How to Marry a Duke Without Really Trying

by Eva Devon

  “I have little feelings about you except that most of your ideas are absurd,” Haven replied.

  Tears, horrible, hot tears filled her eyes. “Then why?”

  He stared at her as though she was stupid beyond words and her stomach twisted into a tight knot.

  “You need money,” she said flatly.

  “Well done you,” he mocked. “I suppose you are a clever girl after all. Let’s just say, the creditors are out for my blood and you seemed expedient. I didn’t wish it to come to this, but you gave me little choice.”

  “I gave you little choice?” she challenged, her tears vanishing replaced by fury. Fury at him and fury at society which would happily condemn her for something she had not done. “I’m not the one who got into debt.”

  His dark eyes turned as hard as obsidian. “Best you be careful, Eglantine. You’re speaking to your future husband.”

  And then as if he hadn’t just all but assaulted her and destroyed her hopes, Haven left the room, leaving her alone, hands in her lap, the world spinning.

  George.

  He would hear about this.

  What would he think of her now? Would he think she loved Haven? After all, she’d told him time and time again, she’d only marry for love. She swallowed back a sick feeling. Or would he think she was an utter wanton and he’d be glad to be shuck of her? What man would want such a scandalous woman?

  Had she thought her story would end in tragedy? Her novel had. But she had thought that in life, she had some hope. Right now, her body felt pummeled by dread. She thought back to that spring day in the woods when she’d so happily bantered with George. All had seemed so hopeful then. But clearly, she’d been ignorant. So very ignorant of the realities of the world. How had she ever thought that love would win the day?

  A tear slipped down her cheek. She dashed it away and then her chest began to burn. With rage.

  Chapter 23

  George took the steps to his London townhome, utterly exhausted. The night had been hellish. What had begun as one of pure terror had ended in reunion. Thank God. Any other result would have left a wound in his family so horrific, he did not know that they could have recovered.

  He still could not believe that Harriet had been kidnapped.

  Feeling a strange dose of weariness and sheer relief, he entered the empty foyer and headed for his study. Sleep would not come. Of that, he was certain.

  So, instead, he walked quietly through the house, everything he’d ever felt true suddenly at odds.

  Always, he had assumed that his title protected his family. But that wasn’t true. It never had been. Perhaps it never would be.

  He would never forget storming into Richard Heath’s club with the other dukes, determined to help Rob get Harriet back.

  His hands began to shake as he entered the place which gave him such solace.

  What if they’d lost Harriet? What if she had not escaped the man who had taken her?

  Only now. . . now that he was alone did the terror come upon him. His entire body shook as he thought of it.

  Rob was a wreck. He had held Harriet as a drowning man does a piece of wood in a storm-tossed sea when he had gotten her back.

  George lowered himself into a wing backed chair and dropped his head back, forcing himself to take long breaths.

  The first grey touches of morning light spilled in through the windows. He’d sent word to his mother that Harriet had been recovered as soon as they’d found her.

  He was surprised his mama had not met him at the door, but no doubt she was as shaken as he.

  Life suddenly seemed dangerously precarious.

  All that he thought secure could be taken at any moment. Titles didn’t matter. Wealth didn’t matter. Not in the face of what had happened over the night.

  Thank God for Richard Heath and Royland.

  It had been a shock to learn his friend, who had worked so hard in France to help people escape the terror, was still working in London as a spymaster.

  It had been his information which had helped lead them to Harriet. And Heath had known the streets of the East End better than any man.

  “George,” his mother called from the doorway.

  She looked gaunt but now she did not look broken. Her daughter was safe.

  “Mama, please come in,” he urged, holding his hand out to her.

  She entered slowly, moving as if through mud. She took his hand and gripped it hard. “She is well?”

  He nodded, willing his mother peace through their touch. “Hopefully, she will sleep soon. I don’t think Rob will let her out of his sight for the foreseeable future.”

  She nodded then pulled away. “Thank God.”

  He stared at her tense frame. “You do not look relieved.”

  His mother drew in a shaking breath. “I am still in disbelief that such a thing could happen.”

  “As am I.” Slowly, he stood, determined to ease his mother’s fear. “But I am grateful it has turned out so well.”

  His mother nodded then made her way to the grog tray. Wordlessly she poured two snifters of brandy.

  He frowned. Something seemed wrong. More wrong, if such a thing were possible.

  “Mama?” he asked carefully, feeling oddly lost standing in his study. “Is something else amiss?”

  She paused, her back to him. “I do not know how to tell you this and I suppose it is not terrible news at all in comparison to what could have happened this night.”

  The weight of those words filled the room. And the terror he’d hoped would dissipate grew.

  “Please, out with it,” he begged. “I cannot bear suspense just now.”

  In fact, his mother’s behavior alarmed him. She was not given to such seriousness idly.

  Slowly, she turned, brandies in her hands. “It’s about Eglantine.”

  The room shrank then. His breathing slowed as his insides twisted. He met his mother’s gaze. “Yes?”

