Project Duchess

by Jeffries, Sabrina

  She sighed. His protests sounded genuine, but that didn’t mean he was telling the truth. Perhaps it was time to shake him up enough to get him to admit it. “No reason? He said he would sell the dower house out from under us unless I agreed to be his mistress.”

  When the blood drained from her brother’s face, she knew the truth. He had no idea what she was talking about.

  “Oh, my God, Beatrice—” he began.

  “Never mind,” she said. Now she wished she hadn’t let Grey believe Joshua might be guilty. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Joshua continued to gape at her. “Clearly, it does.” Apparently, her words were starting to sink in, for he sagged onto his cane. “So you’re saying that Uncle Armie . . . that he . . . When did our arse of an uncle make such a vile threat?”

  In that moment, she knew she could never reveal to Joshua all of what she’d revealed to Grey. Joshua would blame himself for not protecting her through the years, and he couldn’t change the past anyway. He’d had enough pain in his life already without her adding to it.

  Best to just keep it to Uncle Armie’s blackmail, which was bad enough. “He made it right before he died,” she said. “I thought you knew.”

  Joshua’s eyes were wide with horror. “I had no idea! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I feared what you would do to him if you knew. And since I turned him down, it seemed pointless to mention it.”

  “Pointless?” Anger flushed his features. “It damned well wasn’t pointless, because you’re right, I would have killed him if I’d learned of it. And I assure you no one would ever have known I’d done it either, trust me.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him.

  As he realized what he’d said, he cursed under his breath. “Ah. That’s why you thought I’d killed him.”

  “That . . . and the fact that his death happened so soon after he threatened me.”

  Joshua scowled. “Now I wish I had murdered the arse. How dared he even think to—” He halted, his hand squeezing the knob of his cane. “Oh, God, duckie, please tell me that he didn’t . . . That he never laid a hand on you in that way.”

  “No,” she said firmly. It was the easiest lie she’d ever told. She didn’t like lying, especially not to her brother. But it must be done.

  He scrubbed his free hand over his face. “Thank God for that. I’d think you were lying except that you’ve always been so bad at it.”

  Not always.

  She cast him a thin smile. “Anyway, it’s in the past.”

  “Not entirely.” He stared hard at her. “Did Greycourt make a similar offer—that he would convince Sheridan not to sell this place if you became his mistress? Is that why he was in your bed?”

  “Are you mad? If I wouldn’t give myself to Uncle Armie to save this house, why would I give myself to Grey?”

  Her brother snorted. “Because he’s handsome and knows how to flatter a woman. Better than Uncle Armie did, anyway.”

  “You’re certainly right about that, but no, Grey didn’t ask me to be his mistress. You heard him—he wants to make me his wife.”

  Joshua flashed her a pitying look. “Ah, duckie, wealthy dukes do not marry penniless—”

  “He’s not like that,” she said stoutly, not wanting to hear him voice her own fears. “You don’t know him the way I do.”

  “Don’t remind me of the way you know him.” His eyes narrowed. “I can still ride over to the hall and challenge him to a duel.”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “If you even try it, Joshua Wolfe, I will never speak to you again. Then I’ll be forced to live in the streets, since you will be hanged and our aunt will want nothing to do with me after you kill her son.”

  Joshua walked over to a hall chair and sank heavily into it. “So you thought I had killed Uncle Armie.” When she remained silent, not wanting to wound him further, he glanced up at her. “Did Greycourt think so, too?”

  She debated how much to tell him. But he needed to know what he was facing. “He speculated that you might have. Except he thought it would be to thwart Uncle Armie in his plans to sell the dower house.”

  Joshua grimaced. “I hope you told him I would never kill anyone over property. Or did he merely use his suspicions to blackmail you into sharing your bed with him?”

  She huffed out a frustrated breath. “You simply have to stop inventing ways Grey must have taken advantage of me. I told you—I wanted to be with him. If anything, I seduced him.” When that made Joshua eye her askance, she added, “He is not the man you think he is.”

  A muscle worked in Joshua’s jaw. “Meanwhile, you think your own brother is a murderer.”

