Helen Dickson

by When Marrying a Duke. . .

  Crossing to the window, he stood gazing out, knowing that not far away Marietta was already hurting. Her proposition pounded inside his head, combining with the torment of his own harsh rejection. He realised how she had humbled herself by coming to him and just how devastated she must have been when he had shunned, scorned and humiliated her, which she had not deserved and for which he despised and reproached himself with a virulence that was unbearable.

  Turning away from the window, he struck his fist into his hand in mute frustration. He had bedded other women since Nadine had died, but Marietta had dined upon his heart and very soon he would have no more heart to share. In fact, his heart had betrayed him. It had closed all exits but one that he had slammed in anger.

  What emotions did she stir? Simple emotions he thought below him, for he found himself stricken by Marietta’s innocence. She was intelligent, courageous, spontaneous and naturally sensual. And the surprising truth was that he enjoyed her company. From their conversations in the past he knew that Marietta liked his company, too. She’d liked talking to him—and she’d liked being in his arms.

  So what was to be done? he asked himself. And as soon as the thought had entered his head he realised there was only one thing that he could do. There was only one way out of the dilemma.

  * * *

  Half an hour later Max was en route to Grafton.

  * * *

  Marietta arrived at Grafton to the sound of convivial laughter and the conversation of her grandmother’s guests. Having eaten a hearty breakfast, they were about to leave for their day’s sport and were in a jolly mood. She slipped into the house, planning to retreat into the solitude of her room. She headed in that direction, hoping to reach it without being apprehended by her grandmother, but it was too much to hope for. Having seen her granddaughter alight from the carriage and curious as to the purpose for her early morning drive—in particular her destination—the shrewd old lady asked her to spare her a moment.

  Still angry and hurt by her visit to Arden Hall and in no mood to prevaricate, Marietta stood and faced her grandmother stony faced in her sumptuous green-and-cream drawing room.

  ‘I have been to see Lord Trevellyan. We have talked and decided we do not suit after all. He won’t have me, you see. He does not want me for his wife, nor had I any desire to be,’ she stated implacably.

  ‘What do you mean he doesn’t want you?’ Lady Wingrove asked in alarm. ‘What has happened?’

  ‘After I left you last night I did a lot of thinking. I decided that if I am to marry anybody then I would like it to be Max. I went to see him to tell him I would agree to be his wife, but it appears he cannot agree to the terms you set. That’s about it. There’s nothing else to talk about.’

  To her surprise, her grandmother did not stiffen in affront or chastise her for going to Arden without her knowledge or her permission. As a stickler for propriety, she would normally have been shocked at the thought of an unwed young woman visiting a gentleman at his house. It really was most inappropriate. ‘I disagree,’ she said with a stubborn expression. ‘I think there is a great deal to talk about.’

  Fully expecting some sort of reprimand for her discourtesy, Marietta shook her head, her eyes holding a deep sense of sadness. ‘Whichever way you look at it, the conditions are not to his liking or mine. Think about it, Grandmother. The land he has coveted for so long cannot be his without taking me with it. It is abhorrent to him and humiliating and degrading for me.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Lady Wingrove uttered softly, sinking into a chair. ‘It would seem that instead of doing what I thought was right, I have done the opposite.’

  ‘Like you said, you were only doing what you thought was right.’

  In the space of seconds, Lady Wingrove considered Marietta’s denial of Max, noted the total absence of her normal warmth and correctly assumed her granddaughter’s current attitude of proud indifference was a façade to conceal some sort of deep hurt. Since Max was the only one who had the power to truly hurt her that meant he was the likely cause of the problem. She was prepared to go to great lengths to undo whatever damage her ill-thought-out ploy to bring two people she sincerely believed were meant to be together had done.

  ‘You have no idea just how badly I hoped the two of you would marry.’

  ‘And I suppose you are not going to try to convince me that Max Trevellyan is as eager to marry me as you are for us to marry.’

  ‘I couldn’t say what I don’t know, Marietta. Tell me what he said to you this morning that made you think he does not desire to marry you?’

