To Charm a Naughty Countess

by Theresa Romain

  “I don’t mean to belittle the experience,” Caroline hurried to explain. “But from what I’ve heard of your father, he was flighty and dissipated. I should rather regard any criticism from him as a mark in your favor.”

  Michael let out a startled laugh. “I had not regarded the situation in that light.”

  “It’s how I choose to regard it.”

  He slanted a look at her. “Thank you for that. I assume, then, you have heard a few rumors about my father.”

  “More than a few. I know he had a taste for female company.”

  “That and any other expensive amusement you can think of. Drinking, gambling, horses, mistresses, and… well. You understand. After my birth, my mother was quiet and sad, and she soon dwindled away. My father was then free to leave Lancashire—and me—behind, living a profligate life in London and the great cities of Europe, at least until war closed the Continent to him. He scarcely gave a thought to his dukedom beyond the rent deposits into his accounts, and when those began to decrease, he borrowed to make up the difference. His charm was always enough to convince the polite world that Wyverne was as sound as ever.”

  “Ah.” Caroline knew full well the ability of a bloated charm to hide a lonely truth.

  Michael’s voice turned hollow. “In temperament, I was as different from him as one could imagine. On those rare occasions he returned to Callows, he communicated his—let us call it disappointment. He could not understand why a future duke would waste time with books and tinkering when the world was full of feasts and drink and wenches.”

  “Then he was a fool.” A vivid picture sprang into Caroline’s imagination: a dark-haired boy bent over a magic lantern; a brash and bitter man with grass-green eyes fuming behind him.

  Michael gripped the arms of his chair tightly. “Maybe I should defend his memory, but I cannot. He returned to Lancashire permanently, to live in the dukedom to which he had laid waste, only when he developed the French disease.”

  Syphilis. Caroline shivered despite her long sleeves. “How dreadful.” She had heard horrid tales of that disease, eating away its victims from the inside out, driving them to physical and mental ruin.

  “It was, rather,” Michael said with a touch of black humor. “In his decline, I believe my father went mad himself. He admitted none of his own wrongs, instead raving about the numerous ways in which I had disgraced him.”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I tried to be a good son—a good man—to prove I would make a good duke. And so I traveled to London, but once I arrived, I knew not what to do. There was nothing I could build. No one I could help. I hated being the object of any curiosity, certain as I was that I was being judged by society and found wanting.”

  His shoulders hunched; then he forced them square. “In the City, I made myself circulate in polite society, though dreadful headaches began to plague me. Still, I walked the narrow edge of propriety; I never took refuge in the laudanum or fleshpots to which my father became enslaved. But when I met you, I forgot my careful vows. You were so different from anyone I had met. Full of delight, kind and friendly, beautiful inside and out. You were… irresistible.”

  Her hand drifted up to touch her lips; the memory of their stolen long-ago kisses seemed to press hot on her mouth. “I found you irresistible too.”

  Irresistible enough to follow him about from ball to ball, to drift onto the terrace at Lady Applewood’s house and surrender her dignity into his strong hands. Heedless of her reputation, of anything but her fascination with that harsh, beautiful man. “Yet how irresistible could you truly have found me, Michael? We were caught in an embrace, yet you left. For eleven years, I heard nothing from you.”

  “I heartily regret that.” He grimaced. “Yet even now, I do not know what I ought to have done instead. You have called the idea of a proposal ludicrous, and—”

  “Never mind that,” Caroline said. “Please. I was impolite.”

  “Perhaps, but you were honest. At twenty-one, I was a fool. I did not know what to do, and I had a fit of panic. It felt like madness, the madness I had never quite accepted I possessed.”

  “Panic? Such as the… episode… you had in my bedchamber?”

  “The only two such I have ever had,” he confirmed. “I became distressed at my own loss of control, and I left London at once with my father’s ill health as an excuse. Much to my surprise, he did soon succumb to his ailment. So then I was Wyverne.”

