The Duke's Dastardly Mistake (Unlikely Pairs Book 2)

by Ginny Hartman

  Lydia pulled her sore wrists from Lady Sophia's grasp. “Of course. I hadn't planned to mention it to him anyway.”

  “One more thing, Miss Phelps, and this is perhaps the most important of all. You must vow to me that you'll never attend another boxing match again. There is greater harm to be found there than I originally thought.”

  The intent look on Lady Sophia's face made Lydia want to laugh, but she didn't. “Certainly, you can't be serious. We had a grand time watching the fights. Not once did I feel as if my safety was in question. Did you?”

  Lady Sophia averted her gaze. Her lips pinched tightly together as she confessed, “Well it was.”

  “How'd you know?” Lydia asked curiously. “Did something happen to you when you left me last night?”

  “Nothing happened. Just promise me you will not attend another match.”

  “I can't promise you anything. I don't know what the future will hold.”

  “I should never have taken you,” Lady Sophia muttered as she hung her head. Rubbing her temples with her gloved hands, she urged, “There are plenty of socially acceptable and safe entertainment options out there. Amuse yourself with one of them.”

  Lydia was surprised at how distressed the usually self-assured woman was acting. “If it makes you feel better, I have no intention of going to the fights again, especially by myself.”

  “Thank you,” Lady Sophia breathed gratefully. “I would hate for any harm to come upon you.”

  Later that evening when the doctor had declared Lydia well enough to return to her own home, Lord Whitworth offered to escort her. Once they were alone in the carriage, he boldly placed his arm around her shoulder and pulled her tightly to his side. She tried to wiggle free from his grasp, but he only tightened his hold on her.

  “I spoke with your father last night, and we have agreed on a date for our wedding.”

  Lydia looked at him in surprise. “When did you have time to speak to my father? You were at the...” she was about to say boxing match but quickly caught herself, and finished lamely, “...your house all night.”

  Lord Whitworth chuckled. “I left shortly after you retired for the evening. We have decided that the wedding shall take place in a fortnight at St. James Church.”

  Lydia was horrified by the news. Shaking her head, she exclaimed, “I don't want to get married at St. James Church. Since I was little, I've always wanted to get married at the quaint chapel near Channing House.”

  “Miss Phelps, that is absurd. The season is in full swing and Parliament is in session. No one can afford the time it would take to travel to the country for a wedding that can easily take place in Town.”

  “Then let us postpone the wedding,” she urged, hoping the desperation in her voice wouldn't make him angry.

  “That is not an option either.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I can't wait any longer to have you.”

  Lydia felt tiny slivers of ice dance up her spine. She wanted to cast up her accounts at his insinuation. The only person she wanted to have her had rejected her the previous evening. The thought of sharing herself with Lord Whitworth was unthinkable.

  “You'll only have to wait a couple of months. In the grand scheme of things, that isn't long at all. Do you not care to see my childhood wishes come to pass?”

  Lord Whitworth looked down at her with a leer that made her shudder. How had she ever trusted him enough to ask him to be the one that helped her get revenge on Levi? She'd once thought him so jolly, so easy going, so friendly that he naturally seemed like the perfect choice to take part in her scheme. It seemed as if he'd turned into a different person entirely since he'd been forced by her father to wed her.

  “Perhaps now is the perfect time to tell you about my childhood fantasies.” He hissed. With a quick tug, he pulled Lydia into his lap and held her down so forcefully that she couldn't break free from his grasp. “Women,” he hissed, making the word somehow sound vulgar. “Lots and lots of women, all at the same time. Perhaps if you care to make my fantasy become a reality, I could be persuaded to do the same for you.”

  His proposition was revolting. “Never,” she hissed in disgust. “The marriage bed is not to be shared with others.”

  He laughed at her. “You're more naive than I thought, Miss Phelps. That will have to change.”

  “It is your thinking that will have to change, My Lord, not mine. I refuse to be wed to a man who will not honor his marriage vows.”