  Marietta hesitated, searching her grandmother’s face for some sign of censure, and saw only earnestness and concern. ‘I suppose it can’t do any harm—except to my pride,’ she said with a weak attempt at a smile. In a relatively unemotional voice, she managed to recount what had happened that morning at Arden Hall and what Max had suggested in an attempt to nip any romantic plans she might have for him in the proverbial bud.

  ‘And Max actually suggested that you should take the opportunity to consider other eligible suitors?’

  ‘Yes. Nothing could have told me better than that that he didn’t want to marry me.’ She wondered what her grandmother would say if she were to tell her that after that Max had the audacity, the arrogance, to kiss her. Oh, yes, she had tried to stop him—but then she hadn’t wanted to, so he had won. ‘I was so angry and confused and over-emotional I could cheerfully have hit him. He must be feeling very proud of himself.’

  ‘Knowing Max as well as I do, I very much doubt that.’ Hearing a clattering of horses’ hooves on the gravel drive, Lady Wingrove got up and looked out of the window. ‘We have a visitor. He hasn’t wasted much time.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Max, and he looks to be in the foulest temper. For a man who wishes to reject a betrothal between the two of you, he is definitely not in a happy frame of mind.’

  Somewhat cheered by that, Marietta smiled, then her smile faded and she shook her head. ‘I wonder why he has come—what he wants? I thought everything there was to say had been said.’

  ‘Apparently not.’ She glanced at her granddaughter’s pale face. ‘Are you all right, Marietta?’ she asked worriedly.

  ‘Perfectly,’ she replied, taking a deep, fortifying breath. ‘Although the prospect of actively trying to engage Max in verbal combat so soon after our last encounter fills me with dread. He must think I’m the gauchest female alive.’

  ‘Nonsense. Despite what passed between you, I am certain Max will think you are as brave and quite wonderful as I do.’

  ‘I don’t think he will. If I keep my head and try not antagonise him more than I already have, I may be able to make him decide to go away.’

  ‘Worry not, Marietta.’ Lady Wingrove chuckled softly. ‘I’ll stand by you—as I have ever since your father placed you in my charge. Have I not the white hairs to prove it?’

  The time it took for Max to enter the house, for her to come face to face with him once more, played on Marietta’s lacerated nerves and she existed in a state of jarring tension. Her grandmother saw her stricken expression and went to her. She flashed a sympathetic, encouraging look at her and then carefully placed herself so that she was standing a little in front of her, almost blocking her from Max’s view to give her time to compose herself.

  Curled into a tight ball of suspended anguish, Marietta silently counted the seconds until the butler admitted an irate Max Trevellyan into their presence. She shot a sharp look at his inscrutable features. Her grandmother’s hand suddenly came to rest over hers and she gave her fingers a brief, encouraging squeeze in a tightly gentle gesture that clearly said, Stay and see it through.

  His broad shoulders squared, his jaw set with implacable determination, to Marietta Max seemed to emanate the restrained power and unyielding authority she had always sensed in him. His expression was hardly contrite. She tried to temper the pleasure she took on seeing him with the coolness appropriate to his behaviour.
/>
  Feeling his scorching gaze on her, she found it impossible to greet him with any degree of casualness after the harsh words they had exchanged just a short while ago. She now realised that her earlier recklessness which had sent her to Arden Hall had been deluded, for how could she have believed that by telling this man she would marry him he would fall at her feet in gratitude? He was no silly romantic youth to be persuaded with a warm smile or even a kiss. Not once since she had met him had she ever emerged the victor in any conflict with him.

  Lady Wingrove took the initiative. ‘What a pleasant surprise. It’s kind of you to finally join us, Max. Marietta has explained what transpired between the two of you earlier and I have to say I am both surprised and more than a little disappointed.’

  Twenty-nine years of strict adherence to certain rules of etiquette could not be completely disregarded and Max managed, albeit with anger and frustration, to acknowledge the woman who was addressing him. There was just time for him to look astonished and then his tall frame went rigid when he shifted his gaze. All his attention was riveted on Marietta. ‘Marietta told you everything?’

