by Eva Devon
He strode quickly and as if used to such a thing, which he likely was, stepped into a secluded room.
"What the devil do you think you're doing?" she gasped. “We cannot be alone. This is scandalous."
"You cannot make a worse scandal," he intoned with burning anger, "then the one we already have. At least this way we look as if we like each other.”
"Do you think that's a necessity?" she demanded, feeling a bit unsteady. She’d never been swept up in a man’s arms. . . Even if he was intolerable, there was something remarkable about the way he’d so easily swept her away from the judgmental eyes of the ton. ”That we look as if we like each other."
He rolled his eyes, disdain coating his features.
“Do you truly wish everyone to believe that I am forced to marry you?” he challenged as he stalked to the fire and braced a hand on the carved mantel. "That I must. Because no one else has ever wished to marry you, if I understand correctly?”
She lifted her chin and affirmed, “And I've never wished to marry anyone else."
"Well then we're of a like mind.” He gave her a cold smile. “I never wished to marry anyone either. But now we shall.” His eyes burned with anger. “And all because you had to go wandering down a hallway with your dress falling to bits."
His entire body tensed as he slowly turned towards her.
Hades.
In that moment, he reminded her of a wrathful god, his powerful body capable of great destruction, and yet he asked with shocking calm. “There isn't truth to it, is there?"
"Truth to what?" she asked, her voice catching in her throat. She quickly cleared it, determined not to be awed by him.
"What lady Whitsby said,” he demanded. “Your father's financial state. It didn't cause you to—”
“Don't you dare suggest such a thing,” she broke in, her own rage lacing through her at his outrageous suggestion. “I read about you every day, and I'm horrified by your actions. I’d never wish to be your wife.”
“You. . . read about me every day?"
"Indeed I do.” She folded her arms across her breasts, not out of modesty but irritation, though it did help keep her frock up. “You are in the news sheets every day, and it's always after you've done some horribly shocking thing."
His brows rose and he cocked his head down towards her as he ground out, "I have never done anything horribly shocking in all of my life. I'm not Lord Byron."
She squared her own shoulders and returned without blinking, "Well, perhaps not, but you are most certainly a rake."
"Yes," he said softly. “I am indeed a rake. And it's also why I am incredibly careful about never finding myself in the company of young ladies alone. Devil take it, woman. I don't even dance with young ladies, let alone spend time with them in dark hallways. I take very good care not to ruin anyone. And now look at this. I've ruined you without even trying."
"I am well aware that you don't dance with young ladies. I am the last young lady you ever danced with, so I believe.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What the devil are you talking about?”
She winced. The pain of it was surprising. He didn't even remember.
Could he not at least have remembered that one single day? It was so horrible to her, and yet he couldn’t bring it to mind.
He looked at her askance and then shrugged. "I apologize, Lady Augusta. I truly don't recall it and I promise you this, it wasn't your person that put me off dancing with young ladies, if that's what you've been thinking all these years."
The truth was she had.
She wasn't a particularly important person, and she never had been, and she had thought she never would be.
But it was rather difficult to realize that he had not given her a second thought, not even one in all these years.
It had just been she who had been so affected by their one meeting.
She drew up, determined not to let him see it. "Well," she said, "you ruined me whether you like it or not."
"You've ruined your bloody self," he roared. Then he drew in a long breath and said with decided evenness, "What the devil were you and your sister thinking? Why didn't she come with you?"
"I don't know," she assured. “She was with me and then she was gone."
“Damnation, neither of you can understand the ramifications of all this.” He sighed. "Well, that's done. I suppose I'll be applying for a special license tomorrow morning."
She looked at him and swallowed. "I am sorry that this is happening as much for myself. . . as you.”
"Don't you dare," he replied suddenly, his eyes blazing with intensity. “There's no reason to apologize. Your father is a terrible old fool. And if you did do this to save your sisters as well—”
"I did not," she rushed in. "I promise you that."
He looked at her carefully, then finished, “Even though I cannot express my fury at this moment, I would admire you for it. . . If you did it to save your sisters."
"Would you?" she queried, stunned. "You would admire a liar and a schemer?"
He blew out a derisive breath as he stalked towards her. “I would admire someone who would give up everything for their family," he said.
She winced. "Well, that's not what I did.”
"I see," he said.
"And you're right.” She blinked, hating to envision seeing her father after all this. “My father is horrible, and he is in financial disaster, and my family does come with a great deal of scandal."
"Oh, I am aware,” he agreed. "I know all about your father and all of the scandals that arose when he had to be pushed out of Cabinet. I know all about those difficulties, and I'm sorry that you have had to exist with them."
She eyed him, wondering where this kindness was coming from. “Thank you.”
"But I will not allow that scandal to touch us,” he said flatly. “You must understand that. We will control all of this very carefully. We will do this perfectly.”
“Perfection?” she echoed. Could a beast desire perfection?
“All dukes are perfect,” he said with a quirk of his lips. “Wouldn't you agree?”
"No," she said firmly. "Definitely not."