  A hollow look of grim defeat hardened her usually beautiful face. “She is to be married.”

  “Oh,” he said, the word as an exhalation. It was impossible to take it in given the night.

  “To Lord Haven.”

  His hands curled into fists. Blow after blow seemed to come this night. “I hope they are happy.”

  “George,” she bit out, thrusting a snifter at him. Then she drank. Deeply. “They were caught in dishabille at a ball last night.”

  He took the snifter, staring at her, uncomprehending “I beg your pardon.”

  A look of worry shaded his mother’s eyes and she said, “Lady Barrow caught them in a room. . . and, well, she has told everyone.”

  His mouth dried. Something was wrong. His gut clenched. “I don’t understand.”

  Except he did.

  He understood the words and their meaning. And he thought of Eglantine and her determination to wed for love.

  He’d seen her over the last weeks, though she did not know he’d been watching. She had been little in Haven’s company. If anything, she’d been avoiding him.

  He’d tried to give her and her affairs little thought, as brutal as it had been. Eglantine was not his responsibility.

  “Why are you telling me this?” he asked, his stomach tight with dread.

  “Because. . .” His mother drank again. Her voice filled the room, deep with pain, “You have affection for her.”

  “Do I?” he asked, unable to join her in the brandy. He was too shaken.

  “George,” his mother said tightly. “You may lie to yourself but you cannot lie to me. I saw you two together. And I have seldom seen such happiness. And I know things have gone wrong between you. It is obvious in your distance and, quite frankly, your behavior over the last weeks. Your face has been dark as thunder.”

  “Mama—”

  His mother began to pace. “I do not think she loves him—”

  “Mama, I cannot know what has happened,” he said tightly. “But Eglantine knows her own mind.”

  Sh
e stopped, her entire body frenzied. “But Haven. . .”

  He stilled. “Yes?”

  “Have you not heard the rumors?” she demanded.

  George shook his head. Haven was beneath his notice. “Rumors?”

  His mother’s face twisted with anger. “He is in debt to a man named Richard Heath.”

  Suddenly, the world seemed very small indeed and it pressed down on him like granite. For George had been in Heath’s nefarious gambling club this very night.

  “Heath?” he echoed.

  She gave a terse nod then drank again as if it could somehow drown her current pain. “I know Haven. From a distance, that is. And he never seemed like the sort of man who would take an interest in Eglantine before.”

  George had never really known Haven and given him little thought. He was a lord with a good title and his family had been an important one. But they’d never been close and George had never been interested in the gossip that was passed about the ton. But this. . .

  “What are you saying?” he asked carefully, his grip tightening on his glass.

  Her mouth tightened into a hard line and she looked away. “I think Haven has pursued Eglantine for her marriage portion.”

  Almost every proclamation his mother made was hitting him afresh. Each blow landing harder than the last.

  He’d never thought about Eglantine’s money. He knew she’d come to a marriage with a vast sum. Her father had been very wise in the managing of his estates and had no doubt provided very well for her.

  It was something he’d never considered when proposing to her because his family was one of the wealthiest in England. But it would be something other men would consider.

  Especially a man in debt.

  He ground his teeth. He should do nothing. He should not involve himself because Eglantine and he were no longer friends. She’d asked him to quit her.

  But damnation. . .

  He swallowed as a strong emotion washed over him. One of fear. Fear that Eglantine was about to embark on an utterly miserable life and he could not allow that. Not just because he was a man of honor but because she was very dear to him. So very dear.

  Because. . . while he could let her go when he thought she’d find happiness, he could never stand aside if it meant her eternal misery.

  For one shocking reason. Somewhere, somehow, despite his need for perfection and the distance he’d tried to keep between them, he was falling in love with Eglantine.

  He loved the way she looked at life and laughed, how she made light of the vagaries of this world, how she bore such hope.

  How had he been so stupid? How had he not seen it? Or had he always known somewhere deep within, that the feelings he felt for Eglantine had not just been mere admiration and desire? Had she been right? Had it just been fear and a vow to his father that had stopped him from embracing the wild emotions he felt?

  It was certainly why his life had been sheer hell these last weeks as he’d tried to study her unobserved at the events they were both forced to attend.

  “George?” his mother asked, breaking through his reverie.

  He thunked his snifter down upon the nearest table as anger burned in his chest. He started for the door. “I don’t wish brandy, Mama.”

  “What are you going to do?” she called.

  “Do?” he asked over his shoulder. “I’m going to bloody protect Eglantine. That’s what I’m going to do.”

  And then George headed out into the early morning light, hoping it was not too late.

  Chapter 24

  Eglantine sat in the long salon overlooking the park, her hands in her lap. In all her life, she’d never felt. . . helpless. Now, she was barraged by events that she had not made nor could control. It was galling. Never would she have thought but a few months ago that her rather happy life could become so terrible.

  But here she was, a victim of a ruthless man who thought of no one but himself.

  “Darling, you can go to Italy.”

