She thwapped his chest, smirking. “Yes. More than happily. And considering where my lips were on your body last night, I had better marry you.”
Rowen chuckled, grabbing her wrist and bringing it to his mouth. A simple kiss on her palm turned into her forefinger slipping into his mouth, and he sucked, wicked gaze on Wynne.
“Your grace?”
A muttered blasphemy, and Rowen turned his head to the door. “Tell Miss Dewitt I will be down in five minutes.” He sat up, setting Wynne’s hand in her lap as his voice dropped. “And you will not move. I plan on finishing that thought I just put into your mind when I return. Then I will need to sneak you out of here so your reputation remains intact.”
“Devil.”
“Yes, well, I lived nothing but an upstanding life before I met you, my dear Wynne.”
{ Chapter 22 • Worth of a Duke }
Never had Wynne endured such an excruciating hour as the one spent in Rowen’s bedroom, waiting for him to return from his almost-betrothed.
She felt awful for Miss Dewitt—Wynne had already lived through her heart being crushed when Rowen left her, so she could easily imagine what was happening in the drawing room. But the woman was beautiful, and from what Rowen had said, she was a good person, so Wynne was certain Miss Dewitt would move on successfully and lead a wonderful life—with someone other than Rowen.
But the longer the seconds ticked by, Wynne’s pity for Miss Dewitt could not help but mix with a touch of jealousy—and doubt. During the past weeks, it had been Miss Dewitt smiling at Rowen, laughing with him, staring at his face—his eyes.
Wynne paced Rowen’s room, the dark blue sheet from the bed draped around her. He had made the decision to move on with his life—move on with Miss Dewitt. What if in merely talking to her, he was having misgivings? What if he looked at her beauty and decided he would rather look at that face for the remainder of his life, instead of Wynne’s? What if she demanded he not retract his proposal, and he had to marry her? She scanned her mind—was that what the duchess had said often happens in the peerage? Scandal and then marriage? The duchess had told her so much of this world Rowen lived in, but Wynne now realized the dowager’s truths were somewhat suspect.
Her feet wore an even quicker path on the bedroom boards. She was quickly finding that the trust Rowen asked of her was difficult when the devil awoke and wormed around in her mind.
The doorknob turned and Wynne flew to the leather chair by the fireplace, landing and tucking her feet under her before Rowen had the door ajar.
Breathless, she feigned calm patience, but Rowen took one look into her eyes, and laughed. He closed the door, locking it.
“You can remove the worry from your eyes. I told you to trust me.” Holding what looked like a tan muslin dress draped over his forearm, he looked about the room. “What have you been doing, pacing?”
Wynne’s eyes narrowed at him. The man still saw far, far too deep into her mind, which wasn’t particularly fair. “How did your meeting with Miss Dewitt go?”
“Amusing, actually.”
Her eyebrow arched.
Rowen stared at her, silent.
She jumped to her feet, grumbling. “And you are drawing this out merely to get my hackles askew.”
“Punishment for not trusting me.”
“Tell me this instant.” She poked the bit of his bare chest that showed in the V of his shirt. “How was it amusing? And do not tell me that you find breaking hearts amusing—you are a far better man than that.”
“Amusing, because she was here only to tell me that we are to part ways. She is to marry the Earl of Clapinshire in a few days.”
“Truly? So you broke no heart?” Wynne shifted the sheet around her, clasping it with one hand, while her free hand went to her hip. “You did not mention me at all, did you? You just let her suffer through all the unseemliness of it.”
Rowen shrugged. “I was gracious in my acceptance of her rebuff of me.”
“What a weasel, you are.”
He smirked. “It was fortunate—I will not deny that. And Miss Dewitt started in right away, so by the time I could interject, it would have just mucked up the conversation. She will find out soon enough that we are to marry.”
“I like that she is to marry another,” Wynne said. “It takes away my guilt.”
“If anyone should feel guilt it is me. I pursued her when I had no business doing so—and I see that so clearly now. I cannot imagine if I had married her and then you suddenly appeared. A torture like no other. I owe fate unending gratitude for not allowing that to happen.”
He shook his head, dismissing the thought. “Here, I brought you one of the duchess’s dresses that were still in her wardrobe. It should fit you fine and will get you through the streets without suspicion. You do not need the attention that gown from last night would garner at this time of day.”
Sighing, Wynne took the dress from his arm, walking over to the bed to drop the sheet and gather her chemise. She knew Rowen was politely ushering her to the door—it was now late morning, and she knew as well as he that if she didn’t show up at the dowager’s house soon, her whereabouts would be questioned.
She could feel Rowen’s eyes burning into her naked body, but he stayed by the door. A gentleman, even if Wynne wanted him very much not to be so.
“Does the dowager note your whereabouts?”
The shift dropped over her head. “No, and I am often away at clients’ homes in the morning when she wakes up. So if I arrive there soon, I do not think there will be any suspicion. You will have to give me directions from here to there, though.”
“I hate that you have to go back to her, even if it is only for a few days. You will have to keep our wedding a secret from her until the day of.”
“Why?”
Rowen shrugged. “I guarantee she would find a way to ruin us.”
