[Billionaire Duke 01.0] The Billionaire Duke

by Gina Robinson

  He nodded. "Haley. The late duke was obsessed with continuing his bloodline after his death and ensuring the title didn't go extinct."

  He explained about extant—meaning the title was still in existence—and extinct titles.

  "It was the great tragedy of his life that he hadn't protected the dukedom by providing an heir. The new duke is the last male in the Feldhem line." He paused significantly again. "He is obligated to take the title and do his best to provide an heir."

  I almost laughed. Was having a lot of sex really such a bad deal for a guy? Wow, onerous chore! It wasn't like he was going to be the one who got sick and pregnant and had to waddle around for months.

  I stared at Mr. Thorne, thinking Riggins would have no problem finding any number of beautiful women lining up to be his duchess and volunteering to produce dozens of beautiful heirs and spares. The entertainment news shows were already speculating about a certain lingerie model he'd taken to a few high-profile events. But what did that have to do with me?

  "You are the last female of childbearing age in Helen's line. The late duke's last wish was for his line to merge with Helen's to provide the heir they should have had together." He gave me a serious, significant look.

  My heart stopped. My hands went to ice. I stared at Mr. Thorne. I looked around the room like he might be talking to someone else. Maybe that gorgeous lingerie model. But nope. There was just me. "What are you saying?"

  Okay, I was being dense. But who wouldn't be?

  "The late duke hand-selected you, Haley, to be the new duchess. He wants you to marry the new duke and produce an heir."

  My mouth fell open. I started laughing. Yes, I'd had my little crush on Riggins. But I couldn't picture myself with him in real life.

  "That's ridiculous! Does Riggins know about this? Doesn't he have a say in it?"

  Mr. Thorne wasn't laughing. He obviously didn't see the humor in the situation.

  "He does, indeed. He has agreed to fulfill the late duke's wishes. Provided, of course, that you agree, too."

  Okay, just when my heart had started beating again, his words stopped it up short. I shook my head, trying to knock some sense into what I was hearing. "He wants to marry me?"

  "Want may be a bit strong. But he is willing, yes."

  "Well, there's a ringing endorsement." I didn't even try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. I had set my purse on the table. I grabbed it now, ready to bolt. "This has to be a joke. It's ridiculous. If it's for real, it's positively medieval."

  I pushed back from the table. "I'm not ready to get married. And even if I were, I'm not marrying some guy who's being forced to marry me. We don't do arranged marriages here."

  "The late duke is prepared to make it worth your while. His estate will pay you handsomely."

  I shook my head vehemently. "To make a baby with a guy who's not in love with me? No way. No thank you. There's nothing that would entice me—"

  "Your sister is sick, is she not?"

  Except maybe that. I hesitated and swallowed against my suddenly dry mouth. How much did he know about me?

  "I'm talking about a great deal of money. Nearly a hundred and fifty million in American dollars. Along with access to the late duke's connections in China and his web of private investigators."

  I fell back into my chair, feeling almost faint. Or maybe it was giddy.

  "Your sister has aplastic anemia. She needs expensive drugs to maintain her health and force her back into remission. A bone marrow transplant from a full sibling would cure her, would it not?"

  I didn't answer. I couldn't. My mind was full and racing. But my voice had temporarily failed me.

  Mr. Thorne glanced at his cell phone and sent a quick text. "The late duke's estate can provide for her. And help you search. If there's a sibling, or a match from a non-related stranger, anywhere in the world, we can help you find it."

  He paused for dramatic emphasis. "Would you close the doors on your sister's hope for a cure so easily?"

  Chapter 5

  Riggins

  Nothing. Damn it. Nothing.

  Justin and I stayed up most of the night. The Dead Duke's investments were legit. He could ruin us. Legally, legitimately take everything we'd worked for. All the wealth I'd built. I would still be the duke. The Broke Duke. Which didn't have the quite the same ring to it as the Billionaire Duke the media had dubbed me.

  I would have access to enough money to maintain Witham House, austerely. With the stipulation that I live in the estate and manage it.

