Someday My Duke Will Come

by Christina Britton

  In a move that stunned Clara with its suddenness, Quincy surged to his feet.

  He bowed to Lady Mary. “I thank you for your visit,” he said, extending a hand to the girl. “And to my mother as well, of course. Shall I see you both to your carriage?”

  What could the girl do but take his hand and allow him to assist her to her feet? The duchess, too, had no other recourse. Though, Clara thought as she rose and dipped into a curtsy, the calculating look the woman gave her before turning for the door was proof that she was not quite done with the matter of who Quincy should marry.

  Once the trio was out of sight Clara, unable to hold herself up a moment longer on the jellied limbs her legs had become, sank back down to the settee in a miserable lump. What had she been thinking? Yes, she had wanted to help Quincy. Yet in her efforts to ease the situation from the hell it had become, she had only catapulted him into another unwelcome one. Her fingers tangled, as if in an attempt to strangle one another. Surely he must despise her.

  Each second that Quincy was gone from the drawing room seemed to drag into the next. All the while she listened, ears straining, as Quincy saw the duchess and Lady Mary away. And then—nothing. Silence stretched on as her misery grew. It would serve her right if he never spoke to her again. He had played along with her announcement, but he was a gentleman. Of course he had not outed her for the fraud she was.

  Finally steps approached. Clara tensed, closing her eyes tight. Which, while saving her from seeing the anger that surely filled his features, made her other senses that much more acute. So she was more aware as his steps traversed from polished wood to plush carpet, as the settee dipped when he sat beside her. And still the silence stretched.

  Unable to take it a moment longer, she spoke into the void. “Quincy I am more sorry than I can ever say.”

  He began to tremble beside her. “Truly, I cannot apologize enough,” she said. “I will do anything I can to fix this.”

  The trembling only increased, until the whole settee seemed to shake with the force of it. Keeping her eyes tightly shut, bowing her head, she hardly breathed as she waited for him to break free of his anger-induced muteness and rain recriminations down on her. She deserved whatever he meted out.

  But no angry words filled the air. Instead a choking sound erupted from him.

  It was then she heard it: a laugh.

  It was quickly muffled. But she heard it nonetheless. Her eyes flew open, her shocked gaze swinging to Quincy. Surely she had not sinned so horribly that she had reduced the man to madness.

  Though it was certainly a possibility. As soon as he caught her eye, he threw back his head and let loose his mirth.

  Her jaw dropped nearly to her chest. “You’re laughing?”

  In response he laughed harder. Tears tracked down his cheeks.

  She blinked several times, trying to make sense of his reaction. As his chortling dragged on, annoyance began to rear up. “There is nothing remotely funny about this.”

  “Yes there is,” he gasped. He collapsed against the back of the settee, his hand going to his midriff. “Her face—did you see her face?—she was furious—”

  She shook her head. “Don’t you understand the repercussions of what I’ve done?” she demanded. “I’ve declared we’re engaged. Not only did you not denounce it, but you verified it. In front of your mother, a duchess. In front of the daughter of a marquess.” She let out a frustrated breath as his chuckles continued. “If we don’t continue on with this farce, there will be a terrible scandal. For all intents and purposes, Quincy, we are now engaged.”

  That finally seemed to reach something sane in him. His laughter died as suddenly as it had started and he was left staring up at the ceiling, a look of grim understanding dawning on his face. “You’re right,” he said.

  “Yes,” she replied in a whisper, her outrage of a moment ago gone, in its place the crippling remorse that had preceded it.

  “Ah, God, of course you’re right.” He straightened, and she flinched as those dark eyes landed on her; surely now he would rain hellfire down on her head.

  Instead he reached for her hand, pressing her numb fingers between his own. “I am so sorry.”

  Once more she gaped at him. “You are sorry?”

  His expression was earnest. “I forced you to remain. And now you’re embroiled in my mess.”

  She shook her head, still not comprehending. “You should be furious with me. I launched you from one horrible situation into another.”

