Mr. Todd wasted no time in making his proposal. He knelt before her. “Miss Primrose, let me assure you of my devotion and—”
“I shall marry you.” She spoke the words in haste, preferring the swift cut of the blade rather than suffering the long, drawn-out process.
“My Estella.” He came to sit beside her. “You have led me on such a chase, but I would not be deterred.” His lips descended on hers. For all Mr. Stephens’s gentleness, Mr. Todd was rough—his skin, his hold, his kiss. He gave her no time to learn or trust in his love, but thrust his tongue into her mouth. She felt sickeningly violated.
She slowly untangled herself, feigning shyness.
“My sweet love, you are ignorant to the desires of man,” Mr. Todd said. “I’m sorry I frightened you, but you drive me to such wildness. I shall be tender on our wedding night. I promise.”
Estella didn’t know if she could bear sharing a bed with this man, but she must learn.
“Let us speak of practical matters,” he said. “You should know your husband is a practical man.”
He told her that he had procured a license in anticipation of the event. He would have his home made ready for his bride. He had a well-appointed chamber that would be made into a lovely, feminine sitting room for her. He had already purchased paper and carpets. All the while he spoke, she said nothing, nor did he solicit her opinion. He had once accused her of thinking she lived in a dollhouse, but now she felt like some grownup doll to be played with.
“Come, walk me to the door, my love,” he said.
In the hall, Mr. Stephens prowled like a tiger, back and forth in its cage.
“Wish me well,” Mr. Todd told him. “Miss Primrose has consented to make me the happiest man. Now collect your belongings and leave. This lodging house is closed.”
Estella couldn’t bring herself to look at Mr. Stephens, but she could feel his blazing stare on her skin. At the door, Mr. Todd kissed her cheek and murmured, “Tomorrow I shall return.”
She watched him stroll out. He stopped at the boarding house sign and kicked it over.
Mr. Stephens grasped her elbow. “Did that man coerce you into marriage?”
Estella winced at his thundering voice. Shouting and anger would not help her now. Her struggle was over. Nothing could be done. “No, I willingly accepted him. It has been a long understanding between us. That’s what I tried to tell you.”
“You don’t love him! You said you loved me.”
“This is best for my family! I can’t… I can’t take care of this home anymore. I can’t take care of… anyone.” The tears were coming again. She covered her face. “Please leave me.”
“Estella, there is something you don’t know—”
“Please, I need a moment, Mr. Stephens,” she cried into her hands. “It has been a trying morning. I can bear no more.”
The twins rushed through the door.
“The mail’s come!” Cecelia said. “There’s a letter from the duke.” She paused, becoming aware of the tension around her. “Is something amiss?”
“May I see the letter?” Estella said.
She opened it and read the contents. “You were right about the duke, Cecelia,” she said slowly. “He is a horrid man, as is his secretary. I’m happy that Mr. Todd kicked down the sign. The duke is nothing like our grandpapa. I’m glad I will no longer be a Primrose.”
She dropped the letter and walked to her chamber. She curled onto her covers and finally cried in peace. She couldn’t stop thinking of how rough Mr. Todd’s touch had felt, so different from Mr. Stephens’s tenderness.
Lucere picked the letter from the floor and read.
Dear Miss Primrose,
I assure you that I have spoken at length with the duke. He does not recognize your family relation. Please desist your correspondence.
Damn it. No.
Chapter Thirteen
* * *
Lucere waited for Estella to come, pacing the drawing room and cursing himself. Outside the window, the sunlight shone on the tree leaves. Conversing birds flitted between branches. The natural world didn’t care that Estella was being forced into an unwanted marriage, or that Lucere was stuck, like the terrified child, watching the oncoming horses.
He should have known about her letters, her very existence. He should have belted Mr. Todd in the face. He should have been a better son. He should have jumped out of the way of the horses.
The things he should have done were interminable.
