The Heiress Gets a Duke

by Harper St. George

  Burying his face in her neck, the sob tore out of him. She gathered him close to her breast and placed small kisses along his hairline while murmuring encouragements. It was only in that moment that he realized he had never mourned his brother. He had gone through the motions, but Father had always been there lurking in the background, waiting to swoop in on some perceived weakness. Evan had opted to hold the pain of William’s loss inside, hoping that if he held it long enough, it would dissolve into nothing. And then when Father had died, Evan’s life had become a series of obstacles, each more damning than the last, as if the man had designed them as a sort of punishment that would continue long after his death.

  “I miss him,” he whispered.

  She kissed his temple and ran a soothing hand down his back. His muscles rippled beneath her touch, like a cat being soothed by a beloved human.

  She held him for a long time, until he had stopped trembling and managed to halt the tears. Taking one last deep inhale of her scent, he pressed a kiss to her neck, then another to her chest, and one more to the swell of her breasts. Her fingers lightly tugged at his hair, drawing him upward. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, but it quickly burned hotter and hungrier than before. Experienced now, she opened to him, and the bold brush of her tongue only inflamed him more. One of her hands moved down the column of his throat, her thumb gently pressed to his pulse before dipping lower, trying to find its way between the buttons of his shirt to reach his skin. He groaned with the need to touch her, too, and feel the warmth of her skin against his.

  “August.” He whispered her name as he took a breath. Her mouth chased his, taking another kiss. And then another. She had assuaged the pain so sweetly, there was only fire between them now. He took control of the kiss, seizing her mouth with a need bordering on desperation.

  “. . . reading, most likely. It’s where she normally sneaks off to at home.”

  Violet’s voice came crashing down around them mere seconds before the door was pushed fully open. She stepped in just as August jumped from his lap. Violet’s eyes went wide at the sight of them, and she whirled to face the twins, who likely stood behind her, obscured by the door. “Perhaps we should go fetch some cakes before we disturb her. I’m famished.”

  “Excellent idea,” Louisa agreed, and the voices began to fade.

  August’s chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath, and her cheeks were flushed. Their kissing would be no secret to anyone who looked upon her. Or him, especially if he stood up.

  “I should go before they come back,” she said.

  He nodded. It was the logical thing, but he wanted her to stay. He wanted to spend the whole rainy day with her. First here in the library, and then in his bed. It was probably the one thing her parents would not agree to allow. Or perhaps they were desperate enough to permit him the indiscretion if it would entice her to say yes to him. A wild impulse to test the theory nearly propelled him out of his chair, but one look at her stopped him.

  She stared at him with such beautiful trust and tenderness that he could not act on his dishonorable thoughts. If they went further, it would be because she chose him, not because of her parents or his need for a wife. It would only be because of their need for each other.

  “Goodbye.” She cupped his cheek, and he turned into the touch, kissing her palm. Smiling, her fingertips traced the ridge of his jaw in a lingering caress as she walked away, leaving him alone.

  Evan was left too weak and disoriented to move right away. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table and resting his head in his hands, much the way she had found him.

  Chapter 17

  Truth is such a rare thing, it is delightful to tell it.

  Emily Dickinson

  The rain did not let up that day or the next. It continued in a steady drizzle that turned the world to gray and eventually exposed the cracks and flaws of Charrington Manor. Everyone pretended not to notice that the water stain in the corner of the drawing room had begun to ooze. The pitter-patter of drips was frequently disguised with vigorous piano playing and shrieks of laughter as the twins participated in one game or another. To combat the drafts and cold that seeped in through the stone walls, every hearth roared with the heat of a robust fire.

  It was very nearly an idyllic getaway from the city and the endless rounds of meetings and entertaining that had kept August busy since their arrival at the beginning of the month. She was coming to find, rather surprisingly, that she enjoyed it here. For certain the house could use modernizing, but when seated before a fireplace with a lap blanket and a cup of tea, it really was bearable. It helped that she had the memory of the duke’s kisses to warm her, as did the memory of how he had clung to her as he had cried for his brother. Real tears.

  Although she had only seen one male cry—Max when he had broken his arm at fifteen—she had long suspected that they were as capable of tears of sadness as any woman. That was no surprise. The surprise was that Evan had allowed her to see them, and that he had embraced her instead of pushing her away. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, or him, ever since.

  After the library, at tea and then again at dinner, he had gazed at her with those same warm eyes. He did not treat her with the kind of benign courtesy with which he would regard any guest; there was more there now. The tenderness hinted at a secret fire simply waiting to be released. She shivered as the imagined flames of that fire moved over her in ribbons of heat.

  “Do you need another blanket, dear?” Violet smiled at her from behind her teacup.

  August had shared with her what happened in the library—the kissing part, not the tears. That seemed too special to share. Violet had been staring at her with that knowing smile ever since. More than once she thought back to the conversation she’d had with her sister. If she were ready for marriage, she knew in her heart that she would choose him. If only choosing him didn’t require her to give up everything she held dear.