  “If I do recall, you no longer have a choice in the matter. You are legally bound to me already.”

  “I will tell my father of your depravity,” she threatened, hoping it would make him see reason.

  Lord Whitworth merely laughed in her face once more. “Your father won't care, Miss Phelps, I can assure you of that.”

  “That can't be true.”

  “Oh, but it is. I know of your father's favorite vice's and let me just say, they're not as honorable as you might suppose.”

  “You're lying to me,” she said, though a sliver of doubt wedged its way into her heart. “My father is an honorable man.”

  “Honorable men don't fight duels with gentlemen half their age.”

  Lydia stilled. “How'd you know about that?”

  He leaned forward and brushed his nose against hers. “I know more about your father than I care to admit.”

  Feeling desperate, Lydia pulled back against his grasp and hissed, “I don't believe a single word of this conversation. You're only saying these things to try and manipulate me.”

  “If I manipulate you, little one, it's only because I want you so desperately. From the very first time I saw you during your first season, I've wanted to do this.”

  He startled Lydia by grabbing her face and pulling it to his own. He forced his lips to hers and kissed her so violently her lips felt bruised. The harder she fought against him, the tighter his grip became. She felt panic settle in as she realized her own strength was no match for his.

  “Keep fighting me, vixen. I find it wildly appealing.”

  Lydia froze, unwilling to do anything he enjoyed, but it only left her feeling helpless. If she didn't fight, he'd have his way with her. If she did fight, he'd ultimately have his way with her, but he'd find greater enjoyment because of her struggle.

  She'd never felt so helpless in her entire life.

  “Aren't we almost to Berkely Square?” she asked, hating the way her voice sounded shrill.

  “Not yet, Miss Phelps.”

  Anxiety filled her breast. “We must be getting close,” she nearly screamed as she tried to claw at his face, but it was to no avail for he pinned her hands tightly to her sides.

  “I'm warning you, woman, that after we are wed, I will tame you into submission.”

  Her thoughts flitted back to the day her father told her she needed to be tamed. She was certain he wasn't referring to what Lord Whitworth had in mind. “How do you propose to do that?” she asked, hoping she could use whatever he said to try and convince her father to let her out of their engagement.

  “First, I will enjoy your favors until my appetite has been satisfied. Afterwards, I will sell you to the highest bidder. I'm not the only one who finds you desirable. A tasty morsel such as yourself will line my pockets handsomely.”

  Lydia was speechless. This couldn't be happening to her. She closed her eyes against the repulsive words he spoke, hoping when she opened them she'd find this was all some horrible nightmare.

  Her eyes flashed open when she felt his lips on her ear. This wasn't a nightmare; it was much, much worse.

  Though Lydia wasn't prone to swooning, she wished very much that she could do so now. Mustering up her best acting abilities, she rolled her eyes back in her head and let her body go limp. Lord Whitworth's embrace kept her from falling, and she hoped her actions would keep him from pawing at her.

  He shook her body then reached for a packet of smelling salts he conveniently kept in the pocket of his dress coat. Wa
ving it under her nose, she tried hard not to inhale. When the salts failed to awaken her, he threw them to the carriage floor and laid her down on the seat. Peeling his dress coat from his body, he laid it on the opposite seat and said, “Good thing I don't require you to be alert.”

  Lydia's eyes snapped open in alarm. He couldn't be serious.

  Lord Whitworth laughed wickedly when he saw her response and quickly pulled her to a sitting position. “There will be no games with me, Miss Phelps. You will learn soon enough that one way or another, I always get what I want.”

  “Not if I can help it,” she snapped angrily.

  “Oh, but you can't, and it's time you learned that lesson.”

  It took Lydia two days to work up enough courage to speak to her father about Lord Whitworth. She spent the entirety of that time holed up in her bedchamber in a state of shock. Her mother easily excused her odd behavior, figuring she was still recovering from the illness she'd come down with while visiting the Whitworth residence.

