The Corinthian Duke

by Emma V. Leech

  He’d asked if he might kiss her once or twice. Each time Pearl had lifted her head and stood motionless, and despite her beauty he’d felt like he was kissing a statue. That neither of them had been moved was obvious. It had felt like a duty and he was daunted that she’d found no pleasure in it at all. He’d never had a problem getting women to respond to him before. Did she dread their marriage as much as he did?

  Oscar had tried to ask her once, to determine if she wanted this arrangement they’d been forced into without their consent. She’d just stared at him, a quizzical look in her blue eyes.

  You say the strangest things, Oscar.

  Oscar sighed. He didn’t doubt she wanted the title, she’d been born to the role, but did she want him? A frown marred his brow as he watched her talking to a group of her contemporaries, elegant young ladies all from good families. Would one of them have been his choice if he’d had one? Who would she have chosen? Not him, he felt certain.

  “Hello.”

  A familiar voice pierced his thoughts and he looked down to see Ella had tracked him down.

  “Evening, Bug,” he said, using the nickname he and her brother had foisted on her some ten or more years ago. He smiled as he noticed the pins were falling from her hair, one heavy tress all askew. His fingers itched to put it right but he stilled them.

  “Are you going to dance with Pearl?” she demanded, looking as fed-up as he felt. Her heavy eyebrows were drawn together, giving her a mutinous look.

  A tut of irritation escaped him. “Did she send you over to ask?”

  “Yes, so don’t eat me. It’s not my fault.”

  She crossed her arms and glowered at the floor, and Oscar sighed.

  “Yes, yes, I will… later,” he added, not liking the sensation of being harried, even though it was nothing out of the ordinary. His face softened as he looked upon Ella and realised she was out of sorts. He’d noticed that more often of late. Bubbly Ella who was never downhearted seemed ever more unhappy.

  That anxious feeling tugged at his heart again.

  “What’s the matter with you?” he asked, the words brusque even though he was concerned. It annoyed him that he must worry for Ella too. He couldn’t even free himself of a marriage he didn’t want, so how could he possibly help Ella?

  Ella shrugged, her shoulders slumping, the picture of dejection. He smiled despite himself, as she looked like she wanted to be as far from this blasted ballroom as he did. She’d probably much prefer to be at home playing cards. She was devilish good at piquet and always beat him.

  “I suppose Pearl tore you off a strip for disappearing yesterday?” he asked, softening his tone now.

  He could just imagine what Pearl had said to her. Not that he’d ever seen Pearl in a temper; it was hard to believe she ever raised her voice. Ella, however, had put him straight on that fact many years ago. He’d also seen the bruises and pinch marks if her sister had really been in a fury.

  Pearl was not all she seemed to be.

  The look Ella returned was eloquent.

  “Well, what did you expect, Bug?” He gave a despairing sigh and tugged at one of her curls. “If you will behave like a hoyden, you can expect to take the consequences.”

  “And so I have,” she retorted indignantly. “It doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it, any more than you have to enjoy this.”

  Oscar nodded and gave her a sympathetic smile.

  “Shouldn’t you be dancing?” he asked, and even he couldn’t decipher the slightly aggravated edge to his words. “I’m told you’re in need of a husband.”

  There was a glower in her eyes now and he had to smother a bark of laughter at her obvious disgust. He had to admit to a little relief that she viewed the idea in the same light as he did.

  “Oh, Lord, Oscar, don’t you start. You know as well as I do that there isn’t a man here I could stand, nor one who could stand me.”

  She stared around the room and Oscar followed her gaze, knowing her words were nothing but the truth. He watched as she shrugged and pasted a smile to her face.

  “It’s hopeless. I shall be an eccentric old lady and keep cats.”

  Perhaps she might have fooled someone who didn’t know her as well as Oscar, but he could see through her with ease. There was anxiety there, and a depth of sadness that he couldn’t account for. Perhaps she really did believe that was her fate.

  “Don’t be a gudgeon. You’ll fall in love and be swept off your feet by some young buck before we know it.”

