The Duke I’m Going to Marry (Farthingale Series Book 2)

by Meara Platt

  She made none. “You’re right. Were you able to save any of my gowns?”

  “I’m right?” He made no effort to mask his surprise, and seemed pleased by her decision. She supposed it was better than seeing a look of resignation on his face.

  “You are,” she admitted, casting him a soft smile. “However, I refuse to be called Duchess Daffy. Merely being addressed as duchess will be disconcerting enough.”

  He shook his head and laughed. “I’ll add it as a condition to the betrothal contract. I suppose I’ll have to add a clause about your clothing allowance. You’re going to need a new wardrobe, since the contents of your trunk were mostly washed down the river. What remains is ruined rags.”

  “Madame de Bressard will be pleased,” she said, referring to London’s most sought after modiste, who had designed most of her gowns.

  Ian arched an eyebrow, his expression devilishly appealing. “Until then, you’re stuck with my shirt... or nothing. I prefer you with nothing. In that bed. Right where you are now. Wearing nothing at all.”

  He shifted his gaze and suddenly rose. “Ah, Mrs. Gwynne. Let me help you with that tray. The cakes look marvelous, particularly the gingerbread. It’s Miss Farthingale’s favorite. How thoughtful of you.”

  Dillie wanted to shrink under the covers. Had the woman heard their conversation?

  “We aim to please, Yer Grace,” she said, her manner remaining polite and respectful as she bustled into the room and set the tray on the table beside the shuttered windows. The room was darker than usual because the shutters were once again closed, but Dillie didn’t mind at all. There was ample light from the hearth fire, the flames casting a delightful amber glow about the room. Indeed, everything felt warm and cozy now that Ian was beside her. “Tug on the bellpull should ye need anything.”

  “We will, Mrs. Gwynne,” Ian said and winked at the woman.

  Mrs. Gwynne hastily made her way toward the door, and then turned and winked back at Ian.

  He quietly shut the door and latched it.

  Hot, buttered crumpets! She and Ian were alone again. She’d caught the wink between him and Mrs. Gwynne. What was the meaning of that exchange? “You did tell them something.”

  He cast her an innocent glance. “Would you care for a gingerbread cake?”

  She supposed it wasn’t important. Whatever he’d said had turned the innkeeper and his entire staff into his private little band of conspirators, their fiendish plot to make her as comfortable and well cared for as possible.

  She watched Ian, the mastermind behind that plot, cross to the table and set a slice of that gingerbread cake on a plate. “This one’s for you. Would you care for some tea?”

  “No, thank you.” He returned to her side and handed her the plate. “Ian, how do you know that this is my favorite cake?”

  He’d already walked back to the table to pour himself a cup of tea. He looked quite ruggedly handsome by firelight—broad shoulders, trim waist, and long, muscled legs. His gold hair was damp and curling at the nape of his neck. “You and I have been to many of the same society affairs. Parties. Teas. It’s the first thing you ever reach for.”

  She laughed. “You noticed?”

  “I noticed you. Always.”

  The room began to heat. Or was it just her? “Why?”

  “For starters, you were usually the prettiest girl at any party. You also have a propensity for getting into mischief.”

  She quickly swallowed the bite she had been chewing. “I do not. I’m quite proper.”

  His eyebrow shot up. “When you’re not deceiving everyone. You spent most of last season pretending to be Lily. I found your acting abilities quite entertaining. You had some alarmingly close calls, but you managed to outwit everyone for months.”

  “Apparently, not you.”

  He cast her a teasing smile and walked back to her side. “I’m not quite the idiot you make me out to be.”

  “Oh, Ian. You’re not an idiot at all. I only said that to keep you at arm’s length. I was afraid of you. Rather, afraid of how much I truly liked you. There, I’ve revealed my only dark secret.”

  He brushed his fingers lightly across her cheek. “It wasn’t ever much of a secret. I’m a scoundrel, remember? I can sense when a woman is attracted to me.”

  “You knew? How is it possible? I didn’t know it myself until... never mind. You couldn’t have known.”