Across the room waited the pianoforte where he had sung to Estella and she had gazed at him with such unaffected admiration. None that he deserved.
He slumped on the sofa cushion and hung his head in his hands. His father’s words echoed around him. You’re a disgrace.
Estella never came down. She sent a message through Lottie that she would be unable to attend dinner and gave Lottie instructions for an easy, cold offering.
At four, Harris joined Lucere in the drawing room, closing the door behind him. The man quietly pulled up a worn, scraped wing chair until he was sitting just a few feet across from Lucere. Lucere picked up his secretary’s letter from the side table and handed it to Harris. He watched his manservant read it.
“I’ve failed her,” Lucere said as Harris refolded the missive.
“Were you ever given her letters?”
“No, but I can’t blame it on my secretary.” He rose and began to pace on the carpet. “I should have known. No telling what other vital matters have slipped through my notice because I chose to be distracted by a luscious morsel or a game of cards. I keep hearing my father’s admonishments ringing.” He bumped his fist on the top of the pianoforte. “I… I know what I need to do to be a better man, but I can’t seem to do it. I fail over and over. I… damn it.” He couldn’t continue down this cowardly road of self-pity before stoic Harris.
Harris sat back in his chair and studied Lucere, his index finger on his temple, thumb under his chin. His penetrating, unblinking gaze was unnerving.
“Speak, man,” Lucere said. “Don’t look at me so and say nothing.”
“May I be forthright, Your Grace?”
Lucere flung up his arms. “For the love of God, never be anything but forthright with me.”
“Very well.” Harris nodded. “I have been under the employment of both you and your father. Your father, though a fine gentleman, was severely limited by his intelligence. He had adequate enough wits, but not in the quantity to give him any profundity or true insight. Coupled with his rather coarse sensibilities, he performed his station in a manner that none would find wanting.” Harris paused to give weight to his next words. “Nor any would find great.”
Lucere stared at Harris. The man had vocalized something Lucere had felt for years but dared not say of his late father.
“Your Grace,” Harris continued, “has all the elements to be the greatest Duke of Lucere, should he choose to exercise them.”
Lucere gave a bark of derisive laughter, walked to the window, and gazed through the wavy leaded glass. Outside, the sun winked from the treetops. “You don’t know the truth, Harris.”
“You should not disagree with me!” Harris snapped.
Lucere spun around, shocked at the man’s temper that had flashed from nowhere.
Harris rose. “You made a vow on your father’s deathbed to be a better man. And you told yourself that to keep this vow you have to refuse the love of a lady who possesses the strong, valiant heart required of the Duchess of Lucere only because she was not born to the right parents and circumstances.”
“You make me sound crass and cold.”
“But if you care to look closely, you will clearly see that she has made you the better man. She will let you keep your vow.”
Lucere could see the faint lines of smugness around the man’s mouth. It angered him. The man knew nothing.
“How profound of you, Harris!” Lucere mocked. “How well you know me! A fine lesson, indeed. Now I see clearly my errors
.”
“Sarcasm is unbecoming, Your Grace.”
“Then let me be in earnest,” Lucere retorted, his voice breaking. He crossed to the pianoforte and played a quiet F chord. “There are secrets that I have kept all these years. Secrets that may change your view of matters. You say that I’m worthy of Estella and my title. Well, let me tell you why I am not.”
He began to play a broken chord in the bass clef. The story that had haunted his life wanted to stay locked inside. But Harris needed to understand why his faith was so poorly bestowed. “The morning that Catherine—your Catherine—was killed, I ordered her to take me to the confectionary store for jellies. I was a child and adamant to have my way, even if I no longer wanted the damn jellies. ‘I am a lord,’ I told her, and that she, being a simple nurse, must obey me. Charming little boy, I was. You know how patient Catherine was. How loving. How gentle. How perfect. She said I was in such a state not to be worked on until I had a jelly.”
Lucere changed his chord to a minor.