  Going to kneel at his feet, she caught his hands in hers. “This is precisely why I never told you my suspicions. Because if they proved groundless I would have hurt you needlessly. But the truth is, I only suspected such a thing because I knew you would kill to protect me. Which merely demonstrates I know how much you care.”

  He stared at her. “Even when I don’t show it? When I haven’t yet found a way to make sure you’re taken care of if something happens to me?” He dragged in a heavy breath. “When I may not even be able to keep a roof over your head, thus forcing you to sell yourself to a man like Greycourt?”

  “I did not sell myself! I love him, Joshua.”

  When he blinked at that, she realized what she’d said. The words were true. She loved Grey, even with his reluctance to speak of his past and his suspicions. She loved his wit and his kindness and the fact that he didn’t blame her for what had happened with Uncle Armie.

  Until she’d met Grey, she had never felt free to say what she wanted when she wanted, even to Joshua. How wonderful that was!

  How she wished Grey felt the same freedom with her. Clearly, he did not or he would answer her questions about his family. But for now, having him want her to wed him was enough.

  “Does he love you?” Joshua asked.

  “I don’t know. You didn’t give us much chance to sort that out, you know.”

  His expression hardened. “Yes. He was too busy trying to convince you he wasn’t engaged to this Vanessa woman.”

  Jumping to her feet, she glared at him. “Fine. You’re not going to believe what I say until you see the truth of it with your own eyes. So let’s agree to disagree, shall we? He’ll be back for me. You’ll see.” She bent toward him. “And when he is, you must promise you’ll give your consent to the marriage.”

  “All right.”

  She straightened to eye him with rank suspicion. “You mean it?”

  “Of course I mean it. Because he won’t be returning. At least not without a new fiancée in tow.”

  “Ooh, you can be so infuriating!” Turning on her heel, she marched away to go back to bed.

  “If you have any remaining doubt about the night Uncle Armie died, I can prove that I was in Leicester that night.”

  She pivoted to stare at him. “That doesn’t prove a thing. You were probably in some inn where you had plenty of time to ride back here, pull Uncle Armie off his horse to break his neck, and ride back there before anyone realized you were gone.”

  “Actually, I was not in an inn. I was with a woman.”

  “A woman!” As she realized what sort of woman he must mean, her mouth dropped open. Poor infatuated Gwyn would be so disappointed!

  “But it’s not what you think,” he said.

  And with that, Joshua began to reveal why he traveled to Leicester so often.

  Shortly before ten, Beatrice dragged herself from bed and got dressed to go over to Armitage Hall. Ten was the time she usually arrived for her come-out lessons. She was hardly in the mood today, after tossing and turning, thinking over everything Joshua and Grey had said and replaying her delicious moments with Grey. That made it very hard to sleep. It would make it even harder to be around people.

  But if she didn’t go to Armitage Hall, they would wonder why, and she didn’t want anyone speculating about her and Grey havin
g done . . . well . . . what they’d done.

  Besides, she wanted to see how Aunt Lydia was taking the news of Grey’s engagement. His family had to know something. Surely he wouldn’t have left for London without telling anyone.

  When she entered the hall, however, it was to find the place in turmoil. Because apparently that was precisely what Grey had done—he’d taken his coach off to London before anyone had arisen. She had no idea what to make of that. Footmen were scurrying off on errands, grooms were being questioned, and a maid was being tasked with bringing more tea to the ladies in the breakfast room.

  She even overheard Sheridan in one corner dressing down the butler. “What do you mean, you didn’t see him enter until early this morning? Where the devil was he?”

  Hoping not to be noticed by Sheridan, she moved like a wraith through the bustling servants, then headed down the hall to the breakfast room. The moment she entered, she was accosted by her aunt.

  “Oh, Bea, it’s too awful. I can’t believe Grey didn’t tell us a thing! And I was so hoping that you and he . . . that the two of you . . .” When Beatrice stared blankly at her, Aunt Lydia muttered an unladylike curse under her breath. “You don’t know! Lord, I’m so sorry. I just assumed you saw the Times. But of course you haven’t. Why would you have? I doubt that you and Joshua—”

  “Grey is engaged to Vanessa,” Gwyn said bluntly. “The sneaky bastard.”

