The Heiress Gets a Duke

by Harper St. George

  “August!” He half rose as if preparing for action, remembered his state of undress, and sank back down in the water. But not before she got a very clear view of the hair gathered at his lower belly, tawny but darkened by the water. Her gaze followed the trail up as it narrowed toward his navel and then continued up his flat and ridged stomach to where the muscles began to take shape under the smooth skin of his chest, burnished with a scattering of hair. There was a small indentation where the muscle met that of his shoulder, which flexed as he gripped the edge of the tub.

  “Christ, August, what the hell are you doing here?” He didn’t sound angry, merely astonished.

  She was also astonished. Now that she thought of it, she might have assumed he would be having a bath after coming in from his ride soaking wet. She didn’t know what she had thought to find or accomplish by barging into his bedroom. Her anger had guided her.

  She opened her mouth to apologize for her bad behavior, but she couldn’t seem to find her voice. His nipples were as hard as tiny pebbles, and his pectoral muscles flexed as he shifted to better shield his manly part from her. A rush of heat gathered between her thighs, and her body fairly vibrated with awareness of him. What would his skin smell like when wet? It was the only thing she could think. Some inner strength she hadn’t been aware of was all that was keeping her from going to him to find out.

  “Miss Crenshaw, please come with me.” The valet used his sternest voice, but he stopped short of physically hauling her out.

  His presence was enough to shake her from her stupor and get her senses back. She had come to do battle. Best to get it over with. If she retreated now, the show of weakness would mean she had already lost.

  “That will be all,” she said in the voice she used to deal with difficult vendors at Crenshaw Iron.

  Clearly not expecting that, the man stood aghast and stared at her.

  “You may leave us,” she added in case there was any question.

  His eyes widened, and he glanced to his employer for confirmation.

  “Leave us,” said Evan. “Close the door behind you.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then the valet retreated, his footsteps muffled on the heavy carpets. Evan’s hair was soaked from being washed and was pushed back, so that his eyes shone out brilliantly. The blue was like jewels. The plains and angles of his face were drawn in sharp relief, making her notice anew how strikingly handsome he was.

  But that didn’t matter now. She had to concentrate. “I came to tell you that I will not be at dinner tonight.”

  He stared at her before finally asking, “Are you all right?”

  “Yes . . . no . . .” His brows drew together in concern. “Physically, yes, I am fine.”

  Her answer seemed to relax him. He sat back, his arms draped over the sides of the tub. “Something has happened. Tell me.”

  The position elongated his torso, making her eyes drift downward, taking in the line of hair that trailed down his belly and disappeared beneath the soapy water. The water was cloudy but still reasonably transparent. If she took one or two steps closer, she would no doubt be able to see what he had hiding down there. There was a ripple beneath the water. It was a slight tremor that had her gaze jerking up to meet his.

  “Tell me,” he prompted, shifting and raising a knee to further shield that part of himself from her. The limb was muscled and covered in tawny curls. She had sat on his thighs, but she had the urge to touch him with her hand and determine if those muscles were as hard as they seemed.

  “Right, yes.” She closed her eyes and forced herself to turn around. Staring at him made every pulse point in her body throb so that she couldn’t think. Turning around was the only proper thing to do and what she should have done immediately instead of standing there ogling him. “I will not be at dinner.” She could not bear to face her parents so soon, and if it was true that he was leaving, then she wanted things clear between them before he went. “But I need to meet with you. Alone. Tonight.”

  He was silent for so long that she nearly turned around. “All right. After dinner, then?”

  “No.” She shook her head for added emphasis. Her gaze caught on the dressing gown thrown casually over the back of a chair. It was a deep red and decidedly masculine, and she knew immediately that it would smell just like him. “I would prefer that we not be disturbed. Let’s plan to meet in the library tonight after everyone has retired for the evening.”

  She left before he could agree or disagree.

  Chapter 18

  Generally speaking, it is injudicious for ladies to attempt arguing with gentlemen on political or financial topics.

  Eliza Leslie

  Evan rose as soon as the library door opened late that night. True to her word, August had not been seen after leaving his bedroom. Her mother had made August’s excuses at dinner, saying that she had taken to her bed with a headache. Something must have happened between them. Evan would have been a fool not to suspect it was about marrying him. He had wanted to demand answers from her parents but had decided to honor August’s request and wait to talk to her. Now that she was here, his body hummed with expectancy.

  She appeared in the doorway and gave him a quick once-over as if she half expected him to be nude as he had been in the bath. A tremor of pure desire coiled and tightened low in his gut as he recalled the way she had looked at him as he sat in the tub, obviously curious. She closed the door, and he took in the emerald dressing gown she wore. The velvet hugged the curve of her backside and her breasts, nipping in at her waist. He had never seen her without a corset and had only ever imagined the shape of her natural form. Though she was fully covered from wrists to slippered feet to the buttons that went up her neck, his blood heated and thickened.