  All of the money from his mother that was separate from the estate¸ most of which was currently invested in Flash so he could ruin me, would be donated to charity. I would lose my freedom and be a slave to a dukedom I had no love or affinity for.

  On the other hand, if I married Haley, I would lose my bachelorhood and freedom, too. But only temporarily.

  I was sure she and I could work out an arrangement. Partner to defeat the Dead Duke and get our freedom back. Barring that, worst-case scenario, produce an heir and a spare and divorce. Or simply look the other way and ignore each other's infidelities. Wasn't that the way these aristocratic marriages worked?

  As for me, I had never been more popular. Nearly every woman I'd ever dated had used some form of social media to congratulate me on my inheritance. And tell me they would just love to see me again and hear all the details.

  That was the women I knew. Complete strangers had bombarded the Flash customer service lines trying to get in touch with me. I was going to have to give my customer service reps on the front lines a bonus for the work they were doing. In the meantime, real customers were becoming irritated with the delays and my social media accounts were overwhelmed.

  I was just about to open up the Billionaire Duke Hotline. Are you a single woman? Want a shot at a title? Call in toll free at 1-800-GET-DUKE to register for your chance.

  Just before eleven, I sat in the lobby of the rented offices and waited for Thorne to text me confirmation that Haley had agreed to the Dead Duke's terms. I was fairly certain he would be tempting her with half of the Dead Duke's mother's money—half of three hundred million dollars. How could she turn that down?

  I had my work cut out for me. Convincing her to walk away from that kind of money? I must have been crazy. I probably was. That damn Dead Duke had thwarted the most obvious move—make myself undesirable to her.

  If I knew my adversary as I was beginning to, he had more leverage on her. He hadn't lived over a century without becoming as cunning as an old vampire.

  I'd stalked Haley. On social media. Looking for deal breakers. Anything I could use to get out of this match. Something I could point to that marked her as unacceptable in the Dead Duke's terms. Like infertility. That would pretty much rule her out.

  Though how the hell I could tell anything about her fertility without access to her medical records was beyond me. And even if I could get to her records, why would she have been tested for fertility issues?

  I didn't find anything obvious. She had a pretty adopted sister. Her parents were dead. No in-laws to deal with. No pain in the butt mother-in-law. No father to ask permission. That was something.

  She was ten years younger than I was. Without much money, from what I could tell. She'd graduated from the University of Washington with a business degree. Then promptly ignored her degree and gone to pastry school. She'd worked at The Blackberry Bakery for just over a year.

  Her friends looked young. Her tastes ran young. She seemed young. Nothing I found out about her gave me any confidence we were a good match. I shoved my physical reaction to her yesterday out of my mind. The Dead Duke obviously hadn't been concerned about the ten traits of compatibility when he'd decided on pairing us.

  His love of his first wife's bloodline was certainly loyal. Some might even say sweet and romantic. Shit.

  I got a text from Thorne. Just a few more minutes.

  Crap. How hard was he twisting the poor girl's arm? Once I made my case, I hoped sh
e'd see that being allied with me was the smarter choice.

  Haley

  "All right. I'll do it." I made a split-second, gut-reaction decision. Anything for Sid. Being a duchess married to a hot billionaire wouldn't exactly be the worst hardship in the world, would it?

  The part about having a baby, though…

  Anything for Sid! This was Sid's life we were talking about. She would love a little niece or nephew. And I wanted her to be around for one for a long, long time.

  "But I want the terms spelled out. In a legal document." I eyed Mr. Thorne suspiciously. "I guess you would call it a prenup. I want everything in writing, including the exact terms I need to fulfill to get the money. And what will happen in the case of a divorce. I'm sure I'm going to want to keep my baby."

  I would need a lawyer. But was this even legal?

  "Naturally."

  "I'll want my own lawyer to go over it."

  "Of course. Very prudent of you." Mr. Thorne looked slightly relieved. "I'll draw up the documents. When they're ready, you can forward them to your lawyer."

  "Okay." I slumped in the chair. "What happens next?"

  "I call the duke in. He's waiting in the lobby. He has something to ask you."

