Undone by the Billionaire Duke

by Caitlin Crews

  “If I hadn’t tasted your innocence myself I’d assume that meant you had a child of your own hidden away somewhere.”

  “I don’t have a child, I have a sister,” Eleanor had said in an undertone.

  “A younger sister?”

  “Vivi is twenty-five.”

  “And she is unwell?”

  Eleanor had frowned at him. “No, she isn’t unwell. But I’m the one who pays the bills.”

  One of Hugo’s brows rose. “You pay for your twenty-five-year-old sister?”

  And it had occurred to Eleanor that she’d never had to explain her situation to anyone before. Most people didn’t ask such impertinent questions and if they had, she wouldn’t have felt compelled to answer them.

  “It’s complicated,” she’d said after a moment. “Vivi is very talented, but it’s not always easy to find the right place for her to shine. Once she does, everything will seem a good deal more...balanced.”

  There had been something entirely too perceptive in Hugo’s gaze, then.

  “Are you trying to convince me?” he’d asked. “Or yourself?”

  When Geraldine had called out that she was finished, breaking the tight little knot that had seemed to hold them both where they stood, Eleanor had been unreasonably grateful.

  Hugo made her feel like she no longer fit in her own body.

  Not that she felt much like herself now, she was forced to admit as she hurried along the main floor toward the foyer.

  Who exactly are you? a little voice asked from deep inside her, and to her shame it sounded a little too much like Hugo’s. Who exactly are you so desperate to hold on to?

  She shook her head to get that voice to shut up, for a change. And then she turned the final corner that delivered her into the great foyer and stopped.

  Because Vivi was standing there.

  For a moment, Eleanor couldn’t make any sense of it.

  There was no reason on earth for Vivi to be in Yorkshire, much less in the grand foyer of Groves House. Back in London, when Eleanor had asked if her sister planned to come up and visit her when she finally got a break after her first six weeks, Vivi had been noncommittal.

  I can’t possibly know what I’ll be doing so far in the future, she’d said. Dismissively, Eleanor thought now. But at the time she hadn’t thought much of it. That was Vivi’s style, after all. So effervescent and carefree that she never knew what she was going to be doing from one moment to the next, much less six weeks out. But I doubt very much that I’ll have any business in Yorkshire.

  But she’d said Yorkshire the way some people might say nuclear waste facility.

  Eleanor told herself she had to be mistaken, but the woman who stood at the other end of the foyer was indisputably Vivi. She was microscopically thin, the better to show off the excruciatingly expensive designer jeans she wore thrust down low on her jutting hipbones. The denim licked down her minuscule thighs before disappearing into a pair of recognizably chic boots. She wore the sort of coat and scarf that would not look out of place in Sloane Square, and she wore her hair in the usual temperamental way. It was wild and wavy, pouring down her back and over her shoulders in an artful sort of tangle that was meant to look as if it never saw a brush or a styling tool, when the fact was, it took hours for Vivi to make it look just so. As she moved closer, Eleanor could see that her sister’s lips were pursed slightly as she took in the wealth on display across every inch of the deliberately jaw-dropping entryway. More, she had a particular gleam in her eyes that Eleanor recognized all too well.

  Avaricious, that voice inside her whispered.

  Eleanor told herself to stop. She was being severe and unfair. She should have been delighted to see her little sister. She was. Of course she was.

  “Vivi? What are you doing here? Is everything all right?”

  Vivi took her time meeting Eleanor’s gaze. Her own lingered on the walls, on all that gold and gilt, stretching out in all directions. Statues and flowers and paintings that went all the way up to heaven and back. And that was just the foyer.

  “Aren’t you the dark horse,” Vivi murmured.

  “You don’t look as if anything terrible has happened,” Eleanor continued, telling herself that there was no need to read into her sister’s dark tone.

  Vivi eyed her, her hands stuck into the back pockets of her jeans and her hips thrust out in what could only be called an aggressive posture. Eleanor ignored that, too.

  “You told me this place was a tired old mausoleum. A crumbling pile of rocks, plunked down in the middle of a moor with heather growing all over it like a weed.” Vivi sniffed and jutted her chin at all the lavish displays before her. “Apparently not.”