  The words stuck in his throat, likely because he knew he didn’t believe it either.

  “No,” she said, the word stark and honest as she shook her head. “I won’t.”

  Oscar frowned. Once again that odd, daunting sensation rose in his chest. It was most unsettling, but then he cared deeply for Ella. She was as much his sister as Bertie’s. The idea of her being alone and unhappy made him worry for her.

  “You can’t believe you’ll live like that, Ella. You’d be lonely,” he said, a prickle of unease over his neck at the real possibility she could end her days in such a way. Not Ella. It would be a crime.

  “Of course not.” Her tone was brisk and no nonsense as she rolled her eyes at him. “I shall travel and see the world and by the time I return you and Pearl will have a score of children and I shall be an indulgent aunt. There will be plenty to occupy me.”

  Oscar opened his mouth to object, but before he could she tugged at his arm. “Oh, do go and dance, Oscar. I promised I’d not embarrass her tonight, but she’ll blame me if you don’t do as she asks.”

  He looked over at his wife-to-be, seeing her watching him with a sweet smile at her lips. It was strange how she was always so placid and smiling in his presence and yet no one could make him feel more on edge. Best get his duty done then.

  “Fine,” he muttered. “But if I have to, so do you.”

  “Not on your life,” Ella retorted and scurried away before he could find her a partner.

  Oscar strode across the ballroom and greeted Pearl. She curtsied to him and Oscar could not help but admire the swanlike elegance of her neck and the enticing expanse of décolletage as she dipped down.

  “You’re looking lovely tonight, Pearl,” he said, giving her his hand and leading her onto the dance floor.

  “Why, thank you, your grace,” she said, inclining her head a little.

  He grimaced, wondering if she used that term purely to rattle him.

  “My name is Oscar; I believe I’ve mentioned that.” His words were a little terse and he saw a flash of something in her eyes for just a moment, but she returned that placid smile once more.

  “You are a duke. Such things deserve respect, even from your intimate circle.”

  Oscar frowned. He wondered if she would cry out oh, your grace, when he made love to her. His imagination failed him as he tried to conjure an image of the woman in his arms in such an abandoned position.

  “But I don’t like you calling me, your grace,” he persisted, wondering why he was feeling so bloody-minded tonight.

  “Very well,” she replied, a flash of something that might have been laughter in her eyes. “Rothborn.”

  Oscar gritted his teeth. Hell’s bells, he wanted a drink.

  From across the dance floor he glimpsed Ella, sitting with the wallflowers and doing her best to keep her arms and legs in something close to an elegant position. After a moment or two she gave up and slumped in her seat, looking fed up. As he turned Pearl through the dance and back again, he saw Ella sigh and stretch out her legs… and a passing gentleman trip over her foot.

  Ella leapt to her feet, scarlet with mortification as she apologised. Whoever the fellow was gave a stiff reply and hurried away. Poor Bug. She looked around, clearly hoping Pearl hadn’t seen her. Oscar raised an eyebrow as their gazes met and Ella pressed a finger to her lips, casting a pleading expression his way.

  Oscar smothered a laugh and winked at her, before returning his attention to the dance.

  C
hapter 3

  “Wherein Ella goes above and beyond recklessness.”

  April 1820

  Oscar relished the crisp spring air against his skin, still chilly at this hour of the morning as Virago thundered across the fields. The Craven Meeting was in a few days and Virago in peak condition. Ranleigh wouldn’t know what hit him. His Miss Skirmish would surely be left in the dirt.

  With immense satisfaction, he slowed the horse, patting her neck and crooning all manner of extravagant praise. He would have to thank August Bright, Lord Marchmain for his sterling work with the filly. Oscar had wanted to oversee Virago himself for the Craven Meeting so had moved her to his own estate. Marchmain, who had bred Virago lived nearby and had worked closely with Oscar during her training. What the man didn’t know about horseflesh wasn’t worth knowing.