  Riggins

  Thorne texted me again. We're ready for you. Please join us. Haley is amenable to your upcoming proposal.

  Great. This wasn't exactly how I imagined proposing to a woman. I hadn't even contacted my friends in the diamond business. But you did what you had to do. And then found a workaround. An escape hatch.

  Thorne stood when I entered the room. "Your Grace."

  I didn't think I would ever get used to being called that. "Thorne."

  He wore his usual impeccable manners. Haley sat in a chair in front of a conference table, looking small and uncertain. She was dressed casually, clearly not expecting a marriage proposal. Or to have her life upended.

  My heart clenched at the sight of her. Wearing makeup and street clothes, with her hair tumbling over her shoulders, she was even cuter than she'd been yesterday. I had the unreasonable, crazy urge to protect her. She brought out that long-dead instinct in me. Maybe it had just been lying fallow. Yeah, Riggins Feldhem, protector of the innocent. And douche who proposed to women he wasn't in love with. The fact that I was doing it under duress made no difference to my conscience.

  I smiled at her, trying to reassure her. Or myself. I wasn't exactly sure. Maybe both of us. "Haley."

  "Your Grace," she said uncertainly. But her eyes danced with devilment. She was teasing me, like Justin had.

  I turned to Thorne, my new expert on all things ducal. "Does she have to call me that? Isn't she my equal?"

  Thorne smiled. "Not yet, Your Grace."

  Now he was just rubbing it in. And trying not to laugh. I didn't miss the corners of his lips trying to turn up. So maybe old Thorne had a droll, very dry sense of humor.

  "Miss Hamilton is still a commoner, not an aristocrat, until you make her your duchess." He pulled an antique ring box from his pocket and held it out to me, balanced on his palm.

  Haley blushed and looked away, biting her lip, and looking very young and vulnerable. And uncomfortable.

  I felt like shit putting her in this situation. Even though I wasn't the villain here. Thorne should have been the one with the guilty conscience. But he looked perfectly calm.

  The Dead Duke had no shame. He was dead, after all. And probably rotting in hell for all his evil machinations. You couldn't tell me we were the first two people he'd ever manipulated. If he was so damned good at it from the grave, I had no doubt he'd had plenty of practice in life.

  Thorne was still holding the ring box out to me. Haley still looked away. See no ring. Hear no conspiring and no coercing.

  A woman should be romanced. Her marriage proposal shouldn't shatter her dreams, but make them fly. Just because Prince William gave Princess Kate, the Duchess of Cambridge, his late mother's ring didn't mean my bride should be stuck with an antique ring that wasn't her style. Was it her style? I had no idea.

  This was an insufferable, unconscionable way to go into a marriage. I wasn't about to shatter her romantic dreams this way. "I can't do it."

  Thorne's eyebrows rose with surprise.

  Haley finally turned to face me, lips trembling. Tears in her eyes. "But you have to. We have to."

  Was she actually begging me to propose to her? What had Thorne blackmailed her with?

  "I'm not backing out of the agreement. But I can't propose like this," I said, sounding like the romantic I wasn't. "In an office. After a lawyer has just handed me a ring I haven't seen yet. It's not right."

  I smiled at Haley again, suddenly playing knight valiant. I knelt down next to her. "It's not the fairytale either of us want. Public opinion will crucify us if they smell any hint of an arranged marriage. It's not the American way. We like our romance and our passion."

  "May I remind, Your Grace, that you are British?"

  I ignored Thorne. I had a sudden brilliant idea. A very public romance. A Cinderella story played out before the media's eyes.

  "The media loves me right now." I flashed Haley a quick grin. "They love the idea of a duke looking for a bride. A whirlwind romance? A Cinderella story!" I nodded, agreeing with myself.

  I stood up and fell into the chair opposite Haley. I took both of her icy hands in mine and squeezed them. "You can be that Cinderella. You can be my Cinderella. A true duchess. It will be genuine rags to riches." I gave her hands another squeeze and stared into her eyes. "Well? What do you say?"

  "Yes. All right." She nodded as the wheels of her mind turned. "Okay, so we're telling a story. Creating an image. Feeding a fantasy."