  “You were the one who called it a pile of rocks,” Eleanor pointed out, still keeping her voice calm and even and something like soothing. “I just didn’t argue.”

  “I had no idea you were so secretive, Eleanor. Is that a new personality trait?”

  “Surely you didn’t really think that the Duke of Grovesmoor lived in a crumbling pile of stones.” Eleanor made herself smile. “Given that he owns the better part of England.”

  “It’s quite intriguing that you’ve decided you need to keep secrets from me now that you work in such a posh old house, isn’t it?”

  There was no denying the fact that there was more than little attitude in her sister’s voice. But Eleanor ordered herself to remain calm, and not only because she never called her miracle of a sister out on anything, much less tone. But because she couldn’t trust the things that were happening inside of her.

  The truth was that she hadn’t felt much like herself since Hugo had kissed her that first time. Maybe Vivi was right and Eleanor had gone squirrely and secretive. She’d never done anything like that before.

  And when, exactly, were you permitted to have any kind of a life before? that voice inside demanded. Or have you forgotten that your whole existence is catering to Vivi’s life, not yours? She just doesn’t like imagining that anything might have shifted.

  It was possible that Eleanor didn’t really like it all that much, either.

  “If I failed to tell you something it wasn’t for any nefarious reason,” she said, still keeping her voice even. “I thought you knew everything there was to know about this position. You’re the one who recommended I interview for it in the first place.”

  Vivi shook her hair back from her face, though none had fallen forward. “I assumed he’d thrown the kid in some second-rate cottage somewhere rustic. Not this.”

  Eleanor did not rise to the defense of the kid. She did not dig into Vivi’s assumptions about rustic cottages. And she did not ask herself why it was apparently perfectly all right for her to live somewhere not quite as nice as Groves House. Because Vivi didn’t mean it. Vivi came across as thoughtless, but only because every thought that moved through her head came out of her mouth, not because she harbored any ill will. It was part of the larger-than-life charm that Eleanor had been grateful for every single moment since Vivi hadn’t died in the car accident that had claimed their parents.

  She reached out a hand to place it on her sister’s arm and build a bridge, but Vivi pulled away.

  “Vivi, whatever is the matter?” she asked.

  And she wasn’t surprised when her sister’s expressive eyes filled with emotion. Not quite tears, but their glassy precursor. This felt like normal, suddenly. Like common ground again. Vivi had problems and Eleanor fixed them. That was the way the world turned.

  “Everything.” Vivi’s voice was ever so slightly husky, as if from the force of her feelings. “The rent wasn’t paid. The credit card is full. The flat is a complete tip. I can’t find anything and what I can find is filthy and I don’t know what to do about any of it.”

  “You didn’t pay the rent? And you went over the maximum on the credit card?” Eleanor shook her head, feeling dazed. “But I left you the money—”

  “And that’s not the worst of it. Peter’s asked Sabrina to marry him.�
�� Vivi stared at Eleanor as if she should have an explosive response to that bit of news. Eleanor only blinked and Vivi made a frustrated, impatient sort of noise. “Lord Peter, Eleanor. Hello. Only the man who’s been crucial to my happiness for as long as I can remember.”

  “As long as you can remember,” Eleanor repeated dryly.

  Vivi waved a hand. “This past month, anyway. We’ve been quite close.”

  “And by this past month,” Eleanor said, trying her best not to panic at what Vivi must have done to their finances in so short a time, “do you mean the month that I’ve been here, in this house that you might have noticed is miles and miles away from anything, teaching lessons to a seven-year-old child?”

  “The point is that everyone thought that I was in with a chance,” Vivi complained. “But he chose Sabrina, of all people. The cow. She’s no better than she has to be and who cares if her father has all that money? But everything’s gone pear-shaped.” Vivi held Eleanor’s gaze for a moment, then shifted to look around the foyer again, almost as if she was calculating something as she did. “It was time to make myself scarce, that’s all. I thought I’d hole up with you for a little while.”

  “Vivi,” Eleanor said softly. “What did you do?”