  He set his untouched cup on the nightstand beside her. “Here, why don’t you have it? I think I’ll pour myself a whiskey. I need the liquid fortification.”

  “Of course, to get the chill out of your bones.”

  “Not quite.” He turned to meet her gaze. “To fortify me for what I’m about to tell you.”

  ***

  “What are you about to tell me?” Dillie asked Ian. Her smile faded as Ian drew his chair even closer to the bed and sank into it with a heavy sigh. He’d poured himself a glass of whiskey and had begun to swirl the amber liquid, absently watching it gleam within the glass while he considered the wisdom of dredging up a pain that would not be numbed no matter how much he drank, even the entire contents of the bottle.

  Dillie set her tea and partly eaten cake on the nightstand, and then leaned close. The look on her face revealed that she was ready to swallow him in her arms and offer him comfort if the need arose. That’s what set Dillie apart from the peahens with whom he often dallied, those ladies who clucked and fussed around him but never seemed to accomplish much. Dillie, once she set her mind to it, could conquer kingdoms. Or scare off ruffians. Or melt a duke’s icy heart.

  Lord! He hardly believed he’d heard right. She’d agreed to marry him, just like that, no longer fighting him or resisting the wishes of her own heart. It wasn’t just their lovemaking that had swayed her. Something had happened between them, something wondrous that went beyond the carnal act itself. Somewhere between his grunts and her breathy moans, they’d forged a bond that would connect them forever. A bond of silk, for the fabric of life that bound them was delicately spun and exquisitely rare. He’d felt the connection just as she had.

  In truth, asking Dillie to share his life, and knowing she would probably turn it upside down, felt good. Damn good. But that’s how Dillie always made him feel. The sun shone brighter when she was near. The air smelled sweeter. He always heard laughter. Sometimes his own. He felt alive whenever Dillie was by his side.

  But how would she feel once she learned the truth about him? She would eventually find out. Better that she hear it from him. “The gossips say that I killed my brother,” he started, taking a deep breath that did nothing to stem the ache in his heart. “They’re right. I killed him as surely as if I’d taken a knife and stabbed him through the heart.”

  “Oh, Ian!” Dillie glowered, but her glare wasn’t aimed at him but at everyone who had ever maligned him. It felt odd to have an ally. He’d never had one growing up. “You told me you were only four years old when he died. A mere child. A child that age can’t hurt anyone, not intentionally. Would you tell me what happened?”

  He took a sip of whiskey and felt the heat of it slide down his throat. “It was winter.” He took another sip, needing a moment to collect his thoughts. He’d never confided in anyone before, not even his closest friends. Hell, this was Dillie. She was going to be his wife. She’d earned his trust. “Being boys and cooped up indoors, James and I were misbehaving. James is... was... my big brother, all of six years old at the time.”

  “A perfect age for mischief.” She cast him a soft, encouraging smile.

  “So our nanny always claimed. She’d had enough of our antics that day and decided to take us for a walk along the pond on our estate, hoping the cold wind and long trudge through the snow would rid us of our wildness. It was a particularly brutal winter that year, and the pond had frozen over—or so we thought.”

  Dillie’s eyes began to glisten and she let out a ragged breath. She’d soon be crying. He took her hand to warm it in his, or perhaps she’d t
aken his hand. It didn’t much matter. “The ice was thin in spots, mostly where the water ran deepest. It all happened so quickly. I don’t recall everything that happened. All I know is that I was on that pond, falling through the ice and calling out for James.”

  “Oh, Ian.” She let out another ragged breath.

  “I reached out for him. I remember that, too. At some point, we both fell through the ice and went under. I saw him as we sank below the surface, somehow managed to grab his coat to pull him toward me.” He tightened his grip on the whiskey glass to keep his hand from shaking, but it shook nonetheless. “We couldn’t have been underwater very long, but it was long enough for me to black out. Next thing I remember, I awoke in my bed, my nanny seated by my bedside and crying. I asked her about James. She told me to get some rest and she’d see me in the morning. She said that James needed her more. She was right. He never made it through the night. James was dead within a matter of hours.”