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Are you certain? You seem to be brooding for a particular gentleman who was called away.”

  “Stop it, Violet.” August could not help but laugh. “I am not brooding. Besides, he was merely called into town. He will return soon.”

  Violet shrugged and set the cup and saucer down. “Well, something has you looking out that window every two minutes.”

  August knew Violet was right, because she had caught herself doing it. She was saved from arguing by determined footsteps approaching and the rustle of fabric as Mother stepped into the room.

  “Good afternoon, Mother. I thought you were resting. Would you care for some tea?”

  Mother shook her head, her expression drawn and firm. “No, thank you. If you are finished, your father and I would like a word.”

  Unease moved through her, but August managed to keep a smile on her face even though her mother’s scowl indicated an unpleasant conversation was ahead.

  “Certainly.” She exchanged an uneasy glance with her sister, before following her mother from the room.

  As they reached the stairs, a commotion from the entry hall had them both turning. Evan hurried inside, handing his dripping hat and coat to a footman. He had left when there had been a pause in the rain, but it had not lasted long. Her heart gave a little thump at the sight of him. He was soaked through, which molded his clothing to him like a second skin, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and his trim waist. When his gaze met hers, it was as if an arc of electrical current moved between them. It was only tamped out when he registered that her mother stood beside her.

  “Good afternoon, Your Grace,” Mother said. She waited only long enough for his polite greeting before taking August’s arm and leading her upstairs to the sitting room she and Papa shared.

  Papa was nowhere to be seen. Mother closed the door and then sat in a chair near the fire, so August followed her lead. “I wanted
to talk to you before dinner.”

  “Yes?” August feigned a benign interest, but her heart was already beginning to pound.

  Mother took an audible breath as if finding her courage. August stopped breathing.

  “There has been no sign of a betrothal announcement.”

  “Mother—”

  She held up a hand in a call for silence. “I understand your reticence in this, August. Truly, I do. I was not persuaded in any way to marry your father. He charmed me from the beginning, so I am certain that I cannot speak to how it must feel to have your husband chosen for you.”

  “No, I am certain you cannot.” August regretted the bitter tone in her voice, but it was beyond her control.

  Her mother blinked. “Nevertheless, it has been done for generations of women. I know you think you are different, and perhaps you are, but in this your father and I know best. We have chosen this man for you, and we want you to accept him.”

  August tightened her hands into fists on her lap. “I will not be forced into this.”

  Mother’s expression was as firm as her voice. “That is why we must discuss things.”

  “Discuss? Discuss?” August could feel the anger flaming to life inside her like a brush fire, and she tried to control it, but it wasn’t easy. “This isn’t a discussion. You want to tell me what to do and have me agree.”

  Her mother inclined her head, conceding the point. “You are a bright girl, and I do understand your need for justification. I know how you value your facts and statistics, so here are the facts of the matter. You will have no marriage prospects at home. Your stunts, which were written about in the papers here, will be gossiped about at home.”

  August laughed. “No one will care that I went out without a chaperone, and they’ll forget all about the scarlet dress and the walk with that nobleman.”

  “Perhaps, but they will not forget that a duke lost interest in you.”

  “What do you mean? He has hardly lost interest. If anything, I believe he still wants to marry me.”

  “That doesn’t matter at all. You were very close to marriage. Everyone has whispered about it. Everyone knows that we have been guests at his home. Everyone has the expectation that an engagement will be announced upon our return to London. If one is not announced, I am afraid that your reputation will not withstand the gossip. They’ll all wonder why he cried off.”

  “He didn’t cry off. I am the one not accepting him.”

  “That doesn’t matter, August, and you know it. The gentlemen in these situations hold all the power. One word from him, and no one will so much as look at you again.”

  “You are putting a dramatic twist on this that is not true. Evan—” Her mother’s eyes widened. August really needed to stop thinking of him by his given name. “Rothschild will not say cruel things about me. He is a true gentleman.”

  Now Mother’s eyes narrowed with speculation. “If he is the gentleman you claim, what is your objection to him? Anyone with eyes can see that the two of you get on well.”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, August held her ground. “That’s true. We are friends now, and I have found things to admire in him. But I do not want to be married now.” She wanted to continue working at Crenshaw Iron, and she didn’t want this forced on her. Perhaps if she was given time to settle into the idea, but not like this.

  “But you would find him acceptable if you did want to be married now?”

  August sighed. This was bordering on her conversation with Violet. “Perhaps, but there are so many things to consider. I hardly know him. I believe that for a marriage to be happy, it is important for a couple—”

  Mother waved a hand in the air. “I have heard enough. Your father and I have decided that you will marry him, and that’s final.”

  “Final? I don’t understand.”

  Mother took in a breath and gripped her hands together in front of her. “If a betrothal isn’t announced by the time we leave, your position at Crenshaw Iron will be eliminated.”

  Had her mother struck her across the face, the shock could not have been greater. “Papa would never agree to that.”