  As soon as the door closed, her demeanor changed. Her eyes hardened with determination, and her shoulders went back, full of confidence. When she crossed to the table, it was reminiscent of their very first encounter in the Ashcroft drawing room.

  “Good evening,” he said.

  “Good evening.” She laid down a single piece of cream parchment that appeared to have come from the desk set in her room.

  “Would you care for a drink?” He indicated the tumbler of whisky on the table before him.

  She shook her head to refuse, but her lips trembled. “Actually, yes, I will have one.”

  He nodded and poured her a drink at the sideboard. When he returned, he walked around the table and offered it to her. The tips of her fingers brushed his as she accepted it, sending a tendril of pleasure up his arm. “Will you tell me what happened?”

  She shook her head. “It hardly matters. It was simply pointed out to me that the time has come for a decision.”

  Bloody hell. Her parents had interfered when they should have left it to him. She took a healthy sip and made a face before continuing. “Since my decisions have been made for me, I am left only with my will to negotiate.” The bitterness in her voice was unmistakable, and it was punctuated by her deliberate and efficient movements as she set the crystal down and turned her attention to the parchment before her.

  Instead of returning to his chair at the other end of the table, he sat in the one near her. “I agreed to allow you to leave at the end of the week if you choose with no further harassment on my part.”

  She appeared not to listen. Her eyes skimmed over whatever she had written as he spoke.

  “August?” He could not resist covering her hand with his. She was cold, but her skin was smooth as silk and nearly as delicate. “I will not force you to wed me.”

  She met his gaze then, hers full of a mix of anger and pain. “Lucky for you, my parents are willing to handle that nasty little task.”

  “Have they threatened you?” Fury roared to life inside him. How dare they attempt to usurp him in this? The marriage was their decision, not her parents’ to force and m
anipulate.

  Bitterness twisted her lips, and she moved her hand from beneath his. It appeared all the progress they had made had been lost. “You could say that. I was told that if I don’t marry you, then I have no position at Crenshaw Iron. It’s funny, because if I do marry you, then I have no position at Crenshaw Iron. How wonderfully that works out for you.”

  God, no. This is not what he had wanted to happen. Perhaps originally when he had been an arrogant imbecile who had not considered that a woman such as her would not want to marry him, he had thought it would hardly matter how she made her way down the aisle; but now it was very possibly the worst thing her parents could have done. He did not want her to be forced. And then there was the fact that things had been very good between them over the last several days. She had warmed to him, and while she might not have been ready to agree to marriage, he could see that she was considering it in a new light.

  “August, believe me when I tell you that I had no part in that.”

  Her eyes flared. “You had every part in that. Perhaps you did not force my mother to come to me earlier tonight, or my father to issue an ultimatum, but this is all your doing, Rothschild. Had you not forced this entire situation then this would not be happening.”

  Evan made himself take a breath before answering her. He did not want her to think the anger he felt toward her parents was directed at her. Keeping his voice calm, he said, “I accept responsibility for approaching you and your family about the marriage in a less-than-ideal manner. In hindsight, I would do things differently.” Her eyes fairly crackled with fire as she waited for him to finish. “However, I have in no way pressed them for an answer, nor was it ever my intention for them to issue such a devastating ultimatum.”

  “Your intentions hardly matter, especially when you have received what you set out to attain. I am here and ready to be your wife.”

  Joy and relief warred with anger and dismay. He could not stop himself from glancing at the paper she had brought in, wondering what it was and how it would have an impact on this discussion. The sheet contained a list. He could make out the words children and farther down jointure. A marriage negotiation, then.

  Fighting that dark part of him that urged him to accept her, to grab her and hold on to her before she could get away, he thrust the slender thread of noble instinct he had left to the forefront. He could not accept her unfairly. “This is not necessary. Whatever they have said to you, I am certain that once I talk to them, things can be smoothed over. I do not want you to lose your position.”

  She sneered. “I find that difficult to believe, since your goal is to have me as your wife. I could hardly continue my work and still be your duchess, now, could I?”

  “But you could.” Since their last kiss, he had hardly thought of anything else but of how to allow her to keep a foothold in her family’s business.

  She stared at him openmouthed before straightening her shoulders again and declaring, “You’re only saying that. Everyone knows that duchesses do not work. They do a bit of charity work, possibly, but that is all.”

  “Traditionally, yes, but there is no reason you cannot change that.” Christ, the way she stared at him now, as if she would never believe a word he said, was completely his fault.

  “And how would your old Eton friends react? What about their wives? Do you truly deceive yourself that they would accept me?”

  “August, your being American will be enough to make half of them ostracize you. The other half will certainly find it objectionable that you work. The lot of them can go hang for all I care. All that matters is you and me.”

  She stared at him, but some of the anger had drained from her face. Seizing on that, he hurried on. “Perhaps your role would change a bit—after all, there are certain duties that you must carry out as duchess—but I see no reason for you to stop working completely. I believe that once there is an office established in London, you should assume a leadership role there.”