  Her sister shrugged, though it was more of a defensive gesture than anything else. “Some people need to learn how to have a bit of a laugh, that’s all.”

  Eleanor suddenly became very aware of where they were standing. The foyer appeared empty, but Eleanor had been in Groves House too long now. She knew that the Duke’s staff were everywhere. That every word was being watched, recorded, judged. That whatever Vivi might have done, the whole house didn’t need to know about it.

  Though it was entirely possible that all of England would, if she’d got up to her usual tricks. And found her way into the tabloids again. Of course, Vivi would likely view that sort of exposure as a great success.

  “Come on,” Eleanor said, reaching out once more and this time, actually taking hold of her sister’s arm. “This is not the place to talk about this. We’ll go somewhere a bit more private.”

  Vivi certainly didn’t evidence any sense of urgency as she sauntered along, letting Eleanor keep hold of her as they walked. Eleanor didn’t know why it made her teeth clench, hard. This was nothing new. This was who Vivi was. She never thought things through. The rent, the credit card, whatever idiotic thing she’d done to Lord Whoever and his new fiancée. She expected the whole world to revolve all around her, and because of that, it usually did.

  Or Eleanor’s did, anyway. It always had.

  But Groves House wasn’t the place for Vivi, something deep and dark in Eleanor’s gut insisted. She couldn’t let her sister take—

  Eleanor was ashamed of herself. There was nothing here that was hers. There was nothing anyone could take from her, especially not the sister she loved. The sister she would give anything to if she had the chance. The sister who had somehow survived that accident, and kept Eleanor for being all on her own.

  That was what she was telling herself, fiercely and on repeat, when she turned the corner that led toward the nursery wing where her rooms were and nearly ran straight into Hugo.

  And she knew who she was then, in an instant. She knew too much about the feelings she’d been telling herself were uncertain for so long now. Particularly after what happened in his library a week ago. Oh, the lies she’d told herself to explain it all away...

  But there was nothing but truth here, pouring into the hallway like the diffident light of the afternoon outside.

  Eleanor did not want Vivi to meet Hugo.

  There was something inside of her, hunched and ugly, all claws and spite. And it was dragging all of its sharp edges around and around in the pit of Eleanor’s stomach, because it wanted to avoid this. It would have done anything to avoid exactly this.

  She did not want Hugo to behold her vibrant, charming sister who wrapped men like him around her fingers.

  Or tries, anyway, that ugly little voice hissed.

  But it was too late.

  Because Vivi recognized Hugo instantly. Of course she did. Eleanor knew her sister, but even if she hadn’t she’d have understood the change in her sister’s body language. Suddenly everything was languid, easy. Suddenly Vivi’s eyes seemed smoky, and the little giggle she let out was the same.

  Eleanor had never wanted to slap her hand over her sister’s mouth before. Or at least, she’d never wanted it this badly.

  “I had no idea, Miss Andrews,” Hugo drawled, coming to a stop a few feet away, his dark gaze unreadable, “that governesses could multiply in the space of an afternoon. Like geese. How extraordinary.”

  Eleanor watched that gleaming gaze of his flick over her sister, and was more than a little surprised when it returned to her. But perhaps he was outraged. Perhaps he was looking for an explanation as to why he’d been kissing the likes of Eleanor when all the while he could have had Vivi.

  And that ugly thing inside of her grew thicker. Burrowed deeper. But there was no stopping a speeding train, and Vivi had always been far more dangerous than any high-speed rail.

  “Your Grace,” Eleanor said stiffly, especially when Vivi seemed to melt into her side, holding on tight to Eleanor as if she was her very own plush toy. “May I present my sister, Vivi.”

  “You may,” Hugo said in that same sardonic drawl that made heat bolt through Eleanor, but didn’t seem to have the same effect on Vivi. “If you feel you must.”

  Eleanor frowned at that, but her attention was drawn by her sister, who couldn’t seem to stop that damned giggle.

  Be kind, Eleanor told herself sternly. Hugo was an overwhelming man. Anyone would be expected to overreact to the sight of him.