Wynne picked up the dress, pausing to look at Rowen. “Why did you even take the title, Rowen? For all the angst that comes with it—why?”
“Revenge.” He did not flinch with the word. “I will not hide that fact. And it was easier to take the title than come up with an explanation to deny it that did not involve discussions of my birth. But truly, it was revenge. At least at first.”
“Against the duchess?”
“Yes.”
“So why do you not just leave it all? You do know I will go with you anywhere, live however you would like, if you wish to abandon the title. It does not matter to me.” She smirked at him. “I would be happy to teach you how to live on a mountain—live off the land.”
Rowen chuckled. “That may be interesting, someday. But the title, since it has become mine, it has evolved into so much more than revenge to me. I am the last in the line. The last.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the duchy dissolves—the title, the estate, goes back to the crown without me. And even though I never respected the duke, my father, I do respect the history of the title, no matter what the duchess has told you. It has become important to me to continue it—to change the trajectory of the power—I can do such good with it. Good that can change the legacy of the title. What it stands for. Even if the duchess would prefer that I fail miserably.”
Wynne sighed as she slinked into the dress. Rowen still thought the worst of the dowager. Moving to him and turning, she lifted her hair so he could help her with the buttons. The muslin dress was serviceable—she would benefit from proper stays, but it would have to do for the moment.
“Rowe, did you know the dowager was in love with your father—the man that married your mother? But as the younger brother, he did not have high enough status, and her family demanded she marry the duke instead?”
Rowen’s hands paused, his knuckles brushing her spine.
She looked over her shoulder at him. His jaw was clenched, but Wynne continued on—Rowen needed to know this story, needed to understand. “So she married the duke for the title, even though she loved his
younger brother.”
“Why are you telling me this, Wynne?”
“So you know why I do not hate her. That there is more to who she is.”
Rowen’s hands were still not moving, so she turned to him.
“It became so clear to me last night. Did you know the duchess lost her second baby just weeks before you were born? That you—her husband’s child—lived, but her own baby did not? She was beyond devastated and grieved for years, Rowe. You were the child that should have been hers. And then, not only did your mother first marry the man the duchess truly loved, but after he died your mother came into Notlund and continued to be the duke’s mistress. Right in front of the duchess. The duke never touched the duchess again after she lost the baby.”
“Do not make excuses for the dowager, Wynne.” Rowen’s voice stayed in check, but there was clear anger in it.
“You were innocent, Rowe. I know that. And so young, you were caught in the frays of vicious anger and injustice when the duchess could not control herself. I do not defend that—what she did to you, how she treated you was so very wrong—deplorable.”
Wynne grabbed both of his upper arms. “But I can imagine. I can imagine if I had to watch you marry another. I would hate the woman. I would—to the depths of my soul. I felt a modicum of it moments ago when you were downstairs with Miss Dewitt—and that was just my imagination running wild. And then if that woman came into my house and I knew she was my husband’s mistress. That she could have his baby where I could not. I would have difficulty with that, whether I liked my husband or not. To lose a baby. I would go a little insane. Do things that I would never dream of doing.”
“Like crush a little boy.”
Wynne’s chest clenched. Even in Rowen’s few words, his pain reverberated from a deep trough within, and it broke her heart. “Yes. She did that. And for that part of her life—what she did to you—I will always hate her for those actions. But she was also there for me these many months, Rowe. Exceedingly generous with her time, with her home, with her love. After my grandfather, mother, and then you—I was alone, Rowe. Alone. And she helped me through all of that brutal, searing loneliness.”
Jaw throbbing, Rowen’s eyes swung from her face to stare at the fireplace. Long moments passed before he looked back to her. “It should have been me that got you through that, Wynne.”
“But it was not. It was her.” Her hands dropped from his arms. “The duchess did that for me. Can you understand why I cannot hate her like you do? I know a completely different person.”
He shook his head. “Can we stop? I do not wish to hear about the virtues of the dowager.”
Wynne studied his face. He was trying very hard not to explode. That, she could see.
She turned around, lifting her hair once more. “Will you finish buttoning me, please?”
His fingers worked the buttons upwards.
“Wynne...”
“Hmm?”
“You are mad.”
“No.” She took a deep breath. “Just sad. I do not want you to have to harbor that anger. I do not want your body to tighten at her name. I do not want your thoughts consumed with destroying her. Her bitterness—she shoved it upon you, and it became yours. And I just want you to be free of it.”
He finished the buttons and she dropped her hair, turning to him again. Her hand went softly to his cheek. “Rowe, you are a man that is so much more. The man I love. I only want for you to have peace with something you had no way to control.”
“You ask too much of me, Wynne.”
Her head shook gently. “No, I do not ask it of you—I only wish it for you. I did not suffer what you did, so I cannot truly understand. And I do not wish to take any of your anger at her away—only you can decide that.”
His hand went over the back of hers, and he turned his head, kissing her palm.
With the simple motion, Wynne recognized Rowen’s limit had been reached, and the conversation was done for the moment.
Her hand slid from his face, and she went to get her slippers. Hopefully, she could get into the dowager’s townhouse and change before the duchess caught sight of her.
