Nothing Compares to the Duke

by Christy Carlyle

  She told herself tension was good. Unease was what she’d intended, and by inviting Rhys she’d definitely ruffled feathers.

  Dinner had been miserable, with conversation rarely crossing the divide of candles and bowls of flowers at the center of the table. She’d been seated with Hammersley and Nix on one side, her parents at either end, and Louisa and Rhys on the opposite side. Lord Wentworth sat beside Louisa and was the only one who attempted to cross the battle line of the centerpiece by asking Bella about the quality of her roast and whether or not she liked autumn weather.

  Now, in the drawing room, conversation remained at a low uncomfortable hum. The men darted glances toward Rhys, and she heard a few whispered condemnations. They weren’t as quiet with their barbs as they probably thought they were, but they took care not to speak of their disdain too loudly. Rhys was a duke, after all.

  Still, her ultimate goal seemed nowhere in sight. The gentlemen suitors may cast judgment on Rhys, but none of them seemed put off in their pursuit of her.

  When everyone at the dinner table had offered her a birthday toast, Hammersley leaned so close, she’d feared he might kiss her on the cheek. He was deep in conversation with Mr. Nix now, but he continually cast glances her way, as if she might be the subject of their discussion.

  If they were wagering on her again, she’d have her father send them all away.

  Casting a glance around the room, she noticed that her father had slipped out at some point. Her mother didn’t seem concerned at his absence, but Bella had an impulse to go and check on him nonetheless.

  “Bella is excellent at riddles and puzzles of all kinds,” Louisa said, raising her voice from the corner settee where she sat in conversation with Bella’s mother and Lord Wentworth. “Someone pose her a riddle and I promise she’ll solve it.”

  “Why doesn’t Miss Prescott pose one of her own riddles, and we will try to solve it,” Mr. Nix said with a tone that implied he was very certain he would solve it.

  Rhys sat forward on the chair he occupied, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. He’d always liked her riddles and had even helped her devise a few. The first that came to mind was one they’d worked on together.

  “There is one that has a head without an eye, and one that has an eye without a head.” Bella enunciated each word carefully and more slowly than she’d normally speak. “You may find the answer if you try and when all is said, half the answer hangs upon a thread.”

  “Can you solve it, Mr. Nix?” Louisa asked pertly. Anyone looking at the man could tell he didn’t have a clue.

  “I fear,” he said with a grimace, “Lord Hammersley and I were distracted with conversation.” They weren’t. Both had listened attentively, but Louisa allowed him the fib to save his pride.

  “That is unfortunate,” she told him with forced sweetness. “I wonder if the Duke of Claremont can unravel the words.”

  Bella snapped her gaze to Rhys’s. Louisa had no notion that reading had once been his torment and that he often doubted his ability to think quickly. It was why he’d helped her construct her riddles. Together they’d discovered that he was actually quite skilled with words, as long as he didn’t have to confront them on the page. Though in time, he’d gotten better at that too.

  “I already know the answer,” he said, his gaze still fixed on Bella. “I was there when Miss Prescott came up with this conundrum.”

  “You helped,” Bella insisted.

  “Very little.” He grinned and then settled back in his chair, hands clasped over his waistcoat as if he was suddenly completely relaxed. “You’ve never really needed my help.”

  “That’s nonsense.” Bella scooted forward on the chair she occupied, prepared to argue with him. But then she noticed the hush in the room. Everyone had turned their attention to her exchange with Rhys.

  “I think I may have it,” Lord Wentworth said into the silence.

  Louisa shot him a pleased look and nodded encouragingly. “Then tell us, my lord.”

  “Thread gives it away, does it not?” He looked around at the other gentlemen. Hammersley and Nix wore a matching frown. Bella’s mother smiled knowingly. Perhaps she recalled this one too.

  As soon as she and Rhys came up with a day’s worth of riddles, they’d share it with her parents.

  “Go on,” Louisa urged Wentworth.

  “Is it pin and needle? One has a head, the other does not, and only one goes on thread.”