  “And you had no need of London then,” she murmured. “You told me you left nothing behind that you cared for.”

  “That was not strictly truthful. But my time in London, far from being a triumph, became a humiliation. I was relieved to take on the responsibilities of a dukedom—not only to protect it and save it from ruin, but to prove to myself that I could do something right in a world with which I’d always felt out of step. I wanted to be a better duke than my father ever imagined, or ever was himself.

  “The only problem was the force of my desire for you. It had proved to me that perhaps I wasn’t so different from him as I thought, that lust was strong enough to overpower reason, and that I must bottle it tightly and control it if I were to serve my dukedom well.”

  “You have served it well.” And the last time she’d seen Michael, she’d accused him of wrecking Wyverne for his own amusement when the deed had been his father’s. “I should not have doubted you.”

  Even so, she was not sure what he meant by telling her all this or what he truly wanted from her. Was it an apology? An excuse? Or a long-delayed atonement?

  “I have tried my best,” he said. “I have given my dukedom my whole self, wholeheartedly. I have become accustomed to ignoring untidy emotion in favor of logic and work.”

  “I know you have.” He had unlocked all his secrets for her now. At last, she understood him, understood the unique snap and tug of desire and duty that shaped him.

  Why she had once thought this would make her stop loving him, she couldn’t fathom.

  His hand lifted to his temple, then fell to his lap. “As a wise woman once told me, I have made my dukedom my whole life. And in doing so, I have made it more burdensome. I have stripped the pleasure from existence.”

  Caroline’s heart thumped. “Are you referring to me as a wise woman? I must write this in my journal.”

  He lifted his brows.

  “Yes, I’m teasing you,” she said.

  He smiled. “I thought you were. And here is what else I think: that I have denied myself much that would make the burdens of life lighter. You are right, that I should not ask anyone to share a life I do not enjoy.

  “In truth, I do enjoy it. I am honored to be a duke, to provide employment for my tenants and care for the land. But I don’t want to be only a duke.”

  “What do you want?” Her breath caught on the question. When he had asked it of her, she had no answer.

  “I want to marry you.”

  Twenty-seven

  Somehow, Caroline kept her features serene. “I can’t accept. I just cannot. I will not marry you for money.”

  “I’m not asking you for any such thing.”

  He stood, began to pace. “When you confronted me at Callows, I cannot deny that your opinion of me wounded me. You saw my efforts to save my dukedom as signs of failing in my character.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Given time to parse your words,” he continued, feet still marking a neat series of steps, “I realized that you were correct in some respects. Namely, that I was using the methods I preferred—and only those—to try to pull Wyverne back to solvency. I invested too much in untried innovation and not enough in the old ways that had worked for so long. I gave too much to Wyverne’s future but not enough to its present.”

  He halted, turned on one heel to face Caroline. She felt very small as he looked down at her, magnificent and proud. “I’m not sa
ying that the old ways will work forever, Caro. Times are changing. But I realized if I pursued only steam power and irrigation, I was fighting the land, and my tenants would soon be driven from it into the factories Miss Cartwright loves so dearly.

  “Some of them might choose that life after all,” he mused. “But anyone who wants to stay shall have the means to make a good life. You see, in excavating one of the canals, we found a new seam of coal.”

  Caroline felt a step behind. “Coal? But you’ve always known you had coal on your land.”

  Michael sank back into his chair. “Yes, but it’s never been worth the trouble to ship it off the estate before. Coal may be plentiful in Lancashire and needed in London, but the cost won’t bear transporting it overland.” His mouth tugged up on one side. “I owe a bit of thanks to Miss Cartwright. She was determined to understand my financial status, and she inquired in such detail into the coal reserves that I ordered some more exploration and found that a known seam of coal extends into my network of irrigation canals.”

  “But if the cost won’t bear transporting it, as you said?”