  ‘Almost everything. I am certain there are some things she prefers to keep to herself.’ Pretending not to see the sharp look Max threw at Marietta and the ominous narrowing of his eyes, Lady Wingrove smiled imperturbably and gestured a chair. ‘Won’t you sit down, Max?’

  ‘Thank you, but I prefer to stand.’

  Lady Wingrove’s gaze skittered away from his steely eyes. ‘Very well. I trust you won’t mind if I do. My legs aren’t as young as yours.’ She quirked a brow at her granddaughter. ‘Marietta?’

  ‘No—I, too, prefer to stand,’ she replied, feeling disadvantaged enough with Max towering over them like a dark, threatening thundercloud without having to look up at him.

  Max bore purposefully down on Marietta, who unconsciously took a step back. ‘I am happy to see you arrived home with no ill effects, Marietta.’

  ‘Yes—as you see,’ she replied coldly. ‘Although I am amazed that you have followed me—and so soon. I thought you might have been relieved to see the last of me.’

  ‘Not at all. I behaved abominably and I’ve come to apologise.’

  ‘And so you should—although I deeply regret having called on you in the first place. I should have known better—but then, my father was always accusing me of being impulsive and spontaneous. You will be interested—and more than a little relieved, I shouldn’t doubt—to learn that I have decided I don’t want an arranged marriage—which I am sure can be difficult to adjust to, particularly when the chosen gentleman is imperious and arbitrary about a possible betrothal—and of the evil-tempered sort.’

  ‘How distressing for you, my dear,’ Lady Wingrove said, giving her granddaughter a sham sympathetic look of understanding. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘Then perhaps you didn’t know his Grace nearly as well as you thought you did, Grandmother.’ Marietta cocked a glance at the glowering Duke of Arden. Please love me, she implored him silently. Don’t put me through this. ‘Do you not agree, Max?’ she asked, turning her head away so he would not see the softening in her eyes.

  ‘Indeed,’ he replied blandly, glancing pointedly at Lady Wingrove. ‘Would you mind leaving us, Lady Wingrove? I want to speak privately with Marietta.’

  ‘Very well. Maybe it is time for me to withdraw and leave you two young people alone.’

  ‘I have also decided the land deal is off. The price you ask is too high.’

  ‘I am surprised. It would appear I have made quite a mess of things. What can I say—except that when I presented you with my proposition, Max, I was only doing what I thought was right?’

  ‘I’m sure you were, but that isn’t the way I work.’

  ‘No, I’m beginning to realise that.’ Regarding him a moment longer down the full length of her aristocratic nose, she swept out of the room.

  Chapter Seven

  Marietta watched her grandmother leave. Max strode across the room to the window and shoved his hands into his pockets. The silence scraped against her raw nerves as he stared rigidly out across the lawns, his profile harsh, forbidding. She knew he was about to tell her that he wanted nothing to do with marriage to her, that she was going to go the same way as the land he had so coveted, and she also knew that beneath that tautly controlled façade of his he was still very angry.

  She watched as he lifted one hand and massaged the taut muscles in his neck¸ his expression becoming darker and more ominous as each second ticked by.

  ‘I don’t know what you hope to achieve by coming here, Max,’ she said coldly. ‘I think everything has been said between us, and I must thank you for being so frank with me.’

  He turned so abruptly that Marietta took an automatic step backwards. She stood perfectly still as he came closer. There was an aura of calm authority about him. His expression was now blank and impervious, and he looked unbearably handsome. The sight of his chiselled features and bold silver-grey eyes never failed to stir her heart.

  Max stood gazing down at her, looking deep into her eyes. ‘Don’t look so scared, Marietta. I haven’t come here to argue. Please listen to what I have to say.’

  A deadly calm settled over Marietta, banishing everything but her hurt and disappointment. Her small chin lifted, her spine stiffened, and before his eyes Max saw her put up a valiant fight for control—a fight she won. She stood before him looking like a proud young queen, her eyes sparking like twin jewels.

