“No, no plotting. I simply came to ask your father’s permission to court you.” It was the truth. The way the conversation had so quickly turned to marriage still made his head spin.
“And he gave it?”
“You know that he did.” She wore a walking dress of the deepest emerald trimmed in black lace. The square cut at the top revealed only a hint of her bosom, but it was enough to draw his eye. The ensemble was at the height of fashion, reminding him of the letter he had received from Elizabeth the day before complaining about being forced to continue wearing her mourning colors. While the truth was their mother had insisted on a longer mourning period, Evan knew it was because she had not wanted to strain the family’s finances by ordering new wardrobes for the girls. Now of age to enter society, their figures had outgrown their previous clothing, not to mention the change of style.
Remembering why he was here, why he was all but forcing this woman to take his name, helped ease the guilt, but only slightly. He had to find a way to make this tolerable to her.
This garnered him a look, and she paused. “Do not pretend to court me. I am not so gullible as that.”
“There is no pretense. I want to earn your hand, not simply have it forced.”
The corner of her mouth curved up in a smirk. “I would say that you’ve gone about this all wrong if that’s your intention.”
“Touché. So I have.” The need to touch her was so great, he forced his hands to grasp the fine fabric of the settee as he sat beside her. It had been days since their kiss, but his body had not forgotten. The moment he laid eyes on her, his heart sped and the blood grew heavy in his veins. Her scent had found him, reminding him of how she had felt in his arms. How she had tasted.
“I’ve looked over the reports my father had prepared on your accounts. I don’t think you have time for a proper courtship.”
The wariness in her voice was nearly his undoing. “It is the unfortunate state of things.”
“So that is why you decided to speak to my parents without me present. You wanted to get their agreement without regard to my opinion on the matter.”
He nearly groaned with how he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss away her reservations. Hereford’s ball had been an eye-opening experience to say the least. If nothing else, Evan could arouse her, ease her into accepting things as she floated on a cloud of pleasure.
“I want to marry you.” He kept his voice low. “Your thoughts and feelings do concern me. They will from now on.”
Her breath faltered. They were so close he could hear it skip, could watch her chest fail to rise with it. He moved to reach for her, but checked the move just as quickly, knowing that his touch would not be welcomed.
“What if my feelings are that I do not want to marry you?”
“August, you must know that I have no choice.”
She gasped aloud. “You should not call me that.”
“Why?” He smiled at her perplexed expression. “You kissed me. I want to marry you. We’ll soon be intimate enough that first names will come naturally.”
A strangled sound came from her as she got to her feet and rushed to stand before the fire, her back to him. “I will loan you ten thousand pounds to use for your estates.”
He could not help but stare and wonder if she meant it. The solemn look on her face was enough to assure him that she did.
She held up a hand to silence him as soon as he rose and opened his mouth. “Before you refuse, let me assure you that I have the funds in an account under my own name. Should you accept, the terms of repayment will be extremely lenient, obviously, given your . . . your situation.”
Evan could hardly believe that she meant it. “You have ten thousand pounds? Your own funds?” His own mother did not have that much money set aside in her personal account. She never had.
“In liquid assets, yes. I could likely gather together another five thousand should that be helpful to you, but there would be a short delay. My brother, Maxwell, would have to arrange to sell stocks he’s purchased on my behalf.”
“How do you have this at your disposal?”
She shrugged. “I draw an income from Crenshaw Iron Works. My brother helps me invest it. I do hold shares in Crenshaw Iron, of course, but I would not sell those. Lately, I’ve been speculating a bit in gold and copper shares and have done fairly well.”
She said this as if it were the most natural thing in the world to say. As if she wasn’t possibly the only woman in Mayfair who could be offering her own funds to save a duke. This woman he planned to marry was quite amazing. “I appreciate your generosity, but you have failed to understand the depths of my . . . need.”
Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t understand. There are many who could live on that for life—”
“Charrington Manor has over two hundred families alone. Don’t forget my other properties. All entailed. There are nearly fifty thousand acres. It won’t be nearly enough.”
She paused, a strange stillness coming over her face. Finally, she said, “I didn’t realize.”
“You could not have known. I confess I failed to grasp the enormity of the mountain ahead of me in the beginning.”
She nodded, clearly surprised that her generous offer had been rebuffed. He could hardly blame her.
“Thank you for the offer.”
“You needn’t thank me. It was more out of self-preservation than generosity.”
He smiled. “Nevertheless, I thank you.”
She sniffed and stared down toward the fire as if the flames might provide an answer for her. When it did not seem as if she would address him any time soon, he took a step closer to her and asked, “Why did you kiss me?”
She startled and glared at him but did not step away. “I wanted to know what it was like.” She surprised him by answering honestly. “If it would be the same as I remembered from the fight.” Her gaze went to the nick in his hairline. “Speaking of that night, you seem to have recovered from your injuries.”