  Ambling back across the fields, the sun caressing his shoulders with pleasant warmth he turned at the sound of a shout. Galloping towards him on a sweet little grey mare was Ella. Her dark hair had escaped its pins, her bonnet bouncing against her back where it had tumbled free, and she was grinning like a lunatic.

  “Good morning!” she said, breathless as she drew level with him, her cheeks and nose red from the chill morning air.

  “Trespassing, Bug?” he said, trying to frown and sound severe. Whether he managed it, he didn’t know but she snorted and rolled her eyes at him.

  “As if you care.”

  “I’m a duke, you know,” he said, tutting at her and making a show of putting on airs. “You ought to show more respect.”

  Those thick eyebrows lifted. She was unimpressed by such inanity as usual, though her lips twitched. “Why on earth would I do that?”

  Oscar shrugged, relieved she didn’t treat him with the deference some did, even if he enjoyed teasing her over it.

  “Your sister calls me ‘your grace,’” he said, meaning to teach her a lesson and wondering why the words sounded so sad and bitter.

  Ella laughed then, shaking her head. “Yes, but only in public.”

  Oscar looked back at her, lifting one eyebrow as Ella stared at him in horror.

  “Not… not really?”

  “Come on,” he said briskly. “Come back to the house. Your brother will be there by now; you’d best stay for lunch.”

  He urged Virago into a canter, moving ahead of her so she had no time to question him further. That he was using her as a reason not to talk to her brother alone was something he didn’t like to contemplate. Ella’s father, the Earl of Eghampton, had cornered him a few days ago, demanding to know when he would marry Pearl.

  Pearl herself had been asking the same thing with increasing frequency of late, which disturbed him too. She’d seemed in no hurry before but all at once she was pushing for him to get on and do it. Oscar felt like a rabbit in a snare and would have cheerfully chewed off his own foot to get free if it had been an option. It felt as though a net was closing in on him and the sensation of being suffocated by degrees only grew more intense as the days passed.

  He didn’t doubt that poor Bertie had been strong-armed by the earl into forcing a date out of him.

  They clattered into the stables and Oscar went to help Ella down but found she’d jumped to the ground with no assistance. Shaking his head with amusement, he called for a groom to take her mare and busied himself undoing Virago’s girth.

  “Hey, watch out there,” he shouted, looking up too late to see that Ella had approached his vicious mount and reached to stroke her.

  Ella looked at him in surprise as her hand slid over Virago’s soft muzzle and the horse did nothing but make a soft harrumphing sound.

  “Well, I’ll be blowed.” Oscar shook his head in astonishment.

  Grooming Virago was a job most of the grooms would toss a coin for as none of them wanted to get close to her if they could help it, knowing they’d likely come out black and blue. She did not allow petting. Ever.

  Virago turned her head and bared her teeth at him in a silent laugh.

  “Wretch,” he muttered, and led her back into her stall.

  ***

  As predicted, Bertie was waiting for them in the library. He’d made himself at home, and was sitting, reading a book and smoking a cigar.

  Ella spluttered as she strode through the blue smoke. She went to a window and opened it wide.

  “Revolting stench, Bertie,” she said, pulling a face at her brother.

  “Oh, you here too, Bug?” Bertie looked rather brighter at this turn of events and Oscar suspected her brother was just as relieved as he was that they wouldn’t be able to speak in private. “Jupiter, look at the state of you. Did you fall in another puddle?”

  Ella returned a dignified look. “No.”

  They watched as she hurried to inspect her reflection in the mirror over the mantel.

  “Oh!”

  Oscar snorted and handed her a handkerchief as she rubbed the mud splatters from her face. This done, she gave a cry of dismay as she noted the skirts of her riding habit were spattered too.

  “I say, Oscar,” Bertie said, a wicked glint in his eyes that boded ill for his sister. “Do you remember that time we went fishing at the lake and Bug followed us? We tried to lose her, and she took a shortcut to catch up, got stuck up to her knees in the mud on the bank. You have an affinity for the stuff, Bug, swear you do.”

