Finally, Violet turned to her again and said, “You believe that Rothschild’s plan can save them?” A perfectly arched brow warned that she might be getting at something.
“I do.” Before coming to Charrington Manor, she would have answered differently. The past couple of days had shown her an entirely new side of him.
“August . . . don’t be angry, but I have to ask. Do you think you could be happy here as his duchess? Perhaps this is an opportunity.”
August’s step faltered, and she nearly tripped over the hem of her gown. “No, absolutely not.”
“Hear me out,” said her sister, holding up a hand in a silent plea.” You clearly respect him and are impressed by him. You like his”—Violet glanced around to make certain the footman was several yards behind them—“kisses. Perhaps you could make a life for yourself here.”
“And leave Crenshaw Iron?”
A crease formed in Violet’s forehead. “That is the crux of it, isn’t it?”
“Partially, yes, but I have no wish to give up my freedom to a man. Not yet. Do you know that I would be forced to become a British citizen? For all intents and purposes, I wouldn’t be American anymore. I would have no right to my own funds or property. It would all fall to him. Rothschild would control everything. My entire life would be in his hands. Even if I am able to stay on at the company, all of my earnings, except a mere pittance, would go to him, even shares and dividends.”
“That is a lot to give up.” They walked in silence for a while, making the circle of the room. Finally, Violet asked, “But you do want to marry someday?”
August shrugged. “I have always seen myself married. I want to have my own household and children, but I suppose I assumed that I would have years yet before taking that step.” Now that she had tasted the passion Rothschild had shown her, she wanted that, too.
“What if you were ten years older? Would you accept the duke?”
If she were willing to give up her freedom and her rights for some unknown man in some unknown future, would she choose Rothschild to be that man? The answer was surprisingly easy. “I suppose I might.”
“Girls!”
They whirled to see their mother standing in the doorway of the music room. Inclining her head toward the door, she whispered, “Your absence has been noticed.”
Violet gave her one last glance that asked far too much before she returned to the room. August followed, but she was even more distracted and torn than before.
* * *
* * *
Evan had not been able to stop thinking about August. Not kissing her yesterday by the stables had been one of the most difficult things he had ever done. And then later, after the musical, August and her sister had bidden the room good night, and her eyes had lingered on him. In that brief moment, they had been hot and needy, asking for more. It had taken all of his self-restraint not to quietly go to her room after everyone had retired and see where another kiss would lead them. Instead, he had been forced to relieve his ache for her by his own hand.
Not that his need for her had been assuaged for long. He had woken up with the very same need, his thoughts consumed by her. Somehow, his time with her had made his desire more intense. He had been forced to bare the extent of the need facing the dukedom to her and had been prepared for her derision. It had not come. She had not sneered at him or made it seem that she could not respect him for failing. Instead, she had given him understanding and thoughtful suggestions on how to improve his plans.
His eyes blurred as he tried to focus on the tenant contracts for properties in Haverford spread out before him on the long table in the library. It was no use. He had read the same passage at least ten times already.
“Oh!” A feminine voice intruded on his dilemma.
August stood in the doorway, and the smile she gave him was completely unguarded and genuine.
“Good morning, Miss Crenshaw.” He rose, marveling at how his body nearly vibrated as she stepped into the room.
“I didn’t know anyone was in here. I thought you were in your study working.”
“I needed to spread them out.” He gestured to the unwieldy stacks of paper. The truth was that he had missed her at breakfast and hoped to see her. She was lovely in a plum day dress that seemed to mold itself to her breasts. He had to rip his gaze from the row of tiny buttons up the front.
“Contracts are rather boring, aren’t they?” Overcoming her reticence to disturb him, she walked over and glanced at one. “May I?”
“Of course.”
She snapped it up and read the first page with remarkable speed. His throat constricted with how unbelievably attractive he found that. To hide the effect, he sat back down, but it only made it worse. Now his face was on level with her bosom, and her scent surrounded him. He picked up another contract and tried to focus on it.
“I don’t envy you. You could be here all day,” she said, laying the paper on the table and making her way around the room. She seemed to have forgotten him as she perused the shelves.
He mumbled an appropriate reply as he went through the one in his hand, marking out the extraneous penalties for late payments his estate manager had added.
“I am glad to see you are taking my advice,” she said, when he was certain she had forgotten him.
“I have made note of all of your suggestions from yesterday.” It was true. He had written down every one.
Finished with the paper in his hand, he pushed it aside and snatched up another one, but he could not concentrate. Of course he could not. She was there, hovering in his peripheral, and it was not long before the shape of her back as it narrowed toward her hips proved endlessly fascinating. Or the tender skin of the nape of her neck. Her hair was pulled up in a simple chignon, leaving the graceful arc there exposed. He imagined that would be the perfect spot to kiss her, because he could bury his nose in her hair and fill himself up on her scent.