  Her mind hadn't even had time to process Levi's refusal of her fully because it had been so preoccupied with repulsion and fear from her carriage ride with Lord Whitworth. Marrying the man was out of the question, and it was time she made her father understand that.

  Lydia had purposefully dressed in a pale yellow day dress because she knew it was her father's favorite color. She was desperate enough to do anything that might work to her advantage. Standing at the door of his study, she took a deep, fortifying breath before rapping her knuckles loudly against the wooden door.

  “Who is it?” her father's voice boomed loud enough she could hear it through the thick door.

  “Father, it is me, Lydia.”

  “Come in, child.”

  Lydia shuffled into the room, holding her head high. She wanted to appear confident when addressing her father because deep down, she was scared. Scared of repeating the atrocious words of Lord Whitworth, scared of how her father might react, and scared to death that he might not believe her.

  Sitting on the edge of her seat, she glanced at her father sitting behind his mahogany desk. He looked unusually tired, with dark circles underneath his eyes. She wondered what could be wrong.

  “Father, are you not feeling well?”

  “I'm fine,” he said curtly.

  “Have you not been sleeping well?”

  A small smile tugged at his lips. “The quality of my sleep has not been a problem, my dear, though I confess the quantity has. I must endeavor to correct that at once.”

  Her father was a person of the night. He loved attending parties and balls and quite often found himself at his club doing who-knows-what until the wee hours of the morning. It used to bother her mother horribly, but over the years she'd grown indifferent, almost cold. It saddened Lydia to see the breach between them, but she didn't know what could be done to repair it. Lydia had wondered when the late nights of little sleep would catch up to her father. It appeared that maybe they finally had.

  “Do you have a moment to discuss something of utmost importance, Father?”

  Pushing his papers aside, he leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands together on his desk in front of him. “Of course, child. Whatever concerns you?”

  “I can't marry Lord Whitworth.”

  Lord Phelps exhaled a loud sigh. “We've been over this. The banns have been read and the legalities arranged. You will marry Lord Whitworth, and you will cease complaining about it.”

  She had expected her father to be annoyed, but the tone of his voice went far past annoyance and skirted into anger. It made Lydia stiffen with concern. “Perhaps I should have phrased it differently, Father. I will not marry Lord Whitworth. You do not know what kind of a man he is.”

  “He is my friend, Lydia. I know him just fine.”

  “I don't think you do. Father, the other night when he escorted me home he spoke the vilest things to me.” She shuddered just thinking about them. “He more or less assured me he wouldn't be faithful to our marriage vows, too. I can't marry him; I just can't. It would be the nothing but a disaster.”

  “Lydia, there are some things you don't seem to understand.” Her father's voice was unusually cold, making her feel frozen inside. “Lord Whitworth is a respectable, honorable gentleman. The Duke of Ludington is not.”

  “The Duke of Ludington?” she questioned in surprise. “What does he have to do with any of this?”

  “Don't play games, child. I know the only reason you wish to cry off from your engagement to Lord Whitworth is so that you can marry the Duke. I won't have it. I would have to be dead before you could do such a thing.”

  Lydia felt as if her head was spinning. “I didn't come to speak of the Duke, Father; I came to speak of Lord Whitworth. He has plans; Father, plans to sell me to other men as a whore after he's gotten what he wants from me. Does that not make your skin crawl and your blood boil?”

  She hadn't wanted to divulge the details, but it was clear her father wouldn't take her seriously if she didn't.

  Her father surprised her by shaking his head sadly, a look of pity plastered upon his tired face. “You're weaving fantastical tales in your mind, Lydia, making Lord Whitworth into a villain in order to convince me to give you your way. I'm shocked that you would do something so cruel.”

  A lump of unexpected emotion formed in her throat, making it feel as if it were on fire. She hadn't expected this at all. “I promise you; I'm not lying. He told me these things to my face. Have you no desire to protect me from such a monster?”

  He shook his head sadly. Lydia watched as he slowly rose from his seat and placed his hands on his desk. Leaning forward he bellowed, “Shut up, child. Your wicked tongue will cause us both problems if you're not careful.”