  Ella sent her brother an unloving look as Oscar laughed, remembering the sight of an eight-year-old Ella in a once-white frock, wailing for help. It had been a long, hot summer and the lake had been much lower than usual. They’d both laughed themselves stupid as she’d floundered on the sticky, grey banks and cursed them to Hades with language ripe enough to make a sailor blush.

  They’d taught her to do that, too.

  No matter how hard they’d tried to ditch her over the years, Ella was hard to shake. So, they’d amused themselves at her expense, teaching her to curse, how to bait a hook, climb a tree and generally do a lot of things most girls avoided like the plague. He supposed the muddy hoyden before them now was a product of their own making.

  Ella muttered something unladylike—which had undoubtedly come from their teachings—and held out his handkerchief for him to take back. Oscar looked at what had been a pristine white square and was now a crumpled and patchy grey colour. He wrinkled his nose.

  “You keep it.”

  Lunch was a pleasant affair. Ella and Bertie were always good company, the two siblings enjoying their bickering with each other as much as with Oscar. It was an agreeable thing to be in the company of such old friends. Oscar wondered why Pearl had never joined in that easy friendship. He never remembered trying to keep her out, but then Ella had just foisted her company on them whether or not they liked it. Though he supposed they could have driven her off if they’d really objected.

  Pearl going fishing or putting a maggot on a hook, however… he almost choked on a morsel of pie he was chewing at the idea.

  If he’d thought he could escape the subject of his impending marriage, however, he was sorely disappointed.

  “So, have you decided on a date, then?”

  Oscar glanced up from his plate, startled, as the demand had come from Ella and not Bertie. She wasn’t looking at him, her attention fixed on her lunch, though he noticed she’d eaten little. Bertie was staring between him and Ella with interest, perhaps relieved that she had discharged his duty for him.

  “I….”

  “Oh, come on, Oscar. You’ve known the day is coming. Why not put us all out of our misery?”

  There was an edge to Ella’s question he couldn’t interpret, but she sounded a little impatient. He admitted himself surprised and somewhat dismayed that she would nag him too, but then Pearl was her sister. They’d never been close, but he supposed there must be a sense of loyalty there.

  “I… I have,” he lied, wanting to escape the strangling sensation that was closing about his throat.

  “Oh?” Bertie replied, eyebrows rising.

  “Ye
s.” Oscar reached for his glass, taking a fortifying swallow of wine. “I’ll… I’ll announce it after The Craven Stakes.” The race was Monday, so it gave him the rest of the weekend to ponder the problem, at least.

  “Good,” Ella replied, still staring at her plate. “Pearl will be pleased.”

  ***

  “You all right?”

  “What?” Ella looked up to see her brother giving her a narrow-eyed look as they hacked back down the lane towards home.

  “I said, are you all right?” Bertie repeated.

  Ella did her best to return a bright smile and shake off the feeling that her world was about to end. It was nothing but foolishness in any case.

  “Of course,” she said, trying to make the words convincing and wishing she didn’t want to cry. “Never better.”

  Bertie made a noise which suggested he was unconvinced. He looked away from her, staring ahead, and when he spoke again the words were full of sympathy.

  “You’ve always known it would happen, Bug.”

  A crawling sensation prickled under her skin as the sickening suspicion her brother knew of her feelings flared to life.

  “What would happen?” she asked, striving for a light-hearted tone and hearing the slight tremor to her voice.

  Surely, he hadn’t guessed? Bertie was not the most observant fellow in the world. He was a handsome man but remained oblivious to the many women who fluttered in his vicinity, preferring his horses or an evening at cards to anything in the petticoat line. It was why he and Oscar got along so well, but if he’d figured it out then….

  She felt the colour drain from her face.

  Ella forced herself to look back at him and was not the least bit reassured by the pitying look that confronted her.

  “He’s a duke, Ella. He needs a duchess.”

  There was such a soft look in his eyes that Ella felt her throat tighten.

  “Forgive me, Bertie, but what the devil are you on about?” she retorted, doing her best to sound disgusted.

  Perhaps a good offensive was what she required. Her impatient tone went unrewarded, however, and the rather crooked smile he gave her made her heart lurch.