  She barely heard her mother who had been remarkably patient and kind. Her mother had taken one look at her and known. Known she’d been compromised and not through her own volition. She’d spent the coach ride home in her mother’s arms.

  But now? She could barely dare to reply.

  Instead, she looked at the trees across the road. Their leaves, so verdant and silky green, would soon turn yellow and fall to the earth. Their season would come to end, much like her own vision of her future.

  She had not been able to venture outside in the last day and half.

  The gossip was terrible, vicious, and had already spread to every part of society. How could people be so cruel? No one cared that she was but a pawn in Haven’s scheming. They had branded her a trollop who could only just save her reputation by marriage to the man who had destroyed her.

  She swallowed back the pain. To think how she had spoken of reputation so foolishly to George. He’d been determined to save hers. She had been naive enough to believe that as long as she did nothing wrong, it could not be taken from her.

  How mistaken she’d been.

  The world had condemned her. She was well and truly ruined. There was no going back. Any dream, far and distant of George or even a second son who loved his library, was dead now. Even her new dream of living her life according to her own likes had all but vanished.

  If she did not marry Haven, her family, her siblings, would be dragged into the mud.

  She had not truly thought the idea of being alone to be awful. In fact, out of all things, it had begun to appeal to her.

  But now she had but two choices. She could marry Haven to save her family’s honor or live out her days in a far off country never to return home to her family or England. And her family would always bear her shame.

  She’d never see George again. Not even in passing.

  To her horror, tears stung her eyes.

  Blinking rapidly, she realized she could not even stay in England and become a spinster author, scribbling away in some cottage.

  The scandal would be too great for her family. It would bring them all down. If she married Haven, all that would be done. She would be miserable but the scandal would eventually fade away.

  He’d written to let her known he’d procured a special license and that they could be wed that afternoon.

  The speed with which he had worked had surprised her anew at how he had mercilessly planned her downfall.

  Of course, she’d heard whispered rumors of men who did such things and worse to young ladies. It had seemed something distant and not within her realm.

  But now, it had happened to her and she was not sure she could survive it.

  “My dear, he is a dangerous man,” her mother said, trying a different tactic. “We will help you. You don’t have to—”

  “Oh, Mother, I know,” she cut in, dashing her tears away. “A very dangerous man. He made me believe. . . he made me believe he thought me intelligent. Instead, he thought me a fool.”

  “Then don’t let him win,” a voice said from the door.

  Her breath caught in her throat, even as she was sure she was imagining it.

  She looked up to the doorway.

  George!

  George Cornwall, Duke of Harley, stood in all his glory. His dark hair was disheveled about a face wrought with anger.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Eglantine whispered.

  “Please leave us Lady Trewstowe,” George said firmly, either not hearing Eglantine or ignoring her comment.

  Her mother looked back and forth between them, for the first time that Eglantine could ever recall, unsure.

  But Eglantine nodded, wishing she could disappear. For she had no stomach to see George now. But she would not hide from him. “Please, Mama. His Grace and I must speak.”

  Her mother touched her hand, gave George a strange look, then said, “I think His Grace and I are very much of an accord. Please listen to him, Eglantine.”

  The silence that befell them after
her mother’s exit was painful in the extreme. She found she could barely look at George. If she did, she might fall to pieces, as she had yet to let herself do.

  At last, George strode across the room. “Tell me what happened?”

  “You know what happened,” she answered, her voice almost breaking. But she would not break. For she was desperate to save him from this. From her. The perfect duke determined to avoid scandal should not even be in the same room with her.

  “I know Haven is a bastard,” he growled.

  A dry laughed echoed past her lips. “Yes.”

  “You don’t love him.”

  She snapped her gaze to his because it had not been a question but a statement. George knew. He knew she had no wish to marry Haven.

  That was a small balm to her scarred heart. At least he did not think her so fickle.

  “No, I don’t,” she agreed. “Which makes this all the more terrible. I wouldn’t marry you because I didn’t love you and you did not love me. But society is howling for me to marry him. And. . . I do not love him. . . I despise him.”

  “What happened?” he asked softly. George sat in the chair beside her, patient. “If you can tell it.”

  Could she tell it? The very memory of it caused her to shudder. But she would not balk. George deserved to know.

  “He came upon me,” she forced herself to say, “much like when you found us in the garden. He must have followed me. And he grabbed my hand and pulled me into a small room. I tried to extricate myself. I was furious with him. But. . .”

  “But?” he echoed, even as his eyes burned with both kindness and banked anger.

  She could not bear to see his kindness and she yanked her gaze away for a moment, before then forcing herself to look at the man she admired. . . loved. . . so much. “He was strong and I was most surprised.”

  George’s face darkened. “You’re not going to marry him.”

  Her brows rose, astonished by the power of his declaration. “You’d have me and mine ruined then by scandal? Or would you have me vanish to Italy as my mother would? My father can scarcely countenance the events that have befallen as a result of this. He threatened to call out Haven himself. It was all my mother and I could do to stop him. I—”