  ‘Very well, but if I decide to leave don’t you dare try to restrain me. I’m still hurting from the last time. And please don’t think that just because you kissed me you have to commit yourself to anything.’

  ‘No. Life isn’t like that. I have kissed many women I have been attracted to, but that doesn’t mean to say that I wanted to marry any of them.’

  Marietta was conscious of a sudden surge of anger, realising just how stupid and naïve she had been. How dare he treat what had happened between them casually, as if the kiss was insignificant and meant nothing at all? But perhaps this was nothing out of the ordinary and he was used to kissing ladies all over the place. And perhaps ladies took his kisses in their stride. After all, she thought bitterly, how would she know? Gripping her hands tightly by her sides, she regarded him coldly.

  Mortified and humiliated, she nevertheless managed to lift her chin a notch and look at him directly. ‘I do not have your experience. Apart from yourself, no other man has kissed me,’ she told him with simple honesty, giving Max further insight into just how truly innocent she was. Turning from him, she moved to stand by the hearth, staring down into the fire. ‘Please say what you have to say, Max, and then leave.’

  The coolness faded from Max’s face, replaced by an expression so intense, so profoundly gentle, that it would have had Lady Wingrove positively purring. He went to stand close to Marietta, who still had her back turned to him. Time after time when he had been in Hong Kong and he had seen her, he had been drawn to her, either driven to angry distraction by her antics or laughing silently at some of the set downs she had given him.

  Since leaving Hong Kong he had avoided further contact with her, then he had stood in Lady Wingrove’s garden in London and there she was. Even when he had been reproaching her for tipping Lady Murray into the fountain he’d fought down the insane impulse to bend his head and slowly, endlessly, kiss her downturned lips, to carry her into the darkness and make love to her right there.

  Marietta was a natural temptress, alluring and provocative, warm and witty and as elusive as a butterfly, with the voluptuous body of a goddess and the smile of an angel. She also had a sense of humour and irreverent contempt for the absurd that matched his own. He had given up trying to understand the reasons why he wanted her. He did, and that was reason enough.

  He was seized by a passionate longing to protect and revere this lovely young woman who had crept into his heart. He ached to treat her as she should be treated, to tread with the hesitant steps of
courtship and woo her as she deserved. He saw that she was looking at him frankly, openly, and with a dispassion so chilling that he was intensely moved by it, yet he sensed that beneath it all was a heartbreaking dejection.

  ‘I haven’t handled things particularly well have I, Marietta? I wasn’t considering your feelings.’

  ‘No, you were not. As for you being a duke,’ she scoffed turning to face him, unaware of his change of attitude, ‘if you were the King of England, I wouldn’t want you. Therefore your present title—which my grandmother deems so important—is scarcely an inducement.’

  ‘I quite agree. In fact, I regard it as a likely hindrance to marital harmony. The same can be said of the land,’ he added quietly.

  Marietta looked up at him, sensing the change in him. ‘Is it true what you said? You are really serious about withdrawing your offer for the land?’

  ‘Yes. Despite my desire and effort to buy back all the land my father sold to pay off debts in his time, and having mostly succeeded, that piece of land eludes me because of your grandmother’s determination to hang on to it. That said, I do realise there was good reason for my grandfather to make a gift of it to your grandfather—it adjoins both estates and is good fertile land. However, I’ve decided to leave things as they are. As I said,’ he murmured, cupping her face with his hand, ‘the price is too high.’

  ‘Do you mean me?’ she asked in a whisper, hoping beyond hope that was so.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘And you would do this for me?’ He nodded, calmly watching her. Touched by this gently spoken indication that he had done this noble thing to please her, Marietta felt she could not meet his gaze. Lowering her eyes, she stared at the buttons on his coat, but she could not ignore the warmth she felt. ‘I’m so ashamed that I went to Arden Hall earlier. I should have waited for you to come to me. How pathetic I must seem to you—’