Absently, he raised a hand to the scar that would fade even more in the coming weeks. “Was it as you remembered?”
She flushed, her gaze dropping to his mouth as if by accident before she jerked it away.
When it was clear she would not answer, he took a step closer. “I am glad you decided to find out. It was indeed as I remembered from that night. We are good together, August.” He was aware that his voice had dropped intimately, but he could not do a damned thing to stop it. He leaned in a bit forward and breathed in her sweet scent. His skin prickled in response, and desire flamed to life in his belly. Her family was likely just outside the door, and his cock was already hardening with his need for her.
“Rothschild—”
“Evan.”
“What?” Her eyes were dilated when they met his.
“My name is Evan. Rothschild was my father’s name.”
Her lips trembled slightly as he wondered if she would say it. For some reason, he longed to hear her say it. Finally, she said, “The kiss was good.” At the pointed look he gave her, she smiled slightly. “All right, the kiss was very good, but it is hardly a reason to marry.”
And they were back to this again. “Come visit Charrington Manor. We can tour the property. Speak to my estate manager. I will give you a full accounting of everything we plan to do with the money. I swear it will be put to good use. Just as I swear that you will not regret taking me for a husband.”
He hardly realized that he had closed the slight distance between them until she had to draw her head back to meet his gaze. Elation made him feel as if he was soaring when she did not move away. His chest expanded as he slowly, gently brought his hand up to her face. Her soft skin was still cool from her afternoon walk. His fingers feathered across the pale smoothness, nearly as perfect as silk except for a few freckles at the bridge of her nose. Her breath hitched a
s he dipped his head. This he knew. As long as she let him kiss her then everything would be fine. He could set her fears to rest. He could show her how enjoyable things could be between them.
Her breath mingled with his as her lips parted to accept his kiss. They were warm and soft. He nearly groaned at how good she felt against him, as if he were coming home to a part of himself he had misplaced.
The door flew open, and he jumped back from her. She whirled to gather herself, and he stepped between her and whomever had dared to interrupt them. It was her mother who stood there with a pleased smile on her face. Her hands had come up to her cheeks as if she could hardly believe how well things had turned out.
“Have you decided on a date yet?” she asked.
The woman had the subtlety of a bull.
“No—”
“What date?” August stepped around him, glaring between him and her mother.
“The date for your wedding, of course.” The woman smiled as if she had not just committed irreparable damage to his courtship.
“Wedding? I believe you’re getting a little ahead of yourself, Mother. A courtship and betrothal are two different things.”
“Of course they are, but your father and I have already agreed to his terms. The rest will be sorted out by the solicitors. We can announce things soon.”
If Evan had held out any hope of salvaging things after Mrs. Crenshaw’s initial question, she had just shot it full of lead.
“You said you were only discussing courtship.” August’s eyes settled on him, blazing with fury and accusation.
“We might have discussed things . . . further.” He could easily imagine the terrible names she called him in her head if the look she gave him was any indication.
“We don’t need to decide on a date today, but we should soon,” said Mrs. Crenshaw. “There are only so many venues available in London. Of course, I am certain that a small chapel in Charrington would do as well.” She gave a disgruntled sigh. “It’s so far from town that many will not come, so I have to admit that I wouldn’t prefer that. It should be a big event. Her Grace and Hereford’s wedding was the talk of New York. Our dear August deserves that.”
The woman continued her blathering, but August merely shook her head in slow denial. If he had not had a war on his hands before like she had promised, he certainly had one now.
There was no way to salvage the afternoon. August would absolutely despise that he had spoken with her father, and it would not matter that he had not meant to settle things so quickly between them.
“Pardon me, Mrs. Crenshaw, but I must be going.” Before his mood became any blacker and he strangled the woman for her carelessness.
“Yes, of course, you’re right.” The woman beamed as if she had no idea of the problem she had caused. “Weddings are better left to the women at any rate, wouldn’t you say?”
Ignoring her, he said to August, “We will settle this to your satisfaction. I promise you.”
Arms crossed over her chest, she simply glared at him.
Chapter 13
I would have girls regard themselves not as adjectives, but as nouns.
Elizabeth Cady Stanton
The velvet slippers that had been made to accompany the scarlet ball gown were the most uncomfortable pair of shoes August had worn in her life. For that matter, the gown itself was torture to wear. It was in the new cuirasse style that created an elongated bodice that fit down over the flare of her hips, somewhat limiting the length of her steps. It was also so low-cut that it had required a specially made chemise and corset to accommodate it, and she had to fight her own instincts to constantly try to pull it up. Mary had laced her into her corset to within an inch of her life to make certain her modest breasts were shown to their best advantage. Eating anything at supper later would be out of the question.