  Again a laugh escaped him. This time, however, there was little mirth in it. “What did you do but attempt to help me when I was floundering? It was a selfless thing you did, putting your reputation on the line to help me.”

  As she grappled with his far-too-generous view of the situation, he blew out a breath and released her hand, rising to his feet. “What I cannot figure, though,” he mumbled as he paced the perimeter of the room, “is how I shall get you out of it.”

  Clara watched his agitated steps with a self-punishing kind of fascination. “Your mother didn’t seem pleased by the idea of us marrying. If we keep quiet, perhaps our false engagement will just disappear,” she said with more optimism than she felt. “You can continue on with your life and I can retire back to Synne. No one need be the wiser.”

  He halted mid-step, looking at her. And she nearly stopped breathing at the intensity in his eyes. “As if I would leave you to that,” he said quietly. He made his way back to the settee and sat beside her once more. “My mother won’t forget her plans being thwarted so completely. Once she finds out it was a ruse, your reputation will be in tatters. Truthfully, I doubt she would stop until your entire family is ruined.”

  Clara felt the blood leave her face as a ringing started up in her ears. She had never been particularly frightened of ruination for herself. But Phoebe…All of Clara’s actions of the past fifteen years had been to ensure her sister would be protected from heartache. The very thought that it might all be destroyed in a moment’s unthinking response made Clara physically ill.

  Quincy must have noticed her reaction, for he was soon preparing a cup of tea from the untouched tray and pressing it into her hands.

  “I’m not so Americanized that I don’t acknowledge the good a cup of bracing tea can do. Drink,” he demanded, gently pushing the fine bone china to her mouth.

  She drank mechanically, letting the warmth seep into her. In the back of her mind she recognized the taste of milk, just as she preferred it. He had noticed how she prepared her tea?

  The feel of moisture in her eyes snapped her back to her senses. She prided herself on her tightly leashed emotions, but she was dangerously close to letting them overwhelm her.

  Now is not the time to lose control, she told herself firmly. She downed the rest of the beverage, feeling the burn of it sink into her chest before putting the cup aside with a determined clink.

  A small smile lifted his lips. “Better?”

  A warmth that had nothing to do with the tea and everything to do with that devastating smile spread through her. Ignoring it as best she could, she nodded. “Quite. Now let us put our heads together and figure a way out of this mess.”

  * * *

  An hour later and they were no closer to a solution.

  Clara picked at the crumbled biscuit on her plate. She and Quincy had decimated every bit of food and drink on the tea tray as they pored over option after option to end their accidental engagement. Yet they seemed even more mired in their dilemma than ever.

  “If only Phoebe were not marrying the son of such a harridan,” she repeated for what felt the hundredth time. “Any hint of scandal and Lady Crabtree will force Oswin to separate from Phoebe. I have never known a woman to place such importance on status.”

  “And you would not think twice about inviting a scandal on yourself if Phoebe’s future happiness was not at stake?”

  His words were faintly teasing, but Clara couldn’t bring herself to smile. She placed her plate dow
n on the low table with more force than necessary.

  “There must be something we’re missing,” she said.

  “There’s nothing. We’ve covered every possibility, from every angle. If we tell my mother immediately that we’re not engaged, she will be furious and ruin you, and by extension your sister and her chances with her fiancé. If we pretend the entire thing never occurred, my mother will eventually find out and ruin you. In every scenario, she will wreak vengeance on you. And I refuse to let that happen.”

  It was not the first time Quincy had stated such a thing. And it never failed to warm her from the inside out.

  Even as she struggled to dampen her reaction to his fierce protectiveness of her, he stilled, his gaze suddenly razor-sharp as he looked at her with renewed interest. “We’ve thought of every scenario possible to extricate ourselves from this. Except one.”

  His visible excitement sizzled in the air, awakening something deep in her. She had thought herself too frustrated and tired to respond to anything, but she’d been wrong. Nerves strumming, she straightened. “What is it?”

