The Duke's Stolen Bride

by Jordan, Sophie

  “Ahhh—” Nate glanced around as though the answer would suddenly appear before him.

  If it weren’t such an awkward and desperate situation, Marian might have laughed. Except it was not good.

  None of this was good.

  Nora was far too clever. Any moment now it would occur to her why the duke was here . . . and then she would take it even one step further and conclude who, in truth, had sent them all the lovely supplies.

  Nate. Nate had sent them everything that made life bearable. Everything they had been missing. He’d given them all those fine things. Her heart squeezed anew. He hadn’t needed to do that. When he sent them those supplies, he had not even known whether she would agree to be his mistress, but he had done it because he knew it would help them.

  He shifted one step over and gave Bessie a pat. “I heard you might be interested in selling this old nag here.”

  Marian exhaled at his quick thinking.

  “Bessie!” Nora cried out in horror, stepping forward and running a hand through the mare’s gray-streaked mane. “Bessie is not a nag.” She turned a quick glare on the duke, not to be daunted by his title, his wealth or his power. The man had just announced himself an enemy as far as Nora was concerned.

  Poor girl. She probably thought Marian had broken down and decided to sell Bessie to help with their debts.

  Marian intervened before Nora did something rash, like kick him in the shin. “Yes, indeed. I was just correcting His Grace on that misapprehension and explaining that he was misinformed. We are not interested in selling Bessie.”

  “Who told you this?” Nora scowled, clearly intent on finding the culprit and wringing their neck. She’d do it, too. Marian had no doubt.

  The duke looked unperturbed as he avoided Nora’s question. “Yes. Quite so. My mistake. I stand corrected.”

  Marian pasted a smile on her face and nodded. “See now. Everything is fine, Nora.”

  Nora gave a single nod, appearing mollified. Even so, she did not move from Bessie’s side. She continued to stroke her nose while glaring reproachfully at the duke.

  Marian cleared her throat. “Your Grace, thank you for your inquiry. May I escort you out?” She gestured to the door of the stall.

  He gave a perfunctory nod and followed her from the stall.

  They walked side by side, he with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “That was smart thinking on your part,” she murmured.

  “I’ve been known to be resourceful a time or two.”

  “I imagine at times you have.” No need to inflate his ego further by letting him know she thought him quite intelligent.

  They stopped before his horse, a beautiful creature that would make one wonder why he was interested in dear old Bessie. Best, then, that her sister remain in the barn and not think about that too much.

  Nate turned to face her, his expression and voice neutral as he asked, “When can I see you again? It might take me a day or two to have the papers drawn up, but I’d like to see you before then. Tonight.”

  His eyes conveyed anything but neutrality. That dark stare crawled over her face, stealing her breath and sending flutters rioting through her.

  “I think I can manage that.”

  She fought to remain composed . . . to not let the promise of pleasure with him totally dazzle her.

  They were lovers. That did not mean they were in love.

  This was still business and she didn’t need to act giddy over the prospect of being with him.

  “I will wait for you at the edge of the wood.” He inclined his head in the direction of which he spoke, where they usually dismounted from their horses. “I’ll have the cottage ready, too. We will go there.”

  The cottage. The place that was to be theirs.

  Her heart warmed and squeezed a little at that, and she sighed at the foolish reaction. Clearly not acting giddy would be a challenge.

  “I will meet you half past nine.” There. Her voice sounded strong and even.

  He smiled slowly, deepening the twin brackets on either side of his face and taking him from handsome to irresistible. “Very good. I will see you then.”

  For a moment he leaned in as though he would kiss her, but then he stopped, catching himself. His gaze drifted over her shoulder.

  She turned and looked. Her sister had emerged from the barn.

  Nora studied them, still looking rather distrustfully at Nate.

  Marian turned back and watched as Nate swung up into the saddle. She shielded her eyes with a hand, admiring him, so strong and impressive limned in the afternoon light.

  “I don’t think your sister likes me very much,” he murmured for her ears alone.

  “That might have something to do with the story you fabricated about buying Bessie.”

  His eyes glinted with amusement. “Would you rather we tell her the truth?”

  She snorted and choked back a laugh. That she had agreed to become the duke’s mistress? No. She would keep that to herself for all her days. She would take that to the grave.

  “I am happy to keep her in the dark.”

  She would do everything to keep Nora growing up believing in fairy tales. She was only sixteen. She shouldn’t have to give up on dreams with the intrusion of adulthood realities. She was still a child. Children should be children for as long as possible.

  Marian wanted Nora to have a normal upbringing—the same cosseted existence Marian had before Papa died. Nora deserved that. She would have it. Marian would see to it.

  Inclining his head, the duke said in a voice loud enough for her sister to hear, “Good day, Miss Langley.”

  “Good day,” Marian echoed as he turned his mount and rode from her home.

  “Awful man,” Nora remarked as she approached. “Handsome or not, he’s a wretched fellow. Dukes,” she grumbled. “However did you abide them? Arrogant peacocks. Marching about like they can buy anything they wish.”

  “He was simply inquiring,” Marian chided gently.