  “He already has.”

  Her blood ran cold and she bolted to her feet. “I don’t believe you.”

  “August . . .” Mother crossed the distance between them but stopped short of reaching out to touch her. “We have grown impatient with your obstinance. We know what is best for you. If you were to walk away from this opportunity, it would be the biggest regret of your life. We cannot allow that to happen.”

  “You mean this is what is best for you, not me.” August had to put a hand out to the mantel to keep her balance.

  “This marriage will be best for the family and the business—there is no mistaking that—but also for you. You will have opportunities you cannot even imagine.”

  “Opportunities? I have all the opportunities I need. Now. With Crenshaw Iron.”

  Mother shook her head. “Not if you refuse this.”

  Mother stared at her with the cold indifference of a stranger. No. Not a stranger. It was as if she, August, were the single obstacle in the way of her getting what she wanted, and Mother would rather plow through the hurdle than find another solution.

  The door to Papa’s bedroom swung open, and he hedged into the room. His gaze went to Mother first before reluctantly settling on August. She knew then that he had deliberately waited, not wanting to deliver the message himself.

  August had to speak through a throat gone tight with sadness and anger. “Papa, you cannot mean this.”

  “Do not look so put-upon, darling.” His voice held a gentle, chiding tone. “You are hardly being fed to the wolves. We have investigated this man and found him thoroughly acceptable. Your time at Crenshaw Iron would have come to an end eventually. This is the life you are meant to lead, and it is more glorious than anything your mother or I could have imagined for you. Let Maxwell run the business as he was meant to do, hmm?”

  Mother reached out to touch August’s shoulder, but August recoiled instinctively. She could not pretend that everything was fine, when they were trying to tear her world apart.

  “You’ve always been strong-willed.” Mother sighed. “In time you will come to understand that this is the best thing.”

  “You both say these things, but what of Camille? Will Camille come to understand that as well?”

  Mother smiled and gave a sad shake of her head. “Camille is not nearly as logical as you.”

  “Rothschild is hardly Hereford,” said Papa. “You may feel that your situation is similar but only on the surface. I would not have felt nearly as justified in handing you over to Hereford as I do to Rothschild.”

  She stared at him, momentarily taken aback by the words handing you over. Their accuracy had stolen her breath. How had she fooled herself for so long that she was in charge of her life? All this time, they had simply been humoring her. “But you would have handed me over.” It wasn’t a question. The answer was written on his face.

  “August.” There was a sharpness in his voice that she had only rarely ever heard appear. It was reserved solely for those who had stretched his patience thin. “I will not entertain hypotheticals. We are discussing Rothschild and his suitability.”

  “No, we are not. You are telling me who to marry. You are telling me that the only value I have to you is in which man I can make your son-in-law.”

  Color rose in the apples of Papa’s cheeks. “You are making this into something it is not.”

  “It is you who are refusing to see the barbarism of your own actions.”

  “Enough of this, both of you,” said Mother, stepping between them. “What does any of that matter? The question of marriage is settled.” Turning to August, she continued, “Her Grace mentioned that the duke’s business might have him called back to London tomorrow.”

>   Now August understood why her parents had felt the need to have this conversation now.

  “I’ve taken the liberty of having the appropriate documents arranged,” said Papa, his voice back to normal. “We can sign them when we return to London.”

  For the first time in her life, August knew how it felt to want to hit something. To rage at it so that it was forced to absorb all of her anger and heartache. A sob almost escaped her throat, and her shoulders started to shake, but she held them both back. Now was not the time to give in to despair. Now was the time for action.

  Turning abruptly, she left them both behind in the sitting room. She had to see Evan now. If this marriage was to be forced on her, she would set the terms herself. Her heels echoed off the walls as she made her way down the corridor. Armed with only a vague notion gained from a tour by the twins of Evan’s chamber being in the west wing, she made a turn that took her away from the giant staircase and then another that put her firmly into his domain.

  The family’s rooms were here. She paused at each door, continuing on if she heard a female voice within. Finally, she heard a male voice muffled behind the thick oak of one of the last doors off the corridor. It wasn’t Evan’s, but it was possibly his valet’s.

  Steeling herself, she raised her hand and gave a firm knock. It was a moment, but soon it opened, and the valet stood before her with a very put-upon expression on his face. “Miss Crenshaw?”

  “Good evening. I have come to see Rothschild.”

  “I am afraid that is not—”

  She pushed past him, and he was so stunned that he gave way. The room was a heavily paneled affair with sofas and chairs in shades of dark blue. Obviously a sitting room. Her gaze caught on an open door, and she headed in that direction.

  “Miss Crenshaw, His Grace is at his bath. I am afraid this is . . .”

  She came to an abrupt stop as she had entered a dressing room. Armoires and heavy but well-cushioned furniture was scattered around the room. An open door revealed the heavy brocade of a bedroom beyond them. She would have known this was his room by the seductive smell of bergamot and citrus alone. However, the very naked man in the copper bath was evidence enough.