He laughed, a deep gravelly sound. "I wonder what your idea of perfection is, Lady Augusta. Someone sober, someone quiet, someone—”
"Yes," she agreed readily. "Someone sober, someone quiet, someone who thinks out their actions."
"Like you did today?" he asked, as he assessed her.
Her shoulders straightened, unable to point out the fallacy of his question. She hadn’t done any of this on purpose. The most she could be accused of was faulty needlework.
Did he have to be so difficult, and in that difficulty, did he have to be so, well, magnificent?
It was terrible.
He was so grand. So impressive. He took up so much space in the room, his eyes fairly crackled as his dark hair caressed his cheeks. My God, he looked passionate. So passionate she could understand why so many women had fallen at his feet, desperate to be in his company.
But she refused to be taken in.
No. No, he was not a man of substance. He was a man of pleasure, and she would not be fooled by his nature.
He took another step towards her, his eyes locking with hers. "Do not mistake me. We will be married. We will be wed. But we will not truly be man and wife."
"Will we not?" she asked quietly.
"No," he said. "I was never going to marry, and I don't intend to break that vow now. What we have will strictly be an arrangement.”
"Good," she said, "that will make me quite happy."
“Wonderful,” he said, clearly relieved. “We shall agree to an arrangement then."
She gave a succinct nod, even as she felt doubt creep into her.
Was this going to be her life then? Married to a man who did not want her, who would never want her? Would there be no love ever in her life? It seemed so. Her life had long been cold and empty, and it was to continue thus.
She sw
allowed. "Fine then, Your Grace. We have an understanding."
“Oh, we have yet to understand each other," he corrected. “Perhaps one day we shall understand. But for now, this is enough. Be ready, Lady Augusta," he said. "We shall be wed as soon as possible. I don't wish to be troubled by this any more than I must."
"I understand, Your Grace.” She licked her lips, barely able to countenance this was happening. “I feel the same way too."
"Good," he said, studying her mouth for a moment before he snapped his gaze away. "Then let us get this over with."
Then much to her amazement, he slipped off his coat and tucked it around her shoulders.
It enveloped her, swallowing her up, almost as if it was his own embrace. The shock of it sent shivers down her arms.
The coat was warm. It caressed her softly as he folded it about her.
It struck her then. . . That for a beast, he was actually behaving. . . Well, beastly.
He paused for a long moment, then he said, “I promise you this, we may not like each other. We may not spend time together. But as my wife, those women will never laugh at you again.”
It was the strangest promise.
Almost like a consolation. And as she met his passionate gaze, she could tell that he was absolutely furious he would have to marry her, but she could also tell that he meant every word of what he said.
Chapter 5
"Well done. Well done, my dear girl.” Augusta’s father took a long draw of his ruby-red wine. The liquid shone on his lips and his eyes glassed even as they shone with satisfaction. “I never thought you had it in you.”
Augusta stood in the center of her father’s study, the only room in the house that hadn't seen the effects of their economic decline. She grasped at the shawl, instead of the duke’s coat, tucked tightly about her shoulders. Despite its thick wool warmth, she shivered.
"Papa, how can you say such a thing?” she demanded, trying to mask her horror.
"How can I say it?” He blinked, crossed to his silver grog tray and poured another measure of wine. The liquid glugged as he poured heavily. “You saved us all, dear girl. I never thought you had it in you. I thought you were going to play the martyr until your death and watch us all flounder into ruin. But look at you, you landed a duke. Who would have thought someone like you could do it?"
She winced.
Her father had made it always clear that she was the least pretty of her sisters, and the least interesting.
Compliments were not something that she ever heard from him. He could not bring himself to enjoy her playing of the piano, her turn of phrase, or the way she wrote. No, he was someone who, well. . . He liked pretty things and Augusta was not a pretty thing.
She was serviceable, she supposed, practical. And she felt his disdain every day.
Over the years, it had been difficult not to be worn down by it, but she had refused to be crushed by his own mountain of self-loathing, for she was certain that he did indeed hate himself as much as he disliked her.
The fact that he admired her now for something so terrible? It was unfathomable to her.
“Father,” she said firmly, determined to make him understand. “I did not do it on purpose."
"Did you not?" he asked, cocking his head to the side, his dark brown eyes danced with amusement. "I have trouble believing that. I saw your sister dart back into the ball after you were rushed into that hall."
"You were watching me," she gasped, her stomach dropping.
"Of course I was,” he snapped, but then he drew in a deep breath and a smile plastered his lined face. “I was trying to convince Lord Trentham to take you on. He was going to pay off my gambling debts, you know, but now I have no worries. Your future husband is one of the wealthiest men in England. I shall never have to have fear a debt collector or the Fleet Prison ever again."
"Papa, you cannot take advantage of him in such a way,” she rushed, the room spinning about her as she realized how terribly the duke would think of them. “Don’t you think—”
"Don't you think he'd wish to avoid the scandal of a father in debtor's jail?" he cut in harshly.
Anger bubbled up inside her. A torrent of words stormed her throat. After years of taking his cruelty and misuse, she burst out, “Have you learned nothing in all these years? Can you think of no one but yourself in this particular moment?"