  “Humph.” Nora crossed her arms. “Well, now he is clear on the matter that we are not selling Bessie. We should not have to see him again.”

  Marian remained outside while her sister walked inside the house, no doubt eager to return to their stockpile of goodies. She had a tea to prepare for, after all.

  Marian lifted her face to a breeze as her sister’s words rolled through her mind. Buy anything they wish . . .

  Even Marian.

  She winced and gave herself a mental slap. Of course it wasn’t that way. She had offered herself to him. She had practically begged him to take her and quite enjoyed herself in the process.

  His offer of protection had been unexpected but quite the coup. She should not feel guilty or sordid.

  This arrangement was better than her plan to sell herself to various men—and it would solve their financial troubles.

  It was a transaction she had initiated. He was her client, but she was the proprietor.

  She was in control. She would remain in control.

  Nothing would go wrong.

  Chapter 19

  Marian and her sisters had just finished washing up the dinner dishes when a knock sounded on the door.

  “Who could that be?” Charlotte placed a bowl in the cupboard.

  Marian tensed. There were a number of people it could be. Any number of creditors, ever clamoring for payment.

  At least this time she would mean it when she promised them she would soon pay them. Marian only hoped they accepted her assurance and extended her a little more time. She was certain the topic of her outstanding debts could be broached this very evening when she met with Nate.

  She sighed and dropped a drying linen on the kitchen table. “I’ll answer that.” She gave each of her sisters a pointed look, conveying they should stay put. “Wait here. This won’t take long.”

  She left them in the kitchen and moved to the front door. She was beset with mixed emotions upon opening the door and seeing the man on the
other side.

  “Mr. Lawrence,” she greeted. At least he wasn’t a creditor. There was that. And yet he did happen to be a repugnant man intent on wooing her despite all of her protests and many rejections. She wondered about the entitlement of men who did not believe a woman could hold dominion over her own life. Why must an independent woman offend them? Could such a man ever be reasoned with?

  He doffed his hat and beamed at her, his smile doing nothing to help settle the contents of her stomach. They’d had a marvelous dinner tonight—thanks to Nate. It would be a shame to lose it.

  “Miss Langley, good evening. Might I have a word with you?”

  She did not even bother to suppress her cringe. “It is very late, Mr. Lawrence.” She snuck a glance over her shoulder before looking back at him. “We were just readying to retire for the night.”

  That smile of his stretched, and there was something in it, something that curdled the blood in her veins. “Oh, but it’s important. You will want to hear this.”

  She clung to the edge of the door for a moment before relenting and stepping away. With a sigh, she motioned him into the parlor. He was doubtlessly here with yet another proposal. Days had passed since the last one. He probably thought her desperation all the more acute. He would have no notion that her circumstances had greatly improved.

  She would do as she had always done and decline his offer and send him on his way.

  Her sisters stepped into their small foyer, obviously curious as to the identity of their visitor. At the sight of him Nora looked visibly disgusted.

  “Mr. Lawrence would like a word with me,” Marian said evenly.

  Her sisters exchanged knowing glances. She tried to convey that everything was fine with a look to each of them.

  Charlotte was the first to find her voice and was ever polite as always. “Good evening, Mr. Lawrence.”

  “Miss Charlotte. Miss Eleanor.” He nodded to each of them before his gaze fastened once again on Marian.

  Nora only managed a grunt of acknowledgment. She was never one to disguise her true feelings, a definite challenge when navigating social circles, which was a problem, because at the age of sixteen years she was not even officially out in Society. Her exposure to Society would only increase over the next few years.

  Not that Nora cared. Marian cared, though. She worried. She’d seen enough of the world to know that outspoken females were ill abided.

  Marian led him into the parlor and shut the double doors only partway, leaving them partially ajar for propriety’s sake.

  “You may want to close the doors fully.” He nodded at the double doors. “You wouldn’t want our conversation overheard.”

  She froze, staring at him for a long moment, everything inside her revolting in alarm.

  Just the same, she commanded her limbs to move and oblige him, closing the doors fully with a click. It was not above her sisters, especially Nora, to eavesdrop.

  Marian clutched the latch in both hands and fell backward against the door as though she needed the support for whatever was to come.

  Now she knew what that something was in his smile. It was sinister. Pure devious intent.

  She couldn’t move. Her fingers went numb where they clutched onto the door latch, but she needed that solidness.

  He continued to smile that infernal smile at her as he moved deeper into the room. He circled an armchair before deciding to sink down into it.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Lawrence?”

  “I think we are well past the formalities . . . Marian. Call me Hiram.”

  Never. His name stuck in her throat. Using it implied a familiarity between them that she refused to accept.

  Just the sound of her name on his lips felt wrong . . . as wrong as an epithet muttered from him. It simply wasn’t natural or wanted.

  He sat in Papa’s favorite chair as though he belonged there, and she had to fight down the impulse to ask him to remove himself. He splayed a hand over the generous bulge of his stomach, his beringed fingers winking over the glittering brocade of his vest.

  “I’ve been looking forward to this moment.”

  She stared at him uncomprehendingly, moistening her lips with a quick dart of her tongue. “Have you?”