  For once, her mother didn’t correct her language.

  “I know about Vanessa,” Beatrice said. “Joshua saw a copy of the Times in town and brought it to me.”

  Gwyn’s eyes flashed a sudden heat. “Oh, I’m just sure he did. He was probably delighted to malign my brother’s character.” She sighed. “Although right now, I would happily join him. How dare Grey lead us to think he cared about you, Bea, when all the time he was plotting to marry that little chit Vanessa?”

  Beatrice was trying to figure out how to answer when Sheridan walked in. “Sheathe your claws, Gwyn,” he muttered. “I’m sure matters aren’t as they appear.”

  “Oh, you are, are you?” Gwyn crossed her arms over her chest. “You four men always stick together. Well, he’s gone too far this time, leading on a feeling young woman like our Bea here.”

  “He did not lead me on,” Beatrice said, though Gwyn’s concern touched her. “We’re merely friends.”

  When the others snorted in unison, she bit her tongue. Really, could she not lie convincingly at all?

  “Grey swore to me he had no interest in Vanessa,” Sheridan said. “And I don’t think he was lying.”

  “Besides,” Aunt Lydia put in, “if he had proposed to her, I’m sure he would tell his mother.” Her expression turned anxious. “Wouldn’t he?”

  This was killing her. She wanted to divulge everything, and she couldn’t. She should have stayed away. “Perhaps I should go home. It doesn’t seem as if we’ll be having our usual lessons.”

  They ignored her. Sheridan poured himself some tea, then fixed her with a dark look. “Did you happen to see Grey last night? When he left here, he said he had something to take care of. Then he stayed out for hours. I got the distinct impression he might be going to talk to you.”

  All eyes turned to her. Blast. She considered lying, but that hadn’t been working well for her lately. “Um. Yes. I did see him. He came looking for Joshua, and I told him my brother was in Leicester. So I imagine he went off there.” That was true. Mostly.

  Sheridan’s expression cleared. “That makes sense. It would explain why he was out all night.”

  “He was out all night?” his mother said. “Whatever for? Why couldn’t he just speak to Joshua when the man returned?”

  It was Sheridan’s turn to look uncomfortable. He stirred some sugar into his tea. “I would imagine that he . . . Perhaps Grey had some notion . . .” He set down the cup of tea. “Honestly, I have no idea. I’ll see if anyone else has a guess.”

  And he was out of the room before they could stop him.

  “That was odd.” Gwyn gazed after her brother. “I think he knows more than he’s letting on. I’m going to find out what it is.” She too marched out the door.

  When Beatrice stood there awkwardly, wondering if she could now make her escape, Aunt Lydia gestured to the table. “Come have some breakfast, my dear. Don’t leave yet. Keep me company, if you don’t mind.”

  Stifling a sigh, Beatrice said, “Of course, Aunt. I’d be happy to.”

  As her aunt slid into a chair, Beatrice went to fill a plate at the sideboard. She could practically feel her aunt’s gaze boring into her. Oh, dear.

  “Tell me, Bea, and I want you to be honest,” her aunt said. “Grey hasn’t done anything to . . . hurt you, has he?”

  Not yet, he hasn’t.

  Beatrice paused with her plate in hand. Then she pasted on a big smile and faced her aunt. “Don’t be silly. Everyone has been more than kind to me, including your son.”

  Her aunt seemed to take that at face value. “Well, he hasn’t been very kind to his mother, drat him. And quite frankly, I can’t believe he would marry Vanessa, of all people. I mean, I gather that she’s been more like a sister to him than a cousin, and one doesn’t marry one’s sister.”

  Sister? The word lightened Beatrice’s mood.

  “I worry that he’ll break her heart,” Aunt Lydia went on. “He’s so . . . closed to love, so afraid to trust anyone.”

  Even Beatrice had noticed that. “It could . . . explain the engagement,” she said. “A cousin he sees as a sister would be a safe and sensible choice. He wouldn’t have to give his heart.” Even as she said the words, she realized they made sense. “During his days of living with the Prydes, he probably grew close to the family.”