  He grinned. “We remain engaged.”

  Hurt crashed through her, that he might think this a joke, that he might laugh at her. Standing, she turned to leave. “If you aren’t going to be serious, we have nothing more to say.”

  He caught at her hand. “I am serious. Don’t you see? It’s perfect.”

  She gave him a dubious look.

  His grin widened as he tugged at her. With reluctance she allowed him to pull her back down to the settee.

  “We both have certain problems to deal with. I have a horrid mother who would see me married off to a stranger, and who will no doubt stop at nothing to see it happen. You have Lady Tesh, who has made no secret that she will see you wed come hell or high water.”

  Heat suffused her cheeks. He had the decency to look abashed.

  “I’m sorry to be so blunt. She doesn’t exactly hide her attempts.”

  “You’re right, of course,” she managed. “Please continue.”

  He nodded, once again warming to his subject. “We continue with our fake engagement, simultaneously blocking my mother’s plans, giving me time to concoct a different plan to save the dukedom, freeing you from your great-aunt’s machinations, and making certain a scandal does not break before your sister’s wedding. Then, when Lady Phoebe is safely wed, you can break off our engagement. I, heartbroken, will—hopefully—begin my travels. You can live your life as you wish, with everyone heaping praise on you for escaping a union with such a rake.”

  Finally a laugh sputtered from her. “You, a rake? You are quite the most gentlemanly man I know.”

  Which perhaps she should not have said, as it spoke too much of what was in her heart. But being the man he was, Quincy did not acknowledge her effusions beyond a grateful nod of the head and a slight darkening of his cheeks.

  “I assure you,” he quipped, a teasing light in his eyes, “that I can be quite rakish and scandalous should I put my mind to it.”

  At her dubious expression the kind, easygoing man she had come to know vanished. His eyelids lowered, transforming his previously amused expression to one filled with heat and promise. Even his body changed, his relaxed, loose-limbed posture taking on a hypnotic, predatory grace as he turned to face her, each movement charged with intent. As she watched, stunned, he took hold of one errant curl that had escaped her coiffure and hung down the side of her neck. His knuckles skimmed over the sensitive skin there, making her shiver, and a strange warmth settled between her legs.

  “Oh,” she breathed, unable to look away from the inky depths of his gaze.

  Then his eyes changed again, the practiced seduction replaced by vulnerability, as if curtains had been ripped aside to reveal what was hidden within. The longing in his gaze called to that place inside her that she kept locked up, where all her dreams and desires and passions had been sent to languish.

  Mouth suddenly dry as dust, she licked her lips. His gaze snagged on the small movement, settled there. A look of intense hunger filled his face. She found herself swaying in her seat, her body seeming to react of its own accord, wanting his touch more than air to breathe…

  In the space between one breath and the next he straightened away from her, a grin lifting his lips. “There, you see?”

  She blinked, at once confused and relieved and hurt beyond bearing. Goodness, it had all been an act? She would have to be careful. Very careful indeed.

  Forcing a smile to her lips, she surreptitiously shifted toward the far side of the settee, the better to put distance between them.

  “Yes, I do see,” she said in a bright tone. “That was very convincing.”

  He held out his hand. “Are we in agreement then? Shall we continue with this false engagement?”

  It was the height of folly. The past seconds had proven that much, and no doubt his pull on her emotions, and on her body, would only worsen as time went on.

  Yet she would be a fool to not see how it would directly benefit her. Not counting the fact that it would prevent a scandal, and thereby protect Phoebe’s future security and happiness—which was incentive enough—as well as prevent Aunt Olivia playing matchmaker for the duration of the wedding, but it would prevent all future matchmaking.

  Why had she not seen it before? Either from the small scandal that would certainly come with a broken engagement, or from impassioned declarations that she’d suffered a broken heart and could never think of another, this would provide her with the excuse she needed to end her great-aunt’s attempts once and for all.