  “I am honored, Your Grace,” Vivi simpered. Then she batted her eyelashes at Hugo. “And here I thought every duke in the land was over the age of fifty.”

  “It only feels that way,” Hugo replied with that liquid ease of his that made the bottom of Eleanor’s stomach disappear. “It is the obsequiousness that ages a man, not the title.”

  Eleanor flushed on her sister’s behalf, but it was a wasted effort as Vivi hardly seem to notice that the Duke had just taken her down a peg or two. Or perhaps she did notice. Perhaps that was her sister’s true secret weapon, all this time. Maybe Vivi got her mileage out of pretending not to notice the very clear signals sent all around her.

  But in either case, Eleanor frowned at Hugo, because she wasn’t pretending anything.

  “If you’ll excuse us,” she said, perhaps too severely, “I must show my sister to my rooms and then return to my duties.”

  “I’m sure Geraldine can manage,” Hugo said offhandedly.

  “Have you been supervising her reading, Your Grace? I had no idea you had taken such an active interest.”

  “I have been supervising my accounts,” Hugo said in a faintly chiding tone that made Eleanor flush slightly. Again. “Which is how I know that I employ a veritable fleet of overpriced nannies. The child is more than fine. Always.”

  Vivi laughed again then, though there was nothing to laugh about in Eleanor’s opinion. Then she let herself flop a bit toward Eleanor, as if she was giving her a hug from the side.

  “You must forgive my sister, Your Grace,” she said merrily. “She’s ever so serious. She always has been. It won’t surprise you to learn her favorite color is gray.”

  Eleanor told herself there was no reason for it, but that didn’t stop the feeling of betrayal that swept over her. And the injustice of it, to have Vivi cut her down like that and call her gray, of all things, when it wasn’t even true.

  But there was nothing to be gained by arguing the point. There was no arguing with Vivi.

  “My favorite color is not gray,” Eleanor heard herself say, to her own astonishment. And once she’d started it seemed silly not to carry on. “On the contrary, I prefer a bright and cheerful red. It just so happens, however, that one cannot march about life forever dressed l
ike a cardinal.”

  Next to her, Vivi slid Eleanor a cool look. She pretended not to see it.

  But she was certain Hugo did. Just as she was certain that Vivi was about three seconds away from hurling herself across the space that separated them to make a complete fool of herself. All over him.

  And the truth was, Eleanor could hardly blame her. She’d made a fool of herself over him herself, hadn’t she? Such a fool of herself, in fact, that she hadn’t even realized she was doing it until now.

  When it was much too late.

  Hugo was devastating. Full stop. Today he was affecting his international rock star look again. His dark hair looked messy, the intriguing kind of messy that made Eleanor want to test it with her fingers. His dark eyes were lit with that suppressed humor of his, dark and sardonic. He wore another one of his battered T-shirts that left nothing of his perfect chest to the imagination and another pair of jeans that hugged him in all the wrong places, as if he aspired to give the two-fingered salute to the fusty dukedom with every breath and outfit. And as if there were no autumn drafts snaking along the halls and no wind rattling the windows, come to that.

  Or as if he was immune to all of it, because he was that darkly beautiful.

  But Eleanor was quite certain that all Vivi saw when she looked at him were pound notes.

  “If you wish to wear red, I would not object,” Hugo said, a current of dark laughter in his voice. “There is no required uniform, Miss Andrews. I hope Mrs. Redding didn’t mislead you on that score.”

  “Oh, you silly old thing,” Vivi cut in then, with a little trill in her voice, and though her eyes were on Hugo she was clearly speaking to Eleanor. Or pretending to, anyway. “You know that red doesn’t suit you.”

  Hugo’s attention swung back to her sister, and Eleanor was glad, because she felt stricken straight through. Ashamed, if she was honest with herself at last.

  Had she really imagined that she was anything to a man like this but a diversion while he was bored? Even for a moment?

  She knew the way of the world. There was a reason Vivi was the one who flitted about with people of Hugo’s ilk, and it wasn’t only because she was thinner and prettier. It was because she bloomed in such circumstances. She came alive. She stole all the light from the room.