August had ordered the Worth dress on a whim when they had placed the order for all of their gowns. She had fallen in love with the fashion plate and the accompanying sample of scarlet velvet as soon as she had seen it. Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on her mood, which changed from one minute to the next, the gown that had been delivered to their townhome last week had been far more scandalously cut than she had realized. To make it more shocking, the overskirt was tied back at her bottom to drape in graceful waves to the ground. From the back it was beautiful and elegant. From the front, the tie-back effect only further served to outline the curve of her hips and hint at the shocking fact that she was in possession of a pair of thighs.
Countless scathing editorials had been written on the indecent new style when it had first made an appearance last year. August had hardly paid them any attention. It had seemed ridiculous that anyone would care overly much about the draping of a dress as long as the important parts were covered. Wearing this particular gown had changed her opinion on that. All eyes in the room had turned to her as soon as she and her family had walked into the ball. This had been expected because everyone wondered about her involvement with Rothschild and if a betrothal announcement would be forthcoming. The eyes had stayed on her and wandered over her lower extremities, however, because of this gown. The result was that she felt naked.
Hundreds of voices carrying on conversations around them muffled her sigh of protest as her toes screamed in pain with each step. Her current partner delivered her back to her scowling mother after their dance, bowing dutifully. When he offered to bring her punch, her mother refused on her behalf and only managed to wait until the man had turned away before saying, “Rothschild has yet to make an appearance.” Her voice was low, but the tone was such that August wasn’t entirely certain it wouldn’t travel to those around them. The insinuation that his absence was August’s fault was still heard loud and clear by her daughter.
August tried not to smile. Since her argument with Rothschild about the betrothal two days ago, she had made certain that every one of her waking moments was spent outside her home. Even the sanctuary of Papa’s study wouldn’t save her from him if he deigned to call. Her absence from home also gave her more time to do all the things a socially acceptable wife would not do.
“Have you heard what they’re saying about you?” Mother discreetly indicated the room at large.
August could not help but smile a little at that. She had heard snatches of conversation here and there. All true. “What do you mean?” She feigned a mildly curious tone.
Her mother sighed. “You were seen attending a lecture by that woman reformer.”
“Barbara Bodichon.” It had been an interesting talk about the value of education for women.
Mother gave a firm shake of her head as if the name hardly mattered. “And what is this about Lord Worth? You were seen on his arm in Hyde Park, without your chaperone no less.”
“He won a race. I merely congratulated him.” And if Rothschild thought he had competition, more the better. She hoped the knowledge would rid him of his tiresome, ever-present smirk.
“You vex me, child. You know how this will appear to Rothschild. He could withdraw his proposal.” She kept her voice suitably low, but they had managed to garner some curious glances. “Your exploits were even written about in one of the gossip rags.”
August hadn’t known ink had been spilled over her, but she wasn’t surprised. “If he is so easily put off by a gossip column reporting my interest in social issues and my lack of chaperone, then I am not certain he is worth our concern.”
Mother frowned as much as she was able while still maintaining a pleasant expression for the benefit of those around them. The fine lines around her mouth deepened. “You might have at least been home during calling hours. He has come every day to continue the betrothal discussion.”
That was rather the point of not being home. To avoid giving her mother apoplexy there in the middle of the ball, she instead said rather gently, “That is a conversation I do not intend t
o have. I have made my feelings on the matter very clear.”
The frustration coming off her mother was nearly palpable. “How dare you do this to us?” She had turned so that she spoke nearer August’s ear to keep her voice down. “We have found you a perfectly suitable husband. He is handsome, from a good family, and he has the connections this family needs. What more do you want?”
“I was unaware that you had been so desperate to find me a husband.” The bitter words were out before she could stop them. “For one, I would like a little consideration that I might want to have a say in choosing the man I am to spend the rest of my life with.” Fixing a smile on her face, she said, “But perhaps now is not the time to discuss this.”
Her mother huffed, and the pleasant expression she had managed to hold all this time fell. August searched the room for an escape. If she argued with her mother here, it would be the talk of the evening. As soon as she opened her mouth to excuse herself, an acquaintance she recognized but could not name came up to them. “Mrs. Crenshaw, how lovely to run into you here.”
August stayed long enough to exchange pleasantries before taking herself away from the ballroom. She already had her next minor rebellion in mind. While no one had explicitly said to her that card playing at a ball was not done by a woman, she had noticed that very few women traversed the domain that seemed reserved for men. The few who did were older and had been married for decades or were widowed. The women and younger people had their own lounges at these places where various other games and amusements could be carried out. August, however, intended to conquer this sphere that had been held for the men.
Many already whispered about her “mannish tendencies”; well, let them whisper even louder so that Rothschild could hear. He would hardly want a mannish duchess. As she made her way to the suite of rooms one floor down, the noise from the crowded ballroom gradually gave way to the guffaws and jeering of distinctly male voices. A footman stood sentry at the doorway, giving her a faintly horrified glance as she stepped past him and into the salon.
The Heiress Gets a Duke Page 17