  Dillie made no pretense of being brave. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “You must have loved him very much.”

  He nodded. “He was everything to me. Our parents never paid much attention to us. We saw them only occasionally. James and I saw each other every day. He was the best. Loving. Protective. So damn softhearted. We were brothers and the best of friends. Then I killed him.”

  Dillie frowned. “No. You fell through the ice.”

  “And he ran out to rescue me. I was someplace I shouldn’t have been, and he paid the highest price for my mistake.”

  “The mistake of a four-year-old. Where was your nanny? Why didn’t she stop you?”

  “I was told that she tried, but I slipped out of her clutches and tore onto the pond. It doesn’t matter what happened. James died and I lived. From that day on, I was dead to my family. James, who had mostly been ignored until then, as I was, suddenly became the adored child.”

  “That isn’t fair. Oh, Ian! Your parents were wrong.” Her fingers were entwined with his, her hand so soft against his cold palm.

  “I’m not looking to blame anyone, Dillie. I understand that I was a child. Had I been older, I would not have run onto that fragile ice.” He set his drink aside and took both of her hands in his. “James was all I had. From that day on, I was on my own. I never saw my nanny again. No doubt, she was discharged. I don’t know what happened to her. She had been good to me and James, but James had died under her watch. I suppose I ruined her life as well.”

  He sighed. “After that day, my father never spoke to me. He refused to see me, even if we were standing in the same room. I was a ghostly apparition. My mother only spoke to tell me how much she hated me. The rest of the family followed suit. That was my joyous upbringing.”

  Dillie squeezed his hands, her expression anguished as she gazed at him. “No wonder you refused to speak of it earlier. I’m so sorry I tried to make a stupid game of it.”

  “You don’t owe me any apologies, Dillie. I ought to have told you about James months ago. I’m not used to confiding in anyone. But you’re to be my wife now, so it’s only fair that you should know. I ought to have told you last night before I latched the door. I took advantage of your trust, gave you no chance to toss me out on my ear.”

  Dillie shook her head. “I wouldn’t have tossed you out.”

  “The point is, I didn’t give you the choice. I purposely boxed you into a corner, trapped you into consenting to the marriage. It wasn’t well done of me. Yet I feel no remorse. I’d do it all over again.”

  “To protect me from scandal?” He noticed that her fingers were still entwined in his and he took it as a hopeful sign.

  He nodded. “That’s one reason.”

  “Is there another reason?” She shifted closer. Any closer and she’d be on his lap, but he didn’t mind. He wanted to feel her soft curves against his body.

  “Hell if I know.” He’d spent his life alone and hadn’t needed anyone until now. He didn’t want to need Dillie, but at the moment, she was more important to him than air to breathe.

  She pursed her lips and glanced off into the distance. “I think we’ve both lied to each other and to ourselves. We’ve always been drawn to each other. Oh, blame it on the Chipping Way curse, if you will. I think it has little to do with such superstition and all to do with fear of falling in love. We’re both fighting so hard to deny the attraction.” She laughed lightly, and there was a gentle look in her beautiful blue eyes. “You needn’t worry. I’m not going to ask if you love me. Having been raised in that loveless household, how can you possibly understand what it means? But I hope you will grow to understand it in time. I hope one day you’ll say those words to me. Ian, I’ll cherish the moment.”

  The conversation went no further, interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. Ian released Dillie’s hands and pushed back his chair. He strode across the room and opened it. Mr. Gwynne stood in the doorway. “Beg pardon, Yer Grace, but the coachman’s askin’ for Miss Dillie.”

  “Abner?” Dillie called from behind him. He heard the shift of her covers and knew she was already climbing out of bed. Her feet must have hit the floor, for she let out a soft cry.

  “Your ankle must hurt like blazes,” he muttered, returning to her side. He grabbed one of the blankets off the bed and wrapped it around her body for modesty’s sake. “Duchesses don’t walk around inns in bare feet and skimpy nightshirts.” He scooped her into his arms.

