Nothing Compares to the Duke

by Christy Carlyle

  “Touching,” Bella breathed. “We should only touch when necessary.”

  Rhys dropped his hand as if she’d scorched him. “Of course. Forgive me.”

  “Can you call tomorrow and speak to my parents?”

  “Bloody hell, that’s quick.”

  “There’s no reason to delay now that we’ve decided. The sooner we tell them and set everything in motion, the sooner we can end the subterfuge.”

  “Tomorrow, then. I’ll call in the afternoon.”

  “The morning? Father is in his office by ten.”

  “I’ll arrive at quarter past.”

  Bella nodded and assumed he would offer her a leave-taking, but he didn’t. He wore his usual air of confidence like a cloak atop his greatcoat, but there was a strange hesitation in the way he darted his gaze from her face out toward the open fields and back again.

  “What is it?” she asked. They’d just agreed on honesty. Best to start immediately.

  “Should I not acquire a ring? Are there any words we should exchange?”

  “A ring isn’t strictly necessary—”

  “But it would be useful. Our subterfuge will be based on appearances. Those who see us together in society must get the impression that we are truly engaged.”

  “I appreciate that you wish to do this properly.” Bella wasn’t certain what propriety looked like when it came to false engagements. “But my parents come first, and I don’t wish to delay for a ring.”

  “I understand.” He nodded, almost solemnly. It was odd to see him somber. Seriousness didn’t suit him.

  Bella stepped away, eager to get back to Hillcrest. Eager for their plan to begin. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

  “You will.”

  Bella smiled back at him over her shoulder before setting off. She was relieved. This was exactly what she wanted. So why was she flushed and trembling? Why did the prospect of seeing him again tomorrow make her anxious?

  “I wish to marry your daughter.” Rhys exhaled a breath of relief as soon as the words were out.

  He sounded believable and his stomach hadn’t plummeted into his boots. He’d been waiting in the Yardleys’ drawing room for what felt like days, though the clock indicated less than half an hour had passed. He’d tested the words on his lips a dozen times. Rephrasing. Practicing various intonations like an actor about to perform on the stage.

  Rhys supposed he was a performer of sorts. He knew how to feign laughter, make others happy, and paste on a smile when he was bone weary. But no matter how many times he tested these words on his lips, hearing them echo in the empty drawing room sent a jolt of shock through his body.

  “Lord Yardley,” he said aloud, imagining the older man’s kindly gaze on him. “I wish to make Bella my duchess.”

  Yes, better to make it personal. Though making it personal also made the subterfuge feel unsavory.

  Footsteps sounded in the hallway and he turned toward the door. But no one came. A servant perhaps?

  He’d tried sitting but couldn’t remain still. He strode to the window, pushed the drapes aside, and lifted the frame. Some small insistent voice in his head told him to climb out and avoid this mad scheme.

  Bloody hell. What had possessed him to agree to an engagement, even a false one? And to Bella of all the women in England. The one woman he didn’t wish to harm or disappoint any more than he already had.

  A flash of movement caught his eye and two servants emerged through Hillcrest’s front doors, their arms loaded with luggage. Wentworth came next and cast a longing glance up at the house’s facade before entering the carriage that awaited him.

  Was the man looking with that yearning expression at Bella?

  “Did you need air or are you considering an escape?”

  Rhys smiled at the sound of her voice. There was a tinge of mischief in it that immediately eased his mind.

  “You’re ready for this?” he asked as he turned to find her fussing with an enormous vase of flowers on a table near the door. She was dressed in a gold gown that clung to her curves and yet wasn’t frivolous. Always practical Bella.

  “I’m ready,” she said, on a breathy whisper, glancing back toward the door as if her parents’ arrival was imminent and she didn’t wish them to hear. “I take it you are too.”

  “I am.” Rhys slid a hand across his middle and straightened the buttons of his waistcoat.

  “Here they come,” Bella said before opening the drawing room door. “Mama, Papa, won’t you sit?”