“After I got my prized jellies that I no longer wanted, Catherine left me on the pavement with strict instructions to stay out of the road while she popped into a store to buy some sewing notions. Well, I was not to be told what to do. I was a lord with his jellies. I played a little game of stepping onto the road and off. Tiny rebellions. Each time going a little farther, until I had built up my courage to stand in the street. That’s how I wanted Catherine to find me.”
He quietly played, coming to the part that dominated his life.
“I heard a loud noise like a powerful crash of thunder. People were shouting. Around the corner thundered a wagon with two massive horses and no driver. And I couldn’t move. I was stuck there on the cobbles, holding my prized jellies. I remember clearly telling myself to move. I had all the time in the world to get away. But I couldn’t. I was paralyzed, staring at the horses coming directly at me. Time seemed to slow down to a drip. I kept thinking, ‘I’m going to die.’ Then I heard Catherine scream my name, and I was shoved.”
Lucere quit playing. He had to tell the last seconds of Catherine’s life to her lover’s face. The deep lines of Harris’s visage were drawn down. Little red veins appeared around his irises. The cool façade he usually wore was stripped away, revealing his raw depths and intelligence.
“I was lying on the road,” Lucere continued. “I remember the horses pounding the jellies, brown dusty hooves on yellow and orange confections and red blood. Catherine struggled to escape, but then I saw the wheel strike her head. She became still. The wagon clattered on, leaving her inert on the stones. Her limbs were twisted in unnatural positions. Her head lay in blood. People were rushing onto the street. I… I could not move.”
Lucere gazed down at his hands. “I killed her, Harris. I killed your Catherine. I destroyed your loving, gentle creature. I wish it had been me who died. But that gives you little solace. It doesn’t bring her back.”
Harris swallowed. He pounded his fist on the armrest, then bolted up and stalked toward the door.
“I’m sorry,” Lucere said. The word sorry was so impotent.
Harris’s enormous shoulders rose and fell with his breath. “You were only a child.”
“I’ve tried to tell myself that for decades. It does nothing to stop the memories or lessen the guilt. That horrible moment has led me down a path of destruction. For years and years, I have amassed more sin just trying to forget about that moment.” Lucere rose, catching his reflection in the mirror on the chimneypiece. He knew he was a handsome man. He had heard that said to him enough times. But unlike Estella, he had nothing beautiful beneath his skin.
“So you see, I am not the man you thought. When Miss Primrose returns, I must tell her the truth of my identity. I will give her money—anything she requires. Then I will leave for my German princess. Estella will be able to live and marry as she pleases.”
Harris whirled around. “She pleases to marry you and you her!”
“I’m not… not good enough for her. How can she forgive me? I have deceived and disappointed her in the deepest ways.”
“Have you no faith in her?”
“I have every faith in her, but little in me.”
“Miss Primrose is stranded on a street,” Harris barked. “The horses are beating upon her. She can’t move because she is terrified, exhausted from caring for her family and this home and fending off a man who she knows will destroy her, heart and soul. The horses are steaming. They are but inches from her now. What will you do? You can push her to safety and into the life she deserves. Will you redeem yourself?”
“I can’t be redeemed!” Lucere shouted.
Harris’s huge shoulders sagged. He regarded his master with tired, sad eyes that were filled with compassion.
“Yes, you can,” he said quietly. “You can show all the love and kindness that Catherine gave you to someone who desperately needs you. You can learn from every mistake in your past to make you the wise and strong husband that Miss Primrose deserves. Don’t hurt her out of your own fears. And don’t dishonor my dear Catherine’s memory by not giving the love she gave you to another.”
Lucere’s eyes burned.
“Don’t think about your redemption or past failings or your vow to be a better man,” Harris counseled. “Think only of Miss Primrose. If you leave, you will break her heart. You will hurt her. Give her your total love, and the rest will fall in line.”