"Oh, I'm not thinking of just myself, my dear girl,” he said with no contrition. “I'm also thinking of your sisters. No doubt, in a few months’ time, you'll be able to ensure that they too have excellent marriages. And I'm sure that one of you would love to take care of your father into his dotage. I think a villa in Italy will be just the thing. We'll never have to see each other or worry about what the other thinks."
She all but gaped at him as another wave of fury crashed over her.
A villa in Italy.
Good Lord, her father was so ready to abandon them, to run away and spend his life just simply on pleasure. And he was happy to use any of his daughters to get it. He would never take responsibility for them or himself. Never. It burned like poison through her veins and tears stung her throat.
She swallowed them back, knowing she had to give up the idea of a father who loved her. . . But it was agonizing, that realization.
She leveled him with a hard stare. ”If it didn't mean the absolute ruination of my sisters, Papa, I would not marry him."
He blew out a harsh breath through his nose, clearly disgusted. “Then you are a damn fool, Augusta. And I didn't raise a damn fool, did I?”
"Raise?" she demanded, unwilling to be inundated by his manipulations any longer. She wouldn’t feel guilty for all that he had done. No, she was exhausted by his insistence that their current situation was not entirely his doing.
"You didn't raise me at all,” she bit out. “You have thrown away every year of your life, barely noticing my existence, except for when you did so to criticize.”
"Well, that's because there's a great deal to criticize, my dear.” His eyes narrowed, clearly shocked by her sudden honesty. “After all, you're nothing like your mother. You don't have her wit, her beauty, her charm, her kindness, nor her—”
"Tolerance?" Augusta put in, remembering the way her mother had sat up, pale faced, hair falling about her face, night after night, waiting for her errant husband to come home.
It had destroyed her mama, that kindness she had insisted on showing to the man who’d not given a fig for her feelings.
"She understood me," her father said quietly. "She understood the difficulties I faced.”
"But you did not understand her,” Augusta replied, refusing to be taken in. Had her father suffered? Perhaps. But that did not give him the right to trample everyone around him. Especially not her mother, who had been unable to stand up to his recklessness.
"You don't know of what you speak," he barked, his face flaming. "And you will not speak of her now. You have saved us, Augusta, and for that I will say thank you.”
He smoothed a hand over his hair and took another drink of his wine, clearly determined not to seem so affected by her accusations.
“I never expected it would be you,” he slurred slightly. “I always thought it was going to have to be one of your younger sisters. It was why I made that rule that you must marry, that you would finally face your responsibilities."
"My responsibilities?" she echoed, disbelieving she had heard correctly.
"Yes. As the eldest daughter of a great family."
"Our family is not great," she protested, stunned at his disillusion, though she knew she shouldn't be. "It has fallen into utter ruin."
"Not utter ruin, Augusta.” His lips parted in a satisfied grin. “We are clearly not ruined, for we are now part of a great family, a ducal family."
She grimaced as her insides twisted.
She wished that she'd never gone into that hall. She wished she had never looked down. She wished she’d not tried to mend her gown again and again. Wishes upo
n wishes in vain pummeled her.
It felt as if she was awarding her father for all of his behavior now, but there was no going back. She could not tell the duke no because, if she did, it would not only ruin her, it would ruin her two younger sisters, and they would be cast out of society with no hopes or chances. And then they would have to fend for themselves in ways that no young lady should have to know. She'd read about those ways.
The idea of her sisters either wearing their fingers out or their eyesight in some dark garret, desperately trying to make a living by sewing the gowns of rich women, made her shake with despair. That life was a life of poverty, misery, and a terrifying old age.
Or they’d be relegated to the advances of men, promising money and protection without marriage.
Yes, she'd heard those stories as well.
What young girl had not heard the whispered horrors of when a young lady had fallen and lost her virtue? Such young ladies were warning tales to all the others to always be true, to always be perfect, and to never go into dark corridors alone.
How the devil had she ended up alone in that hall, she longed to rail.
Why had Phillipa not come? But she had not. And there was no going back. No. There was now just a wedding to be had.
Her father lifted his now mostly empty wine glass, the liquid sloshing in the crystal. “I salute you, my dear. Whether you did it on purpose or not, you won a great prize and we must celebrate it."
"There is nothing to celebrate," she hissed. “We do not like each other."
“How bloody naive are you, girl? You don't have to like each other,” he scoffed. “You just have to marry him. You just have to bear him an heir."
An heir.
The thought sent a jolt through her whole body. She had long ago given up the idea of a family. A child. She’d been an affirmed spinster, after all.
Would the duke even want one? He had seemed so firm in the fact that they would not be married in truth, but he was a duke.
Dukes wanted heirs.
“Goodnight, Papa,” she finally breathed, keeping her head high despite her sinking heart. “I cannot bear this."
"You will have to bear it," he replied without kindness. "And a great deal more. I don't think you realize how incredibly lucky you are, Augusta. I don't think that luck should have fallen on you. Certainly, your younger sisters deserved it, but not someone so parsimonious as you."