  Lord Yardley’s gaze narrowed the moment he spotted Rhys. “An early hour for a social call, Claremont.”

  “Some things can’t be delayed, Lord Yardley.”

  Behind him Bella’s mother beamed at him. Rhys knew that of the two of them the viscountess would take the least convincing.

  “Shall we all have a seat?” A bit of nervousness had seeped into Bella’s voice.

  “You wish to marry, is that it?” The viscount scanned both their faces.

  “Yes,” Rhys answered in the same matter-of-fact tone Yardley asked.

  “We do.” Bella’s words were spoken quietly.

  Rhys was grateful she hadn’t balked. It made him doubt what they were going to do a tiny bit less.

  Her father would definitely take some convincing. The viscount assessed Bella with eyes narrowed behind his spectacles. “This is all very sudden, my girl.”

  “Is it?”

  “Indeed, and rather convenient too.” This time he lowered his spectacles down his nose and peered first at his daughter then Rhys over the brass rim.

  “Seems rather inconvenient to me, Papa.” Bella smiled, trying to put him at ease. “Rhys and I have always been friends. This is new and unexpected.”

  “Mmm.” The viscount looked supremely dubious. His frown hadn’t softened and he stroked his beard as he settled back in his chair.

  Rhys took a seat across from him and offered a smile when Yardley shot a glance his way.

  “I know you well, young man. Or I once did. I watched the two of you ramble through this countryside together for years and get into all manner of mischief.” He worked his jaw as if contemplating and then added, “But you bickered too.”

  “We debated,” Bella retorted.

  “And she usually won,” Rhys admitted without looking at her.

  “Because I was usually right.”

  “Either that or I let you win.”

  Yardley nodded approvingly. “That is a good precedent, Claremont. Don’t forget that principle.” He grinned at his wife, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet.

  “You’ll make each other happy?” Lady Yardley asked the question as if there could be an easy answer.

  Rhys was suddenly glad the engagement wasn’t real. He couldn’t make Bella happy. He wasn’t sure he could make any lady happy, at least not for longer than a few evenings of pleasure.

  “He could make me very happy,” he heard Bella say, and couldn’t quite believe his ears.

  When he looked her way, she shot him a conspiratorial nod. Of course, this was all part of the ruse. Whatever her parents asked, they would reassure them.

  “I will make it my mission to make Bella happy.”

  Her brows arched at that and he wondered if he’d laid the assurances on too thickly. But when her mother clasped her hands together and smiled, he and Bella both let out a breath of relief.

  “Then we should begin planning a wedding.” Lady Yardley stood and rang a little bell on a table next to her chair. “I think refreshments are in order. There is much to discuss.”

  “Mama—”

  He’d worried about this. Her parents had been waiting so long for this news. It was no surprise that her mother would want to begin planning their nuptials immediately. The very same hour.

  “Let me just get some paper and a pen so we may make some notes.”

  “I can speak to Vicar Eames. Securing the church before Christmas, especially for a Claremont, will be easy enough.” Yardle
y turned to Rhys. “Unless you wish to marry in London. That might be a bit more of a challenge to schedule on short notice.”

  “There needn’t be short notice,” Bella said in a loud, clear voice. “Rhys and I wish to wait to marry.”

  “Wait?” Lady Yardley nearly tripped on the rug on her way back to her chair. “Whatever for?”

  Bella swallowed hard and took a long breath. They’d discussed this and knew it would be the crux of her plan. Whether her parents would accept this farce or not relied on this single moment.

  “Rhys hopes to put the estate in order and Lady Margaret must have her coming-out this year. There is a great deal to plan without adding a duke’s nuptials to the list.”

  “This is most irregular, Bella.”

  They’d anticipated how much of a sticking point this would be for Lady Yardley. Rhys scooted forward in his chair, laced his fingers between his knees and summoned the kind of charm he’d employed to get him through most of the tight spots he’d encountered in life.