Grabbing a book off a shelf, she turned in profile as she opened it and momentarily propped herself against the bookcase to skim a page. The small mounds of her breasts seemed to be pushed up higher today than normal, and he remembered how they had looked above the bodice of the scarlet ball gown. And how they had tasted in Hereford’s library. Absently, she toyed with a strand of baby-fine hair that had slipped from the knot at the back of her head. His fingers itched to stroke it and then bury themselves in the mass, pulling it free of its pins.
The rustling of paper had him returning his attention to the crumpled contract on the table before him. She gave him an absent smile and turned back to the books, reshelving that one and making her way behind him.
“Could I help you find something?” he heard himself asking.
“No, thank you. The twins gave us a tour yesterday, and I was quite taken with the library. Since it’s raining today, I thought it would be a good time to explore. The twins have Violet playing charades, so I have a bit of leisure time alone.”
Was it his imagination, or had she put a twist on the word alone? As if she meant everyone were busy and they would not be disturbed? He glanced to the door, disappointed to see that she had left it open a bit. Definitely his imagination. “I apologize for them. They rarely have visitors and never anyone close to their own age.”
“Please don’t apologize. They’re lovely. I’m simply more accustomed to having several hours to myself every day. Violet is the outgoing one.”
His disappointment grew. Clearly, she meant that she wanted to be alone, and he was twisting the scenario in his mind because he could not seem to get enough of her. From nowhere came the image of the respectable Miss Crenshaw sitting very prim and proper on the table while he knelt before her, pushing her skirts up and—Cease this at once! He rubbed his eyes to try to dash the image out of his head.
The soft waft of her scent warned him a moment before she dropped a heavy stack of books do
wn on the table. Dust flew off the leather bindings to settle on the gleaming oak surface. He did not have to read the title on the first cover to know that she had found William’s writings.
Thank God William is heir. Evan will amount to nothing. The boy has the brawn of a bull and the brain of one, too.
His father’s words had lost the sting they had possessed when Evan had overheard the man say them to his mother, though they were as true now as ever. William would have made the better duke.
“A treatise on observations of Rhetorica ad Herennium in the grand style as it relates to Greek philosophy by William, Marquess of Langston.” August’s voice turned the title into something almost musical. Raising her gaze to him, she asked, “Your brother?”
He nodded, a peculiar lump lodging itself in his throat. “He was something of a scholar.”
“I see.” She went on to read the cover of each tome aloud. Each more obscure and convoluted than the last.
When she finished, he said, “There is likely another stack or two on the shelf. He wrote extensively on Latin and Greek scholarship.”
She picked up one thick tome to flip through it. “My, he was . . . thorough.”
“I was in awe of him.” Evan opened the next book on the stack, noting the neatly elaborate script and the lack of lines marking out any mistakes. He stopped when he became aware of her watching him.
“I am sorry for his passing.” Her voice was far too gentle, its warmth seeping into the cold hollows of his chest.
He shrugged, trying to deny how good it felt, and stared down at the page. “It was years ago.”
Her hand covered his, drawing his gaze to her. “Nevertheless, I am sorry. I can see how you cared for him.”
Perhaps it was the affection in her eyes, or it could have been the care in her touch, but something made his throat tighten. It took a moment before he was able to say, “I did. I am quite certain that I hounded him mercilessly when we were children. He was endlessly trying to read while I wanted him to play with me.”
“When you love someone, I don’t think the passing years mean very much. Yesterday, or several years, the pain of their loss is still there.”
The ache came back to his throat, forcing him to swallow several times. When he could finally speak, his voice was a hoarse whisper. “How do you know?”
“I never lost a brother, but I was close to my grandfather Augustus. He died when I was a child, and I still remember the very moment I learned of his death. Despite what Papa says, he was the first one to encourage me to work at Crenshaw Iron.”
Evan found himself absently rubbing his thumb over her fingers, but he could not compel himself to stop. She only gave his hand a squeeze. Pushing away thoughts of William, he said, “It must have been difficult for you without a champion.”
“Maxwell has always supported me, and Papa does, too, though he wavers in his support, but I can hardly complain.” She smiled at him, and the simple kindness threatened to break something inside him. It quivered in his chest, like a dam on the verge of giving way.
When Evan was away at school, it was William who had sent him notes of support. Father only ever sent terse replies to Evan’s requests, almost all of them pleas for an early allowance, and almost all of them refused. When Father scoffed at the idea of Evan being involved in owning and operating a club for gentlemen, William had silently listened and offered encouragement.
“Rothschild?” Her voice was full of concern as were her eyes.
He glanced away from them and toward the fire. He shook his head as if it were nothing, but the words came pouring out of him anyway. “William should be the one sitting here. Not me.” She did not respond but merely leaned against the table, her breath and the sound of the rain pattering on the window the only sounds. “He was always so studious, so prepared. He was meant to be duke.”
