so…unusual for you to ask us for anything.”

  “It’s impossible that you asked,” Portia clarified.

  Thorington drummed his fingers on the table. He didn’t quite understand why his temper was rising. His siblings always tested him, but at the moment he wanted to shake all of them. “I thought you would be willing to help after all I’ve done for you.”

  Anthony sighed, as dramatic as the poet who’d sired him. “Is this a request or an order? I would help with anything you need, regardless of what you’ve done for us, if you ever asked.”

  Rafe had watched Thorington closely throughout this conversation. “Gav is asking,” he said softly. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

  Those words were like a final tumbler slipping into a lock — subtle, barely perceptible, and yet crucially important. Thorington had never asked for help because he had never believed that anyone could help. Nor did he believe that anyone else could relieve him of his responsibilities. He was the duke, after all — anything within his domain was, ultimately, his responsibility.

  But as his siblings gaped at him, he realized that refusing their help hadn’t just made his own life harder — it had cheated them as well. They had never taken care of themselves, not because they couldn’t, but because he hadn’t allowed it.

  “Have I really been such an ogre?” he asked.

  Portia nodded. Serena kicked her ankle.

  “Not an ogre,” Rafe said. “An insufferable autocrat, perhaps.”

  “You aren’t that badly behaved,” Anthony said. “At least, you weren’t before you tried to force me to marry.”

  Thorington sighed. “It’s too late for that. My financial losses will be known before you can sign a marriage contract. But I couldn’t see Callie ruined.”

  “But you were the one who ruined her,” Serena said, confused.

  He explained Callie’s connection to the infamous Scourge of the Caribbean, and the risk Captain Hallett posed to her reputation. His siblings didn’t react as they should have.

  They all laughed.

  “This is famous,” Portia said. “I’d far rather have a pirate for a sister than another one like Ariana.”

  Serena kicked her ankle again. Portia kicked her back. “Serena would too,” Portia declared.

  Serena scowled at her sister. But then she nodded. “It’s true, although I’m sure I’m too well-mannered to say such a thing.”

  Portia snorted.

  Anthony’s grin was broader than anything he’d given Thorington in ages — almost as light as when he was younger, before he’d begun to chafe against Thorington’s rules. “I told you Miss Briarley would never get vouchers at Almack’s. Better you than me, brother — I still like society, and it still likes me.”

  Brother. Anthony hadn’t called him that in years.

  Thorington tried to ignore how the sound of that word, and all their good-natured laughter, was like balm to his heart. But he couldn’t quite make the walls around his heart close anymore. He’d always been able, before, to put their safety above any other considerations.

  But maybe, like Callie, they weren’t made for safety. Maybe they were made for something far more dangerous.

  Something like the love he felt for them, when he let himself put a word to the sharp pain in his chest.

  Once that word was in his mind, he couldn’t shut it out.

  “I will love her even if no one accepts her,” Thorington said.

  Another shocked silence.

  Rafe cleared his throat. “Have you told your duchess this?” he asked.

  Trust Rafe to ask the question. Thorington scowled. “I was rather too busy trying to save her from Captain Hallett.”

  Rafe rolled his eyes. “Shame we’re cursed with Father’s soul, isn’t it? Our siblings are capable of voicing their love, I’m sure.”

  “Glad my baseborn blood is good for something,” Anthony said with a laugh.

  “This is all very entertaining,” Thorington said drily. He couldn’t quite get the tone right — for all his practice over the years, he found it difficult to find just the right coolness when his heart was suddenly overheating. But he pressed on. “However, I didn’t summon you to ask for lessons in how to whisper sweet nothings.”

  “It’s rather easy, actually,” Anthony said.

  Rafe was the one who sighed this time. “Gav is being remarkably patient. We should listen to him now.”

  “If you need the lesson, Rafe…” Serena said.

  This time, Portia kicked her.

  Thorington exchanged a quick, suffering glance with his brother before continuing. “I am going to track down Hallett and make sure he never threatens any of us again. And I need all of you to watch after Callie while I pursue him.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Callie awoke three days later, on what was to be her wedding day, and realized she was going to go mad before she ever met Thorington at the altar.

  She couldn’t blame him for it. He’d held precisely to the letter of their agreement. Other than a brief interlude on that first day, when he’d given the modiste vapors by interrupting the fitting to give Callie a single, silent, utterly seductive kiss, she’d only seen him in bed.

  But that kiss still haunted her. He’d come into the sitting room, strode over to her like he owned her — and then kissed her like he worshipped her.

  “What was that for?” she had asked, dazed, when he finished.

  He paused for the longest time, as though the words he wanted to say were in a language he couldn’t speak. Finally, he said, “I accept, Callie. I accept.”

  She heard something else behind those words. She might have even responded, if he’d given her time. But as her jaw dropped open, he continued. “I’m going after Hallett. Stay safe, my dear.”

  He’d left before she could say anything at all. His sisters had taken his place. And Callie couldn’t recall more than five minutes in the last three days when she�
��d been left alone again.

  It hadn’t been obvious at first. But on the second day, when the same people arrived, at approximately the same times, and kept her from leaving them, she suspected that she was being guarded.

  On the third day, she knew it.

  Serena and Portia occupied her afternoons. They had become friends with Ferguson’s twin sisters, Lady Catherine and Lady Maria, and the four of them had insisted, daily, that Callie spend her afternoon hours with them. Callie had mostly ignored Ferguson’s sisters throughout the party. But the four girls shared a wicked sense of humor and knew more gossip than anyone of their tender years should.

  So that was all lovely — or at least it was on the first day. By the third day, Callie would have happily sacrificed an arm to spar with Thorington instead of listening to another story about scandalous people she didn’t know.

  Anthony had taken up the commission of guarding her evenings. He didn’t reference their would-be engagement, other than to give her an exuberant hug and welcome her to their family. The change in him, when he knew he would be her brother instead of her husband, was remarkable. He and his friends — a circle of men her own age, all with dashing wardrobes and impeccable manners — were most attentive in bringing her refreshments and attempting to entertain her.

  But Callie would have rather read the papers with Thorington than danced with any number of stylish Corinthians.

  Madeleine and Prudence must have agreed to chaperone her during the mornings. The duchess and the countess would insist that she join them for tea after breakfast. They wouldn’t release her until Serena and Portia claimed her.

  Yesterday, she had finally asked them if Thorington had arranged this. Prudence had smiled mysteriously, which was answer enough. Madeleine had said, “Ferguson doesn’t like being wrong about people. But I find it pleasant to have proof that my husband isn’t always right.”