  Louisa clapped and Bella joined in. It wasn’t a terribly challenging riddle, but Wentworth had been quick. Hammersley and Nix grumbled individually and then leaned in to grouse to each other.

  “Shall we have some music and dancing?” Bella’s mother stood and approached a footman standing sentry near the door. “If you’d all be so good as to stand, we’ll make a bit of room and I’ll take a spot at the piano.”

  Louisa usually played when they had a musical evening, but everyone had agreed that leaving Bella alone to dance with each gentleman in attendance would be awkward, to say the least.

  Everyone obeyed her mother’s command and stood. Another footman appeared and the two young men quickly moved both settees to the sides of the room to create space to dance. In the flurry of activity, Bella didn’t notice that Hammersley had ambled toward her.

  “Miss Prescott, may I claim the first dance?” He was so earnest in his request, Bella was tempted to agree but before she could form a reply, Rhys approached as if summoned.

  “I’m afraid that’s already been claimed, Hammersley.”

  The older man’s face reddened like dinner’s wine and his jowls began to quiver like the aspic Rhys loathed. His mouth worked as if he wished to protest, but no words emerged. Just sounds of frustration.

  Rhys reached his arm out in front of the viscount’s chest and offered Bella his hand.

  “Forgive me, Lord Hammersley. I will save you the second dance.”

  Rhys took her hand and led Bella to the center of the room while Louisa and Mr. Nix stepped into place beside them. Soon after, Bella’s mother began playing to cue them that the dance would soon begin. Bella had requested a waltz. Her mother hadn’t known at the time that Rhys would accompany her, but she looked distinctly unsurprised.

  “You didn’t have to promise him anything,” Rhys told her as he rested his hand at the small of her back.

  “There’s no point in being impolite.”

  “Bella, you want him to leave your home because he’s overcome with irritation and disdain.” He didn’t speak the words with any anger or judgment, just his usual good humor and enough of a smile that a dimple flashed at the corner of his mouth.

  “Leaving must be his choice. My goal is to avoid adding any more men to my list of refusals if I don’t have to.”

  “Are our dancers ready?” Bella’s mother didn’t wait for an answer before beginning to play. The music started with an introductory trill and then the smooth insistent rhythm of a waltz emerged.

  Rhys led without a moment’s hesitation, as if he’d danced the waltz a thousand times. Bella had danced often, but she still counted the steps in her head. It calmed her and was the one way she could be certain her feet would obey. With Rhys so near, she needed all the calm she could muster. The warmth of his palm against hers and the grip of his hand at her back made her intensely aware that they were connected, moving as one. She had to trust him to lead and move them in sync.

  “It bothers you what others say,” he said while he swung her around in counterpoint to the movement of Mr. Nix and Louisa, who came toward the front of the room as they moved back.

  “That I’m cold and heartless?” Bella started to stumble and gripped his shoulder tighter.

  He pulled her an inch closer, keeping her steady. “You’re not.”

  Of course she wasn’t. He knew her too well to believe she was icy and uncaring. What he didn’t seem to understand was that he was the reason she couldn’t bear the thought of marrying another man.

  When she said nothing, h
is cool blue gaze bored into hers and his brow twitched upward. It was the look he’d always given her when he was pressing her, waiting for her to answer.

  “Why do you refuse them all?”

  No, not that question. She wasn’t prepared to offer him that answer tonight.

  Suddenly, she wanted the dance to end. He held her too close, so near that his scent filled the air. His hands scorched her where he held her and the warmth building between them made her breathless. Even the movement of the dance made her dizzy. She tried focusing on his face but all she noticed was the room whirling by, the pale faces of Hammersley and Lord Wentworth in the background, and the figure of Louisa dancing gracefully in Mr. Nix’s arms.

  “Arry,” Rhys spoke her nickname tenderly, his breath fanning against her cheek. “Speak to me.”

  He was taller than she was by just enough inches that she had to tip her head back when they were this close. She squeezed her hand reflexively and the muscles of his shoulders bunched and shifted.