  “I doubt that.” His mother gazed out the window at the lawn. “I’m fairly certain his life with them was not a happy one.”

  Beatrice had guessed as much, but to hear it stated so baldly by Grey’s own mother sent an arrow through her heart. “How do you know?” She came over to sit next to her aunt with her plate, but food didn’t interest her just now. “Did he tell you?”

  “He didn’t have to. Ever since our return, he has acted strangely toward me. He’s kind one moment, then avoids me the next. And from things Thorn has told me, I fear Eustace . . . treated him ill.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “Grey left the Pryde house at twenty-one and never returned. He couldn’t avoid seeing his aunt and uncle in society, of course, but Thorn says he barely talked to them.”

  “I thought he helped with Vanessa’s debut.”

  “He did. He threw a ball at his town house to introduce her in society, knowing that having a duke behind her would help her move in loftier circles. Thorn attended it. He said Grey hardly spoke to her parents, and as soon as it was over, Grey said he was well shut of them. Of course, now that his uncle is dead, Grey only has to deal with the aunt.”

  Beatrice stared down at her plate. “Thorn didn’t happen to know how he was mistreated, did he?”

  “Thorn never exactly said Grey was mistreated—just that he suspected it. And Grey has never said anything to me. I think he wants to spare me the details.”

  “That’s probably wise, don’t you think?” Beatrice reached over to take Aunt Lydia’s hand. “You wouldn’t want to know.”

  “I suppose. But I worry that . . .” After squeezing Beatrice’s hand, her aunt released it. “I truly hated to give him up, but that stupid will said I had to. We even considered breaking it, but Eustace seemed so understanding when he came to fetch Grey, and Maurice said it would do Grey good to learn proper ducal behavior. Besides, Grey seemed eager to go. I thought it was best for him.”

  With pain etched on her face, Aunt Lydia sipped some tea. “It nearly killed me to let him leave. I wasn’t sure when we’d see him again. I never dreamed it would be so many years, between wars and my husband’s career and the children. Thorn told me once Grey came into his majority, he refused to leave his pro
perties, for fear his uncle might try to step in and run them. Thorn said Grey didn’t feel easy until Eustace died a few years ago.”

  Beatrice sighed. Aunt Lydia had left her with more questions than answers. “So Grey never told you about it himself.”

  Her aunt slumped. “He never tells me anything important.”

  He never told Beatrice anything important either. He skirted the issue, hinted at memories. It frustrated her.

  Could she live happily with a man who wouldn’t show her his inmost feelings? A man who could never say he loved her, who kept his past private?

  Sadly, she didn’t know. What if she couldn’t? What would happen to her?

  Perhaps she should find out. “Aunt Lydia, I’ve heard rumors that the family might sell the dower house. Is that true?”

  Her aunt’s brow was furrowed. “Sheridan has considered it, yes. The dower house isn’t entailed, so selling it would give us a much needed surplus of funds.” Aunt Lydia took Beatrice’s hand. “But if that happens, you and Joshua will always have a place in this house.”

  Beatrice’s relief at hearing that was overset by her worry that Joshua would never accept such charity. So if Grey’s offer of marriage wasn’t genuine . . .

  Life for her and Joshua was about to become far more complicated.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Since Grey had told his coachman to drive like the wind and the man had taken him at his word, they reached town before the Times offices closed for the evening. Thank God. As they’d careened down the rutted roads to London, Grey had come up with a plan for saving Vanessa’s reputation that he thought might work, as long as the Times would agree to it.

  Fortunately, the moment Grey arrived, the clerk ushered him right in to see the general editor. There were some advantages to being a duke, after all, even if Beatrice and her brother were too foolish to realize it. Grey made a few threats, followed by an offer of a great deal of money, to gain the general editor’s cooperation.

  Then he headed to his aunt’s London town house to beard the lioness in her den. As the coachman drew up in front of his aunt’s house, Grey’s stomach began to churn. He hadn’t been here since he’d reached his majority and fled the place, but it still held painful memories.