  There was, of course, the danger to her heart to think about. But she had kept the dam up around it this long; surely she could withstand another month.

  Dragging in a deep breath, excitement buzzing through her, she grasped his hand with her own. “Yes, we’re in agreement.”

  His grin widened, and that damnable warmth started up in her chest again at the mere sight of it.

  Just then a commotion could be heard from the front hall. Peter and Lenora were home.

  His expression fell. “Ah, I’ve forgotten Peter. He’ll be furious.”

  Clara bit her lip. Quincy was right; Peter would not be happy in the least. Though perhaps there was a way to lessen his anger? “Mayhap we should tell him the truth,” she said. “It might help to have an ally.” Especially after the entire thing ended and she was left to deal with Lady Tesh’s disappointment.

  “Yes, that’s brilliant.” The troubled look eased some from his face, but the worry in his eyes did not abate.

  Peter’s voice was louder now. Any moment he would enter the drawing room. Quincy dragged in a deep breath. “It’s time to face the dragon, I suppose.”

  A small smile lifted her lips. “Shall I play squire and fetch your armor?”

  He chuckled. “I rather think you’re the knight in this scenario, Clara.”

  Chapter 7

  Peter reacted to their news as expected. Which was to say, not well at all.

  “What do you mean, a fake engagement?”

  For the first time since knowing him, a frisson of unease worked through Quincy at the sight of his friend’s anger.

  “It came about quite by accident,” he said.

  “Accident!”

  Lenora, seated beside her husband, laid a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m sure Quincy and Clara have a perfectly reasonable explanation for this,” she said brightly. The crease between her brows, however, was proof of her disquiet.

  “Of course,” Quincy hastened to reassure her. He opened his mouth to continue, to tell them the details of the debacle Clara and he had found themselves embroiled in.

  The words, however, wouldn’t come. How ridiculous it sounded. Were it his cousin being taken advantage of, he would be furious.

  Clara, as ever, came to his rescue. “It was my doing, Peter. I couldn’t sit by and say nothing.”

  “But why in hell would you say you were engaged? You had to have known the
repercussions.”

  “I admit, I didn’t think beyond the moment.” Clara held her head high, though a faint blush stained her cheeks.

  “Of all the idiotic, thoughtless…” Peter muttered, yanking mercilessly at his cravat until it lay in limp disarray about his neck.

  But Quincy had heard enough abuse leveled on Clara’s head. He pinned his friend with a stern glare. “It was not thoughtless or idiotic. She did it to protect me. And I continued the subterfuge to save her.”

  That stopped Peter cold. He leveled narrowed eyes on Quincy. “How so?”

  “I may not have told you who my mother is, Peter. But you’ve heard enough stories of what she is. And she hasn’t changed. She is just as cruel, just as vindictive. She would have shredded Clara for daring to thwart her. And if we come out now with the truth, it will be not only Clara who suffers, but Phoebe as well. What do you think will happen to her upcoming nuptials should Lady Crabtree get wind of this?”

  Lenora made a worried sound in her throat. Peter, too, appeared slightly shaken, though he jutted out that stubborn, whiskered jaw of his in defiance. “Your mother would not dare.”

  “She would. You forget, she’s a duchess, and despite the setback in our family’s finances, she holds much power. She’ll make us rue the day we crossed her.”

  “Damnation.” Peter scrubbed at his beard with agitated fingers. “And so we’re to just go on as if this is an engagement in truth?”

  “Yes.”

  Peter shook his head. “It’s madness.” He speared Clara with a look that would have frightened a stronger person. “You cannot mean to tell me you think this is a good idea.”

  Clara lifted her chin, not at all daunted by her brute of a cousin glowering at her. “I think it’s a brilliant idea. And if the repercussions for Phoebe’s future happiness are not enough to make you see the wisdom of this scheme, perhaps you might take my own situation into account.”

  In a heartbeat Quincy knew she meant to throw her pride out the window to see this happen. “Clara, no—” he tried.