  “I need to concentrate when I dance. If I don’t, I’ll miss a step.” She was breathless now, her skin heated from exertion and the tall, broad wall of Rhys’s body moving in time with hers.

  Rhys drew his hand up her back and leaned in to whisper. “I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

  But she had. She’d fallen so hard for Rhys that she feared she’d never be able to pick herself up again. She remembered every clawing, painful step of the climb. And here she was. With the same man and the same feelings welling up inside her.

  She couldn’t let it happen. She’d learned her lesson. Never again would she allow herself to fall. Another rejection from him wouldn’t hurt, it would crush her.

  Chapter Eight

  Bella headed for the library, both because she thought it likely she’d find her father there and because she needed to escape. She couldn’t breathe with Rhys so close. She couldn’t think practical thoughts when he was near.

  And, mercy, did she need her practical mindset back.

  Lamps burned low along the hallway and she noticed a warm glow coming from the half-open door of her father’s study. Drawing closer, she heard him coughing.

  “Papa?”

  “You’ve found me.” He glanced back at her from his favorite wingback in front of the fireplace. “Why have you left your party?”

  She stepped inside and reminded him, “In fairness, you were the first to depart.”

  “Shall I return?” He sounded distinctly hopeful she’d tell him not to. “Perhaps I should partner your mother for a dance.”

  Her mother would probably enjoy it, but he looked so cozy with his cup of tea and a blanket across his knees that Bella wasn’t about to encourage him to return to the drawing room.

  She took the chair next to his, tucking the crinoline skirts of her blue gown around her. “Are you unwell, Papa?”

  He’d never admit as much to her. In their family, he was the encourager and Bella’s mother was the worrier.

  “I’m well enough, my girl. And you? How are you on the first day of the three and twentieth year of Arabella?” He took a sip of tea and cast her a slanting glance. “Interesting decision to invite the duke. Strategic, I’d say.”

  He’d always been able to see through her better than most. Sometimes even better than Rhys.

  “I had a plan.”

  “You always do.”

  “I’m not sure it’s working.” Bella crossed her arms and tapped a finger against her lips. “I have no real notion of what I should do.”

  “That’s not quite true, is it?” He smiled but kept his gaze fixed on the fire. “You’ve already decided to refuse them all.”

  Bella shot up from her chair and stepped away from the heat. Not that the warmth in her cheeks had anything to do with the coals in the grate. “No proposals have been made, Papa. No refusals have been given.”

  “But you don’t want to marry any of them.” He didn’t sound angry or chastising. Just resigned. “Perhaps you still don’t wish to marry at all.”

  “I want you and Mama to go to Greece. Please don’t let me be the reason you don’t.” Bella approached and crouched next to his chair, placing a hand on his arm. “Could we not find a chaperone if you’re worried about leaving me on my own?”

  Her father patted her hand, set his blanket aside, and stood. She thought he might ignore her question. Was he truly that upset with her?

  But he went to his desk, opened a polished wooden box on top, and pulled out a tiny silver chalice. He held it out to her, and Bella stood and stepped forward to take it. She thought at first it was a gift for her birthday, but he’d already presented her with new books.

  “Note the inscription.” He gestured toward the slightly tarnished silver cup.

  Bella frowned. “Was this from the day you married Mama?”

  “A souvenir of the best of days. All that’s worth remembering in my life began on that day.”

  “So you believe I should marry, just as Mama does.”

  “We don’t distrust you, Bella, or worry overmuch about the propriety of leaving our unmarried daughter on her own.” He glanced toward a portrait of her mother that hung over the fireplace. “Perhaps that is your mother’s concern, but mine is for your future. A man wishes to see his children—” Drawing in a long breath, he cast his glance away from Bella’s before continuing. “A father wishes to see his only child settled. Content.”

  “I understand.” Without an heir, the Yardley estate and title would go to a cousin who her father had been estranged from for years.

  “When Edgar inherits . . .”

  “Hillcrest will no longer be my home.”