Lucere rubbed his finger where his signet ring had made an indention. Could he entrust anyone else to her care? Most gentlemen would never see past her beauty to her lovely character. He thought of Estella with no one to sing in Italian to her or converse with her about the customs of China or the architecture of Spain. And who could keep watch over her sleep? Who would make her laugh? Who would take her to Italy and walk with her amid the Coliseum? If she truly wanted his love—the broken, worn-out thing that it was—he would offer it all to her. He would give her everything Catherine taught him.
“Harris, please send an express to my man of business and solicitor in London,” he whispered. “I will require money and… and a special marriage license.”
Chapter Fourteen
* * *
Estella turned back from Mr. Stephens’s door for the third time and hurried to her room with shaking legs. She had almost reached her chamber when she thought, No! She spun around and strode purposely to her boarder’s door.
If she were giving her life away to Mr. Todd to save her family, she wanted to know again how a true kiss felt. Yet, as she held her hand up to rap on the door, her resolve petered away.
This is not how a proper lady behaves, a harsh voice rang in her head.
How those useless lessons still kept her in chains.
This is your last chance. She had to make memories to cherish for the rest of her life that would be spent in a loveless marital bed.
Her knuckles struck the wood. She paused for a beat and then began to back away, when the door swung open. Mr. Stephens was dressed in fine clothes—a deep blue coat, white trousers, and boots. Her breath left her body in one rush. He was as handsome as a London gentleman in his finery. How could he afford such clothes? Maybe they were castoffs from an employer.
Then Mr. Harris stepped around him. Estella’s cheeks burned.
“Good day.” Mr. Harris bowed curtly. “I shall take care of the business,” he said to Mr. Stephens and continued down the corridor.
Mr. Stephens fingered the edge of his coat. He appeared nervous.
“Would it be an imposition…” she began, and then the rest of her words stuck in her mouth. She hadn’t envisioned making her speech in the hall, or how Mr. Stephens’s yearning eyes would set her emotions awry.
She boldly stepped inside his room and closed the door. His leather bag was open and set upon a chair, waiting to be packed. He was leaving her. He had been in her life only a short time, yet figured so largely in her mind now. All her thoughts flowed to him. The idea of his imminent departure hur
t like a death.
Perhaps she was making a mistake coming to him, but she didn’t care anymore.
“Mr. Stephens, you know I love you. And although I’m promised to another, would it be an imposition if I…” Tears swelled, choking her words. “If I kissed you again, so that I always have it to remember? Of course, you may decline—”
His lips were on hers in a flash. All the shock from the morning was gone. There was no fumbling or tentativeness, as before. The pressure of his mouth opened her lips, allowing his tongue inside. She caressed him as she explored. She loved the taste of him and the sensation of his muscled chest against her softness. For all that Mr. Todd repulsed her, Mr. Stephens drew her near.
His hands tangled in her hair. She could feel her pins falling away, her hair tumbling onto her shoulders.
His urgency deepened. His tongue lashed against hers. What had been sweet transformed into something primitive. She had come seeking a kiss, but now she pressed her body against him, begging for something, she knew not what. Sensations that she had never experienced with such violence were breaking over her. Her nipples ached and pressed against her shift. Her sex swelled and wetted with want of him inside of her. He filled her every sense.
He groaned and pulled back. Could he feel her raw yearning? Did she frighten him?
“I’m sorry,” she cried. “Please don’t turn me away.” How humiliatingly plaintive she sounded.
“No,” he whispered, lifting his gaze to hers. “I love you,” he said. The words were ragged and worn, as if he had carried them for years, unable to give them to anyone. “I love you so dearly. I can’t deny you anything.” He embraced her, drawing her snug against him. His heart thrummed in her ear.
Today she had consented to marry a harsh man. The idea of giving her virtue to him was almost sacrilegious. Mr. Todd would never be her true husband, despite what vows she said. Her true husband now held her and kissed her hair.
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