  Abner’s quarters were located across the hall from theirs. Theirs! They weren’t married yet, and he was already thinking of them as a couple, of her as a necessary part of his existence. Lord, it felt odd. Good. But odd. He set her down on the stool beside Abner’s bed. “I’ll give you a moment alone.” He expected that Abner wanted to know for certain whether Dillie was all right, for although the old man was in a laudanum-induced languor and hopefully feeling no pain, he considered Dillie his responsibility and would not rest until certain she was on the mend.

  At some point, Abner would realize that he and Dillie had shared the neighboring quarters, shared everything that could be shared between a man and a woman. By then he’d also know that Dillie would marry him.

  He left them, but made certain to keep the door slightly ajar in order to hear her when she called out to him, for he didn’t want her hopping about needlessly. He remained close by, returning to their chamber and leaving that door open as his thoughts turned to obtaining the special license. He would procure it as soon as the weather cleared, for he wanted a quick, simple ceremony without fuss or bother. However, if Dillie wanted a fancy wedding, he would not deprive her of it.

  As for him, he was a man. He couldn’t care less about the celebration, only the girl. The sooner Dillie shared his bed, the better.

  The sooner he introduced her to Felicity, the better. He wanted Dillie to meet his young niece, spend time with her to make certain she was not being neglected, for he knew nothing about raising children and didn’t trust himself to know the difference.

  He strode across the chamber to open the shutters and peer out the window. The surrounding trees were coated in a thin layer of ice, their leaves glistening against the meager light. It seemed as though the entire countryside had been turned into a forest of ice. A thing of shimmering beauty, yet treacherous. Rain and snow were still falling in a sleety mix, but a little lighter now. He doubted the storm was ending, perhaps just a lull, for the distant clouds were a bleak, dark gray. A thick layer of snow covered the icy cobblestone courtyard and the stable’s thatched roof. He watched the fat, wet snowflakes as they fell, and lost himself in his thoughts.

  He wasn’t certain how long he stood beside the window watching the storm rage outside, but for the first time since his brother’s death, he felt the violent storm that had always raged within his heart begin to ease. Healing would not come easy, he knew that much. But he would have Dillie to help soothe the ache over time.

  He sighed, realizing that he hadn’t told her about his nightmares. She would find out soon enough, and most cert
ainly choose to sleep apart from him during their marriage. Few married couples ever shared a marriage bed. He understood and would accept it. Just not yet. He wanted Dillie in his arms tonight.

  “Yer Grace,” he heard someone call out softly from behind him.

  He turned, confused as he heard his door shut quietly. The pretty maid who’d warmed his bed a time or two now stood alone with him in the chamber. Door closed. Hell. “Elsie, you shouldn’t be in here.”

  “But Yer Grace, I’m ever yer obliging servant.” She tossed him a seductive smile and began to unlace the ties at the front of her gown. “I’m at yer call should ye need... anything.”

  He strode to her, frowning as he turned her around and opened the door to boot her out. “Who sent you up here? I’m not in need of your services.” He put a hand on each of her shoulders to give her a gentle nudge down the hall when she appeared reluctant to obey.

  And then he noticed that Abner’s door was wide open.

  Dillie was standing beside it.

  Staring at his hands on Elsie’s shoulders. Staring at Elsie’s unlaced ties.

  Damn.

  She looked as though he’d just shot her through the heart.

  ***

  Dillie felt her entire body go numb. She couldn’t move, not even to turn away from Ian because at this moment, she wanted him out of her sight.

  “Elsie, go downstairs and don’t come back up here,” Ian said to the girl in his arms, but his gaze remained firmly fixed on Dillie as he spoke. Elsie cast Dillie a smug smile as she sauntered downstairs, leaving Dillie alone in the hall with Ian.

  She was still unable to budge. Her mind was a whirl of confusion. What had just happened? She’d been with Abner only a few minutes. Ian had made a point of keeping both doors open so that he would hear her call out when she was ready to return. Had he planned to dally with the pretty maid in the meantime? Thinking he could finish with the girl and send her on her way before anyone noticed? Obviously, he’d miscalculated.

  “Dillie, I know what you’re thinking and you’re wrong.”