Rowen stayed in his spot, watching her. “When I was talking with Miss Dewitt, it reminded me of what you said last night when I first saw you—that you needed me—what was that about?”
Wynne gasped, hand over her mouth. “I—all of this—I forgot to tell you. My paintings.”
“Your paintings?”
Slippers secure, she went back to Rowen, her words tumbling. “Yes. I saw them—the ones that were in my home in Tanloon. Ones I painted here in England. They are here in a shop—a gallery. They are for sale. I saw them yesterday—it was why I found you. Why I needed you.”
“Are you sure they are yours?”
“Of course, yes.” Her eyes rolled. “I know my own paintings, Rowe. Two are of my grandfather.”
“So you inquired about them?” Rowen’s voice was cautious.
“Yes. The clerk—a woman—did not share the name of who they came from. She said they are all consignment and that the sellers need to remain discreet.” Wynne couldn’t keep her voice from being frantic. “It is a trail Rowe—a trail. She would not tell me anything, but I hoped you could help—help me figure out a way. The gallery is on Bond Street. If we went back there together and if we could find out who is selling them, then maybe…”
“Maybe you will find you mother’s killer?”
“Yes.” Wynne flipped away the thought with her hand, her voice turning excited. “Or what if I was crazy and I did have the wrong town? The wrong house? And my mother is alive, and she could not find me, and she brought them here, and she is selling them? What if she is alive?”
Rowen’s face darkened. “Wynne—”
“No. Do not say it.” Her arms crossed over her chest. “It is possible. Possible that she is here. I was addled—my memory knocked out of me—what if she is alive and is here?”
He moved a step closer, his hands clamping down on her shoulders.
She stilled at his touch, then squirmed, trying to get out of his hold. She didn’t want to hear what he was going to say. Didn’t want him to crush her hope. Not hope that she needed.
His grasp tightened on her.
No escape.
But she didn’t need to look at him.
“Wynne, that was the right town. When we went back there—Luhaunt and I—those people were hiding something, protecting someone. There was no doubt, Wynne. Your mother…” His hands moved upward, cupping her face and forcing her gaze to his. “This is dangerous, Wynne. I did not tell you before at Notlund, but this is dangerous. And even more dangerous now that your paintings have appeared. I do not want you going back into that shop.”
“But if she is alive—”
“No.” The word came out sharp, biting. “She is not alive, Wynne. I will go. Alone. I will find out all I can. But I cannot protect you like I need to until we are married. So I will find out everything I can, and I will tell you everything I learn. But you need to stay away from that shop. Trust me, Wynne.”
“I do trust you. But she could be alive, Rowe—you have to see possibility of it. Who else would have my paintings? I told the clerk—”
“I do not care what you told the clerk.” His hands dropped down to her shoulders, fingers squeezing. “Your mother is not alive, Wynne. Do not go in there again.”
“But if she is alive—I cannot abandon her again, Rowe.” She grabbed his wrists, pleading. “You have to understand. I left her once—I will not be weak again.”
“No. She is gone, Wynne.”
Frustrated tears welled. “Is this what marriage will be like—you will disregard me, not believe me?”
“If it means your safety, Wynne, then yes, this is exactly what it will be like.”
She shook her head, eyes narrowing at him. He didn’t believe her mother could be alive—and if he didn’t believe in that possibility, how could he truly follow a trail to her?
She twisted out of his hands, moving backward. “I need to get back to the dowager’s home. Can you tell me the general direction?”
“Wynne—”
She stepped around him, going for the door. Not quick enough, he grabbed her wrist. Her other hand on the doorknob, she looked over her shoulder at him.
Glaring at her, Rowen said nothing, but she could feel his anger throbbing in his hand.
Wynne met his glare with her own, rage exploding.
Stare at her all he wanted, she wasn’t going to swear a thing about her future actions.
If Rowen didn’t believe her mother could be alive, then he was not the person to go into that shop. Of that, she was certain.
Muttering an incoherent blasphemy, she yanked her wrist free, opening the door. “I will figure how to get home myself, then.”
Down the stairs and out the front door in a fury, she didn’t care if she was seen by his staff. Didn’t care if there was a scandal. She just needed to leave his presence before she spewed something she would regret.
Into the sunlight, her head swiveled, looking for direction. Nothing familiar, so she randomly turned left and stomped down the street.
Dammit.
Rowen asked for her to believe in him, to trust him. And she did.
So why couldn’t he do the same for her?
{ Chapter 23 • Worth of a Duke }
Wynne fingered the folded note in her apron. Walking down the sidewalk, her eyes stayed trained on the ground.
She had just left Lady Southfork’s home after a cancelled sitting appointment. Lady Southfork had been entirely gracious, apologizing profusely for not getting word to Wynne sooner that she had a surprise wedding to attend to that day and would not have time for a sitting.
Not that Wynne was in much of a mood for painting. For two days she had heard nothing from Rowen—not one word—until this note appeared in her leather satchel with her paintbrushes.
How he had gotten the note in there without her knowing was annoying, and then the actual note—hastily scribbled—was beyond frustrating.
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