  She was afraid suddenly—afraid to learn, to know, what he was about. His manner told her he felt he had gained the upper hand, and that worried her a great deal.

  “Oh, indeed,” he said with avid relish. “To have you at my complete mercy is something I have imagined for quite some time.”

  His gaze slid thoroughly over her, and to her horror his hand inched down his stomach, drawing ever nearer to his crotch. He stopped just short of touching himself, but she could see that he was aroused. His manhood strained against the front of his britches.

  “You go too far, sir,” she declared, battling her outrage.

  “Oh, I shall go even further with you, Marian.”

  She was heartily glad to be so close to the door. She turned quickly, ready to bolt when his voice stopped her.

  “How long have you been the Duke of Warrington’s whore?”

  She turned slowly, feeling trapped in a dream—in a nightmare from which she could not awake. “Pardon me?”

  “You heard me, love.”

  “I am certain I misunderstood.”

  “Shall I repeat myself? I asked you: How long have you been fucking the Duke of Warrington?”

  She flinched. “You have no proof.”

  “Oh, I think people will believe me. It’s human nature. We like to believe the worst of others. In your case, you’ve already fallen so low. All of Brambledon will relish to know you’ve become just another one of the duke’s whores now.”

  “I want you to leave.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Do you really want me to do that? Because if I leave now, I vow to you it will take no less than an hour for the entire village to know you for a whore.”

  She couldn’t breathe. Her chest felt too tight, as though a giant ball were crushing it. “What do you want?”

  “Why, what I’ve always wanted. You.” He considered her for a moment, his top lip curling in a sneer. “I confess it disappoints me you will no longer be a maid. I fantasized about you beneath me, busting you for the first time.”

  She was going to be ill. Right here all over the parlor rug. She pressed her hand to her chest and tried to draw breath. The air escaped her in wheezing pants.

  “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Calm yourself. You’ve already had a man. What’s another? At least I will be your husband. I’ll make you my wife, not my whore. Which is more than can be said for that bloody duke up on the hill. You should thank me.”

  The chair creaked as he lifted his weight up and approached her. She backed as far into the door as she could go. Which was not far enough. Nothing would ever be far enough from him, she realized.

  He stopped directly before her, his stomach brushing the front of her gown. It was the only contact, but enough to make her skin crawl.

  “It won’t be so bad,” he murmured in a voice reeking of onions and stale ale. “Not when you consider the alternative.” His eyes glinted with malice. “Deny me, spurn me, and I will ruin you. I will ruin your entire family, your sisters, your brother . . . They will all bear the taint of you. No man will ever have you for a wife. The entire realm will know that you are naught but a whore and the only way you and those lovely sisters of yours will be able to put food on the table is working on your backs. Imagine that . . . Nora so young and nubile and Charlotte so delicate and lovely. How well do you think they will fare against the lusts of men? Will they break easily, you think?”

  She heard his awful words and fought against a surge of bile.

  She saw the truth of what he said in his eyes. He would see every bit of his threat come to reality. He would ruin her. Ruin her innocent sisters.

  He would ruin them all.

  She could perhaps sacrifice herself, but not her sisters and brother. She could not let
that happen. They were her family. All she had left.

  Briefly, she considered going to Nate for help. But it wouldn’t matter. She and her family would be ruined. Lawrence would make good on his threats and talk. He’d shout it to all and sundry. As a duke, the scandal would not affect Nate, but Marian and her sisters, her brother? Their good name would be lost. Their reputations in the gutter.

  Nate’s face flashed across her mind—so real, so clear. For a moment it felt as though he were standing before her—a flesh and blood man. As though she could reach out and touch him.

  But it wasn’t real. He wasn’t real. He would never be hers.

  She lifted her chin. “Very well. What do I need to do?”

  “It’s a pleasure to see you so accommodating at last. I have longed for this moment. The moment you finally agree to be my wife.”

  “You truly still want to marry me?” Disbelief vibrated in her voice. He’d said that moments before, but she’d told herself she must have misunderstood. Or perhaps he had been mocking her.

  She had hoped she misunderstood.

  She had hoped he’d given up on that idea for good, but she should know better than to hope. There was no hope with this man. Even if he didn’t want to marry her, his intentions were anything but pure. He was the crusher of dreams, the destroyer of hope.

  “Of course I do. For years I watched you stroll down the streets of Brambledon on the arm of your father. So proud and haughty, every member of your family. Everyone in this town reveres you, even now when you are penniless. How do you think you’ve lasted so long? For over a year you’ve been up to your neck in debt. Were it I, I’d be in Newgate already. I’m tolerated because of my money. Without it, I’d be nothing,” he sputtered in outrage, the seeming injustice angering him. “Now you will be my wife. You will be my prize and bring me that final respect.”

  He reached out and trailed a finger down her cheek. She held still and managed not to shrink away. Not to retch. She would have to grow accustomed to his touch.

  She had no choice.

  Chapter 20

  “I just don’t understand. How can you marry him?” Nora paced up and down the parlor. She had been haranguing Marian for the last hour, ever since they returned together from town, where they had met with the vicar to see about the posting of the banns. When she informed them of her decision last night, they had been shocked into silence. Today they found their voices.