  “You’re lying. Duchesses do not work.” Her jaw firmed with the resolve of a prosecutor who had already established the guilt of the accused.

  He sighed, hating how she distrusted him and that her parents had forced the matter. Indignation at himself drove him to his feet, where he paced the length of the table and back. Bloody hell, he had well and truly botched this by approaching her the wrong way in the very beginning without any concern for her feelings. “I have seen how effortless it was for you to peruse my ledgers and accounts. To find mistakes and make suggestions for improvements. It comes naturally to you, or at the very least it is a skill that you have honed well in your years of employment. I would not take that away from you.

  “In fact, should you agree to marriage, I would like you to also consider taking an active role in the running of the estates. With the agricultural improvements—”

  She made a dismissive sound and waved her hand as if she was swatting away an insect. “Estate farming for profit is no longer viable. Your best course of action there is to make the improvements you can and then train your other tenants. Expand your best farms to absorb the vacant land—”

  “And invest in industry,” he said. She turned her head to look at him with something akin to astonishment on her face. “Manufacturing and machine works. Factories to bring employment to the displaced farmers.”

  She nodded. “I see you have been listening.”

  “I listen to you, August.”

  She blinked and turned back to stare at the sheet before her. “We have established that I am to marry you; there is no need for meaningless flattery.”

  With a groan of frustration, he sat down again and took her hand. “And if I refuse to marry you?”

  She laughed. “Then you would be mad.”

  “You are right. I would be mad.” He stared at her profile earnestly, hoping that she would look at him and they could have a proper discussion and not this adversarial one. “But I want you to accept only when you want this.” When you want me.

  Finally, she did look at him. Anger made the color rise in her cheeks. “And why would I want this? It’s a crumbling pile of stones that should have been razed a century ago or more. This means subjecting myself to endless social engagements where I have to overhear all of the fine people talking about how mannish I am and how I don’t deserve to be a duchess. And they are absolutely correct. I don’t deserve it. There are at least a hundred other women I have met over the last few weeks who are far more deserving of it than me. They care for it so much more.” She rose in her fury and crossed to the fireplace, where she stood facing away from him toward the flames with her back stiff. “I only want to work and continue with the legacy my grandfather left us.”

  He had lost her before he had even had a chance of holding on to her. Disappointment sat heavy in his stomach. There was no way to refute her argument. Evan followed her but stopped feet short of where she stood.

  “You are right. They will call you names and say terrible things.” He took in a breath. “But they already do that.”

  If possible, her shoulders stiffened even more. “You’ve heard?”

  “They already say these things about you, and you have not bothered to care before now.”

  She shrugged but did not look at him. “I am accustomed to their bitterness. Besides, there is a sort of insulation in being an outsider.”

  He took another breath, proceeding slowly because he very much felt as if he was poking at a nest of bees. “Do the people in New York not say similar things?”

  There were a few moments of silence before she said, “They do. No one knows what to make of a woman in business.”

  “No, I suppose they do not. I only say that to demonstrate that it is not so much their censure that has given you reason to shun the title.” He paused long enough to allow that to sink in. “What is the true reason?”

  “Because I would not have it forced o
n me, of course.” One shoulder shrugged again, and she still did not turn to face him. Her shoulders trembled slightly. Despite her strong voice, she was close to cracking, and his heart ached for her.

  “Then go home and live out your life as you had planned. You will continue to work in some capacity—I have no doubt of it—and marry some dowdy professor on your thirtieth birthday.”

  This made her whirl to face him. Her eyes were wide before she seemed to grasp ahold of herself again. “How do you know that’s my plan?”

  He grinned. “I know you whether you want to admit it or not. You want someone quiet who will be too timid or too consumed with his own scholarship to get in your way.”

  She bristled. “You know nothing about me.”

  “We both know that is not true. I know so much about you now, August.” She looked down quickly, and he took that as a sign that he was right. “I know that you are afraid of a man taking away the small bit of power and autonomy that you have been able to wrest for yourself. I also know that the last person you expected to take that from you was your father.”

  She nodded, and though she still looked down, he thought she must be holding back tears, because her whole frame shook with the effort. Gently, he rested his palms on her shoulders. It was all the encouragement she needed to throw herself into his arms. There were no great sobs, but the trembling increased.

  “I feel so terribly betrayed.” Her voice was muffled against his chest. “It’s as if he has merely amused himself with me all of these years. As if he doesn’t understand or care that I have my own needs.”

  Evan squeezed his eyes shut as he held her to hold back the anger he felt for her father. There was no doubt that she was right about the man’s sentiments. Crenshaw was ruthless when it came to business, and it seemed he merely saw his own daughter as an extension of that. She was to further the family’s influence, and if that came at the sacrifice of her own well-being, then so be it. He wanted to punch the man right in his arrogant jaw.