  Fear unlike any she'd ever known came over Lydia as her father yelled at her. She put her hands up protectively in front of her face, afraid he might strike, though he'd never done that to her in the entirety of her life.

  “Please don't make me marry him,” she sobbed, hoping he'd see by her emotions that she was truly frightened of the prospect.

  Her father stalked angrily from behind his desk and picked her up from her chair as if she were a rag doll. He shook her violently before depositing her suddenly in the chair. Lydia couldn't manage to look at him, she was so shocked and hurt by his treatment of her and scared of what else he might do. She hid her head in her hands and cried.

  “If you speak ill of Lord Whitworth in my presence again, you will not be fit to be seen in public for at least a se'nnight. If word gets back to me that you've spoken ill of him to anyone else, and I do mean anyone,” he hissed threateningly, “it'll be at least a fortnight before you can show yourself to the world. Have I made my meaning clear?”

  The incredible shock wore off and was instantly replaced with a hollowness that scared Lydia far worse. She felt dead inside as she stood. Managing to look her father squarely in the eyes, she said coldly, “It would appear you have more affection and loyalty for Lord Whitworth than for your own daughter.”

  “I never said that,” he said with an irritated smirk.

  “You didn't have to.”

  With one last sorrow-filled glance, Lydia turned on her heel and stalked from the room. She was almost to the door when her father called out to her, his voice returning to its normal timbre. “Lydia, I only spoke to you so harshly because I love you.”

  Lydia snorted. Without turning around, she mumbled, “You don't know what love is.”

  She wasn't sure if her father heard her or not because as soon as the words escaped her lips, she slammed the door of his study as forcefully as she could and ran to her bedchamber where she threw herself atop her bed and sobbed.

  Lady Sophia was sitting at her dressing table when her maid burst into the room. “Lady Sophia, you have a visitor.”

  Sophia turned to look at the frenzied girl. She was just about to ring for her to assist her with her undress since she'd decided to skip the Woolston Ball her parents w
ere attending that night, but it looked as if she no longer needed to.

  “Who is calling on me at this time of night?” she wondered aloud.

  “Lord Coldwell.”

  Her stomach did a funny little flip, which she ignored. She trained her face to look impassive instead. “Tell him I'll be down shortly.”

  As soon as her maid left, Sophia glanced at herself in the looking glass and quickly tucked a rogue strand of hair back in place before pinching her cheeks to give them some color. Satisfied with her appearance, she stood and exited the room.

  Sophia found Lord Coldwell standing with his back to her in the drawing room. She took a moment to look at him. He was tall like his father, but instead of having dark hair like Lord Emberson, Lord Coldwell's was a tawny brown color, the perfect mixture between his father and his late mother's coloring.

  Sophia was a tall woman, but even from her position across the room, she knew very well that Lord Coldwell would dwarf her. He held his broad shoulders erect in a manner that spoke of confidence.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Lord Coldwell turned abruptly, his face looking unusually serious. “I've just received some unsettling news.”

  Sophia's heart began beating an erratic cadence against her chest. “From what source?”

  Lord Coldwell came from across the room and stood before her. Cocking a brow in a way that showed he wasn't amused, he asked, “Who else would've sent word?”

  His gray eyes pierced hers, causing her to drop her gaze to the rug below her feet. “It's not good news, is it?”

  “Unless you consider being assigned to work with me good news, then no, it isn't.”

  Sophia let a long breath escape slowly from her nose. She didn't like Lord Coldwell, hadn't from the moment she met him aboard the pirate ship she'd stowed away on off the coast of Cornwall several months ago. She'd been on a highly secretive assignment with her aunt when he just happened to be returning from his grand tour. She still wasn't entirely sure how he ended up on a pirate ship for his return voyage to England.

  One of the things that annoyed her the most about Lord Coldwell was that he had an unassuming air about him that drew people in and made them feel comfortable divulging their innermost secrets to him. She didn't trust that he was as innocent and concerned as he appeared.