She put her hand on his shoulder, and he had to close his eyes against the need to pull her into his arms. To turn to her and seek the comfort she offered. If he did that, he was afraid that the dam would open and everything would come pouring out. There would be no better way to send her scurrying away from him than to do that. Instead, he allowed the pain of loss to flow through him with every beat of his heart, absorbing each pulse like a blow.
He admonished himself to be quiet, but the words came anyway. “He would be so much better for the family. I have done nothing but make things worse in the past year. He would have figured out a way to improve the situation.”
“Evan.” Her voice was wrought with the very pain in his heart.
At his name, he jerked in surprise and met her gaze. To his utter astonishment, her eyes were bright with tears. Before he knew it, she had pulled him against her front, and his shoulders were shaking with the effort of suppressing the ache inside him.
“No,” he whispered, but his fists had found their way to her skirts and were not letting her go. He felt like an observer outside his own body.
“Shh . . . it’s all right to feel the way you do.” Her fingers tightened in the hair at the back of his head, and she spoke against his temple. “It must have been a shock to lose him.”
He closed his eyes and allowed himself a weak moment to rest his cheek against her breasts and breathe her in. “He had a heart defect. The physicians believe it was congenital but lay dormant for years.” Her fingers stroked the back of his head in a way that felt like heaven. Shivers of pleasure raced down his spine and wound themselves around the aching wound of his heart.
“How terrible,” she whispered, her breath teasing his ear as she halfway bent over him. “You are doing a remarkable job in his stead. He would be proud of you.”
Evan tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob that he muffled against her breasts. “He thought I spent too much time drinking and cavorting with loose women. He was right.”
“Perhaps before, but you have done an admirable job in your tenure as duke. You’ve had nothing to work with, and yet you’ve kept the creditors appeased.”
He shook his head, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.
“And you will find a way to continue to do so. I do not know very much about him, but I daresay that William would not have fared nearly as well. Scholarly pursuits won’t help you when you find yourself in dire circumstances and a flailing dukedom.”
He could not look at her for fear that he would lose his composure, but she would have none of that and gently took his face between her hands. “Would he have been equipped to write the extensive plans for improvement as you have done?”
“He was the one to first broach the topic of mechanized equipment with Father.” His voice belonged to someone else. He could not recognize it.
“Ah, but your father refused. Correct?”
Evan nodded.
“And I am guessing William did not follow through on his own.”
“No, after Father refused, he returned to his books.” Evan glanced toward the bookcase filled with every bit of classic literature William had amassed.
She followed his glance and said, “And continued to indulge his passion for antique and expensive manuscripts?”
He nodded.
She smiled tenderly. “Would he have been willing to hunt down his very own heiress?”
Evan gave a soft laugh at the idea of it. “No. He despised London.”
“Would he have begun brawling for his dinner?”
Another reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. “William was a scholar, and while he could hold his own in a gentleman’s match, he could never have fought the likes of Wilkes.”
“Then I think had he lived you might still be the one saving your estates.”
He was stunned dumb by that conclusion, because she might well be right in her assessment. He had spent his life looking up to his older brother and knowing that he would never live up to William’s example. Never
once had it crossed his mind that William might not have been up to the challenges of being duke.
“I miss him.” It was the first time he had said that to anyone.
“I know.” She leaned down so that their noses almost touched. Her eyes had darkened and become more intent. Something had changed within her. “I cannot say how things would have been different had William lived; no one can. But I can say that you have done well by your responsibility, and I admire you greatly.”
The tightness in his chest that had held him prisoner for so long loosened with her words. It was as if she had cut the rope binding him and he could breathe freely for the first time in years. “You . . .” His voice was thick and raw when he spoke. “You admire me?”
“Yes.” Her fingers stroked his cheeks. “Very much so.”
He had no time to consider what that might mean, because she pressed her lips to his. He opened beneath the soft pressure, greedy for her after having denied them both this simple pleasure. She tasted as sweet and good as he remembered. The soft brush of her tongue should have been a balm to his pain, but instead it made it surge, setting the dam inside him to wavering perilously. She curled her fingers in his hair and made a sweet little sound as she kissed him with all of the pent-up hunger he had been harboring for her and slid into his lap. Salt mingled with her taste. It was only then that he realized he had been crying. He was crying. With the twist of pressure in his chest gone, there was nothing to stop the flood of pain from spilling over the top, sending the dam crashing down.
The swell of sadness inside him was so overwhelming that he let out a gasp. She jerked back as if she was afraid that she had hurt him. “I’m sorry.”
“No.” He pulled her back to him, taking her mouth as if he needed it for his next breath. “Do not be.”
She wrapped her arms around him, and he held her tight. But the pain would not be held back. It surged to the surface of the kiss to make itself known. Another gasp moved between them, and then another. A sob welled, and he had to break the kiss to hold it back.
“Evan?”
The Heiress Gets a Duke Page 22