  “Not overland. But by water, it will. Because of the cold weather, coal prices are high in the cities this year. If my canals are widened and graded, they will take on enough water for transport. And then the coal can be shipped: water to water, canal to river to sea.”

  Caroline’s head felt very full. “Your canals.” She choked out a laugh. “Incredible. Your canals have saved you after all.”

  “My canals and the long winter. But eventually the weather will thaw and the sun will come out. If the price of coal drops again, then the canals can be used for bringing fields back to life. And if I am blessed beyond deserving, then all of my plans will bear fruit.”

  “Your creditors have stopped dogging you, then?”

  “Indeed they have. It is amazing what wonders may be worked by the promise of a steady income from a known commodity. As soon as I arrived in London, I met with Weatherby and the other bankers and laid out my plans. They were satisfied enough by my sanity and my reason,” he said drily. “Bringing Wyverne out of debt will not happen in a year, or even in a decade. But perhaps not much longer than that. It will happen.”

  “So you don’t need to marry for money anymore,” she said faintly.

  “I do not.” His face was solemn. “And I know that you would not. The last time we spoke, in the Chinese room at Callows, you stated that you considered our acquaintance at an end and that I had nothing more to hope for. I was prepared to cut all ties with you.”

  “I’m sorry,” she blurted again. So much to apologize for; so much that had gone wrong.

  “Do not apologize. Or rather, I will apologize too. We both spoke harshly, and I’m sorry for my part in that.” A faint smile touched his lips. “Then an unlikely source retrieved my hope. Stratton.”

  “Stratton did something helpful? I can scarcely credit it.”

  “Unintentionally, I assure you. He found me just after he left you in the Chinese room. I had thought him on his way back to London, so I was not precisely pleased to see him again. I was pleased, though, by what he had to say.”

  He leaned forward, holding her gaze. “He was adamant that I go to you, for the sake of your reputation, and convince you to cease your matchmaking efforts on my behalf. He was in a rage over the fact that you showed more loyalty to me, a near stranger, than you did to him, your own kin by marriage.”

  “I would show more loyalty to a hatstand than I would to Stratton.”

  “And that hatstand would deserve it more, I’m sure. Regardless, I gathered that you had defended me, spoken warmly about me—and that you’d somehow angered Stratton. This, I thought, was all promising evidence that you weren’t so set against me as you had indicated.”

  “I was only hurt, Michael. I was never set against you.”

  “So I hoped.” His fingers flexed, then stilled. “So I hoped.”

  Though gray and chilly as ever outside, the drawing room seemed to warm. “Perhaps Stratton isn’t completely worthless after all,” Caroline said.

  “That will be for his wife to determine and to deal with. Fortunate Miss Cartwright—that is, the new Lady Stratton. I gather she could not resist the idea of leading a nobleman about by golden reins.”

  “No, I imagine not.” Caroline wanted to sigh. “Stratton cares for money above all else; he will not underestimate her worth. I believe he will make her a devoted husband.”

  Miss Cartwright had been willing to sell herself—or to be more accurate, to buy Stratton. But such devotion, based on pounds and pence, held no value for Caroline. She wanted a devotion that was difficult to earn, from someone who was reluctant to trust. Someone strong enough to venture across a nation alone and strong enough to admit his faults.

  Strong enough to match her love? Hope trembled like a hummingbird, caged.

  “So. Now you know the full truth of it,” Michael said. “Why I acted as I did eleven years ago, why I have become the man I am now. I have a cold, run-down dukedom and a backbreaking quiver of responsibilities. I know you love London, and you have many friends here. I can’t offer you that sort of elegance or ease. I’m stubborn and proud, and I don’t make decisions lightly. I say the wrong thing much more often than not.”

  “Yes, I know all of that.” She tilted her head. “Is a declaration lurking somewhere within this recital, or are you trying to make me boot you out the window?”