  “So you must have another.” Concern drew the skin above his brow into lines and his tone turned grim. “Worry for your future is what inspired this house party, my girl.”

  “But Mr. Nix thought of me so little that he was prepared to wager for my hand, and Lord Wentworth doesn’t say much but spends most of his time looking at Louisa.”

  “Hammersley?” There was a hopeful tinge to his question.

  In that moment, Bella realized he was hoping she’d accept one of them.

  “I meant what I said, my girl. You needn’t marry any of them.”

  “But you’d prefer that I marry, and sooner rather than later.” Now, before she’d even finished her book let alone found publishing success.

  “Would I prefer to see you merrily wed? Of course. But that proviso shall always remain. Your choice must make you happy.”

  Happy. He spoke that word again and again, and yet Bella was no longer certain what it meant. She’d believed Rhys would make her happy. Of late, working on her book gave her satisfaction and she clung to the hope that she might prove herself by getting her ideas into print. But could marriage to someone like Hammersley produce happiness, whatever it meant?

  Her heart, her body, everything in her resounded with an unwavering no.

  “You’re right, Papa. I’ve already decided about these men.”

  The nod he gave her was accompanied by the flicker of a smile. “Then the one who’ll suit you must be out there still.” He gestured toward the windows and then swept his hand around, as if encompassing the whole room. “Waiting for the day you meet.”

  This is where her father always lost her. He believed in fate, but she considered it nonsense. She’d once fancied that fate was why Rhys’s estate bordered theirs. Fate was why they’d met one autumn day and taken an instant liking to each other. But if all of that was fate, then Rhys breaking her heart was meant to be too.

  “As long as that day comes after I’ve published my book.”

  He offered her a tender smile. “That book is very important to you.”

  “It is, Papa. Before I get lost in the duties of marriage, I need to achieve something for myself.”

  “Tenacious girl.”

  “Mama would say stubborn.”

  “I say you possess the determination to have anything you set your heart
on.”

  If only that were true.

  “I should return to the party.” Bella mustered a smile. “I promised a dance to Lord Hammersley.”

  He let her go. There was little more to say.

  Out in the hallway, a shadow emerged from a darkened corner and she nearly jumped out of her boots.

  “Bella?” Rhys approached hesitantly.

  He wasn’t at all sure she’d wish to speak to him. For all he knew Lord Yardley had directed her to see him out altogether, though he couldn’t imagine that from a man who sometimes called him son as a sign of affection.

  “You needn’t sneak up on me.” She’d jolted when he called her name, and now she glanced both ways down the hall, as if to ensure that none would see them speaking alone.

  “Forgive me. I was waiting until you’d finished speaking to your father.” He didn’t bloody care who saw them. The party was over as far as he was concerned. “We need to talk.”

  Bella was miserable, and there was a great deal she wasn’t telling him. He needed to know what schemes were spinning in her clever head.

  She wouldn’t look him in the eye. Even in the dim light of the hall lamps, he could see some mystery flickering in her gaze. She stared at his jaw, then her gaze trailed down. He’d already untied his cravat and the fabric hung loosely around his neck. His breathing hitched. Bella gazed at the bare skin at the base of his throat as if it fascinated her, and he was shocked to find that being the object of her intense scrutiny was intoxicating.

  “I should return to the party,” she said in the least convincing tone he’d ever heard. “Mama will send Louisa to drag me back if I don’t return to the drawing room.”

  When he said nothing, she turned.

  He reached for her arm. He couldn’t let her walk away. “Bella, wait.”

  She glanced down at where he held her.

  “Why are you doing this?” He knew he’d broken trust with her years before and might never get it back, but he needed to try.

  “The party is in my honor—”

  “That’s not what I mean. Tell me why you’re playing along with your mother’s machinations.” He still held her. He knew letting go was the proper choice. The wisest course. Yet he kept holding her. She was soft and warm, and being connected to her felt right and achingly familiar. “I know you’ve always been a dutiful daughter, but this is something more. You’ve refused many men and yet—”