  "Exactly!" Buying ourselves time to get out of this mess. Sending business Flash's direction. Fortifying my brand so the Dead Duke couldn't destroy it.

  When she smiled, it lit her whole face and transformed her. The insecurity was gone. She had beautiful dimples and full, wide lips. She had a gorgeous, genuine smile. I liked a woman who could smile. I felt unexpectedly tender towards her. There was that thing about her again, that dangerous thing, that reminded me of being young and in love.

  "When do we start?" she said.

  "As soon as we walk out of this room." I stood and snatched the ring box from Thorne's hand. "The story is simple. We met at the American reading of the Dead Duke's will. He left you a few trinkets—"

  "More like millions." She laughed. "If I comply with his wishes. In any fairytale, there's always a catch, isn't there?"

  I liked her. She had some spunk. Properly cultivated…

  I turned to Thorne. "In the meantime, is there something the Dead Duke can leave her?

  "Certainly, Your Grace. Something from her great-aunt, perhaps. Something worth a few thousand pounds can be found, I'm sure."

  I nodded. "Good."

  I looked at Haley again. "Back to our story. We hit it off immediately. Went out to coffee after our meeting with Thorne—"

  "No. I'm sorry, but you're wrong, Your Grace." Her eyes danced.

  "Please, call me duke."

  She laughed. "I would prefer Riggins."

  "Riggins, then." I grinned at her. "How am I wrong?"

  She raised one eyebrow. "We met at the bakery. Where I worked horrendously hard in the back, hefting heavy trays of baked goods into ovens and slaving over the heat for eight hours a day. Like a true Cinderella. Because everyone knows that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach—"

  "That's a cliché," I said.

  She ignored me. "I baked your favorite mint brownies day after day, drawing you into the bakery with the tantalizing twin thoughts of chocolate and mint. You caught glimpses of me from time to time, which piqued your interest. Something about a girl in a uniform."

  She was clearly enjoying teasing.

  "You longed for me, almost tragically." She winked at me.

  The woman was yanking my chain. And she knew it. But damn, I liked a woman with wit.


  "Of course, you were intrigued," she continued. "Who wouldn't be? Running with the cliché, as you call it, there's nothing quite as sexy as a girl in baker's whites who smells like cinnamon, vanilla, mint, and chocolate—"

  "And wears flour on her nose," I added.

  "It's cheaper, pound for pound, than face powder. And more nutritious. So there's that." She kept smiling that infectious smile. "But fate conspired against us. Until one day, the bakery was short on waitstaff. And this junior baker had to fill in. She was accidentally tripped by an oblivious patron, fell to the floor with a clatter of dishes, and you white-knighted her, helping her out of an embarrassing situation."

  "White-knighted?" I said.

  She kept smiling. "Our eyes met. We felt an instant connection. We were soul mates who might never have met except for an accident, a bit of clumsiness, and the death of a distant relative.

  "When we met again at the reading of his will, we both had a good laugh at the coincidence. And admitted that fate must be guiding us toward each other. Then we pick up with your story. You may ask me to coffee now." Her eyes twinkled.

  I wasn't usually socially inept. But I'd made a tactical mistake in forgetting that public incident. No woman wants to think she's forgettable. Or worse, invisible.

  I nodded. "You're right. My apologies. Our story began earlier. I'll ask you for coffee as we're walking out. On the spur of the moment. Completely naturally. In the lobby in front of the receptionist, where we can be sure the most people will be likely to hear. And spread the word. We have to be seen."

  "Oh, of course. I can be a media whore." Her smile was simply dazzling.

  Thorne cleared his throat. "May I remind you? There is a deadline for the nuptials to take place. The late duke was not a patient man. Even in death. I would advise you not to try his patience, or you may find the generous terms of his offer are withdrawn. With dire consequences."

  Ah, the veiled threat. Very effective.

  I studied Thorne. He wasn't bluffing. But neither did I believe the Dead Duke would let us go. I was positive he had something up his sleeve to push us into action. Merely giving up and ruining us wouldn't accomplish his objective.