  With a dry laugh, he said, “I’m not making a very good case for myself, am I? Perhaps I cannot. But I will never be quit of you, Caro, even if you’re quit of me. It’s not in me. I love you.”

  “You love me.” She had wanted to hear it so long and expected to hear it so little, that the sounds hardly made sense in her ears. “You love me?”

  “I do. I offer you my heart. I don’t know if you’ve any need for it. But if you’ll allow me the three days that were left on our old contract, I’ll try to convince you of my feelings.”

  Slowly, Caroline shook her head, as a sweet bubble of joy filled her. “I won’t listen to you because of that silly contract, Michael. I cannot be bought. Only given.” She allowed herself a moment of tantalizing silence, to study the look on his face. He had stilled, every muscle and fiber waiting for more.

  “You’re a brilliant man,” she continued, “and yet you overlooked something quite obvious. Michael, I never wanted anything from you but love. Not eleven years ago, when I had nothing to offer you but my heart. Not now, either. I turned down your proposals because I didn’t want to be courted for my money. I wanted to be courted for… well, me. I wanted to be needed.”

  He was blinking rather more often than usual. “I did tell you you’d be needed if you were a duchess.”

  “Oh, hang your tenants.” She bounded to her feet, her whole body humming discordantly. “Not literally, of course. But don’t you see the difference? I can’t marry to help nebulous legions. I’m far too selfish for that. The tenants of your dukedom don’t care who your duchess is; any woman would do as well.”

  “No one could do as well as you.”

  She smiled. “Ah, that—that’s what I wanted to hear.”

  “It’s true.”

  “It’s proof of your faith in me,” she replied. “Faith, and a kind view of me despite my shallowness and flaws.”

  “You are the kind one. One of the kindest people I have ever known.” He reached out, caught her hand in his long fingers, and tugged her until she was within inches of him. One more tug, and she lost her balance and sank onto his lap.

  Strong arms wrapped around her, and his chin snugged into the angle of her neck and shoulder. “I had not understood how you could take me to your bed but decline to marry me. Fool that I was, I thought you had cheapened the experience when you really refused to set a price on it.”

  “Yes,” was all she could manage. H
is cheeks, chin moved against her skin with his every word. She was aware of his mouth, so near her skin—that mouth that had devoured her own, that had kissed her body.

  He pulled in a deep breath. “Do you accept my proposal, then?”

  “You haven’t proposed.”

  “Haven’t—” Michael leaned back, goggling at her. “Caro, I have proposed to you three times.”

  “No, only twice before today, and those proposals were all logic and transaction. As for today, you said you intended to propose, but you haven’t actually said the words. I would have remembered.”

  “I see.” A smile played on his lips. “I must do the thing properly, then. If you’ll rise?”

  He pressed her to her feet, then slid from the chair and dropped to one knee. He took her hand in his own roughened one. “You will not be offended by the truth?”

  She looked down at him, this kneeling duke, with his odd, deliberate ways. There was simply no one else like him, and she loved him for that. “I might. But I want it anyway.”

  He worked shaking fingers between hers, then gave a sharp nod. “Here it is. Eleven years ago, you married an old man who wanted to cheer his last years with a nubile young wife. I have no expectation of dying soon, so I am quite prepared to see you grow haggard and fat over the forthcoming decades.”

  A crack of laughter burst from her throat; his mouth creased in a barely suppressed smile as he added, “My finances are adequate without the aid of your fortune. And—forgive me for mentioning it—but my bloodline is more noble than yours too.”

  “This is hardly a litany of praise.”

  “It’s the truth. And so is this: that there is only one remaining reason for me to offer you marriage. I love you.” His grip about her fingers tightened. “For many years, I had no talent for using my heart, and so I never bothered with it—until you entered my life and showed me the pleasurable bits of life that I was missing. How much sweeter is work when there is someone to play with at day’s end. How a small kindness can grow to touch everyone around it. Everything is better with you near.”