  “Your enthusiasm is heartening, Lady Yardley,” he told her as he stood and took a seat on the settee next to Bella. “The sooner we can be wed the better.” He cast Bella a grin and for a moment she stared at him uncertainly, then her mouth curved too. “This delay is entirely my fault. I want to do right by my sister and give her the attention she needs.”

  “A duke’s wedding will garner a great deal of notice,” Bella added, seeming to understand his intent. “The last thing we wish is for Lady Margaret to feel her first Season has been overshadowed.”

  “That I can sympathize with,” Lady Yardley said, and then let out a disappointed sigh. She approached her husband’s chair and fussed with the doily atop the back. “A year isn’t so long to wait.”

  “It will allow you and Papa to get settled in Greece before the wedding.”

  “Oh, but we must wait.” The viscountess looked from her daughter to her husband and back again. “How will we help you plan from so far away?”

  “Letters, Mama. You were planning to come home for a visit at some point, were you not? We’ll simply marry during one of your visits.”

  “But—”

  “My dear, they have agreed to marry. It is all we asked of Bella. A betrothal.”

  For the first time, Rhys wondered if Lord Yardley suspected the truth. The viscount was clearly determined to accept his post in Greece, but he seemed as determined to convince his wife to depart as they were.

  “I know you’re eager to be on our way.” Lady Yardley gazed at her husband with a reticent smile. “So we should begin preparing, my dear.”

  “Excellent.” Bella nearly bounced on the cushion beside him. “We’ll keep you updated on the progress at Edgecombe and with Lady Margaret’s Season.”

  When the servant arrived with a tea tray, Lady Yardley helped the girl arrange the dishes on the low table between settees.

  Lord Yardley leaned forward, laid a hand on Bella’s, and whispered to her, “Your mother is disappointed.”

  “Greece will soothe her,” Bella whispered back.

  “I hope you know what you’re about, my girl.”

  Bella clasped her father’s hand tightly. “I’ve waited years to make this choice, Papa. I’ve had the opportunity five other times and refused.”

  Lord Yardley patted her hand. “Then I trust you know your heart.”

  “I do, Papa.”

  Rhys realized he was holding his breath and his fingers ached because he’d clenched his hands into fists. This wasn’t about Bella’s heart. He wouldn’t let it be. Once before, he’d been careless with her feelings. Never again.

  He’d agreed to help her because he needed her help. Because he owed her and needed to know he’d done as right by her as he’d once done wrong. Their agreement would be mutually beneficial and then, when the time was right, it would be over.

  With any luck, in a couple of months.

  Rhys never made a deal he couldn’t walk away from. This one would be no different.

  Chapter Twelve

  “There must be some way I can be of use.” Rhys sat on the edge of a wingback in his father’s study, bootheel thumping against the carpet as he watched Bella peruse a ledger with care and patience. “Give me something to do.”

  How could she sit hunched over staring that long at a page without her eyes blurring? The lack of movement alone would have had him out of his chair and fencing shadows just to get some blood pumping in his veins.

  She lifted her head and looked at him when he began tapping his heel against the carpet.

  “You could take notes as I find things of interest.” She gestured toward a piece of foolscap at her elbow. “I’ve started but it might work better if you assist.”

  Anything but sitting useless on his arse.

  “Of course I will.” He stood and dragged the wingback closer to the desk.

  Bella pushed the notes she’d begun toward him, then the ink pot and a pen. Once he took a seat, she met his gaze a moment. He couldn’t read her thoughts as easily as he once had, and there was some inscrutable emotion brewing in her pretty green-gold eyes.

  “Ready?” she asked, returning her gaze to the columns of numbers and notations.

  “Always.” Rhys caught the flicker of her thick lashes as she glanced at him once more out of the corner of her eye.

  “There was a significant purchase in June of last year,” she told him. “A cottage called Tide’s End at the seaside. Near Margate. Did you know anything about it?”

  “Nothing at all. Father and I didn’t keep in touch.”

  She shot him a curious frown. “Was there a falling-out?”

  “You know how he felt about me.” Rhys didn’t need to explain. She’d seen enough. Heard the epithets his father tossed his way. “When I went to London, we stopped speaking. But a seaside cottage is far too whimsical for him. He never liked the seaside and he wasn’t keen on spending money on anything but fashion and frivolity.”

  “He purchased property in London too.” She flipped through the ledger’s pages. “Back in October of last year. A town house in Gordon Square.”

  “That makes no sense.” Rhys shook his head as he noted the fact on the foolscap. “My father owned Claremont House in Belgravia and a second town house in Grosvenor Square inherited from an uncle. He had no need of more London property.”

  “Perhaps he rented them for income.” She tapped her finger against her lower lip. “Yet there are no notations indicating rent from either property.” Her eyes widened as she continued scanning the page. “Here’s another one. It’s so strange.”

  Rhys leaned closer. “Another property?”

  “No. One month after the purchase of both the seaside property and the London town house, there are a series of errors in the running total that subtracts nearly a thousand pounds. It’s too obvious.”

  “So not errors?”

  “I don’t think so. Mr. Radley’s mistakes are strategic. There’s a pattern and the errors are always to the detriment of the dukedom’s accounts. If it was by chance, you’d think he’d accidentally add funds on occasion.”

  “You almost sound as if you admire his boldness.” Rhys didn’t know why the prospect made him bristle.

  “I could never admire a thief. He certainly isn’t clever. Anyone looking at these ledgers would find his misdeeds.”

  Rhys didn’t bother mentioning that he had in fact looked at them and had entirely missed the error she’d pointed out.

  “There seems to be a missing ledger too.” She flipped the pages of the one in her hands to show him the initial page. “Those at the corner of the desk are from the first two quarters of the year. This one is from the last quarter of the previous year. Where’s the July, August, and September ledger?”

  Rhys felt like an ill-informed fool. “I’ve no idea.”

  “Where did you get these?”

  He pointed to a bookshelf behind her. “There are no others. These were easy enough to spy. They’re over
ly large volumes and covered in a dark leather.”

  Bella scanned the bookshelves, her gaze sharp and intense. She stood up from the desk and made her way to one of the bookcases.

  “I’ve searched them all, Bella.”

  “Are you certain?”

  Rhys felt a flare of irritation. “I’m quite sure.”

  “Then what’s that?” She glanced back at him with a triumphant grin.

  Rhys followed the direction of her finger and noticed that far at the top of the third bookshelf, there was a dark corner with black-bound books. One was significantly taller and thicker than the others. Before he could admit she might be right, Bella was moving the rolling ladder attached to the wall of bookshelves to the spot where she’d noticed the book.

  “It’s high,” he said, and approached to retrieve the ledger.

  “I can get it,” she told him with one foot already on the first rung of the ladder.

  She’d always been stubborn, and she frustrated the hell out of him when she became determined on a course that would risk her own neck.

  Her skirts belled out enough to get in her way, and she swayed on the ladder as she tried to move them aside. Rhys approached and gripped the wooden frame to steady it. Instinctively, he placed a hand on the back of her skirt, pressing until he could feel the outline of her calf.

  She inhaled sharply and let out a little gasp of shock. With a tip of her head, she looked back at him, her expression questioning and annoyed.

  “This is necessary touching,” he told her.

  “I’m steady now. Thank you.”

  Rhys lifted his hand and tugged at the fabric of her skirt so it wasn’t tangled around her ankles.

  “Very well, but I’m not letting go of the ladder. Be careful, Bella.”

  But of course she was already reaching out, holding on to the ladder with one hand and stretching as far with her other arm as she could. Her fingertips grazed the edge of the volume and she hooked her thumb under the spine to nudge it out.

  “Got it.”

  But she didn’t. The ledger had moved out an inch but remained firmly wedged between its neighbors.

  She glanced back at him and huffed out a sigh. He expected she might descend and let him go up and get the book. Most of the time, she was a logical woman and he was taller and his arms were longer.