Celeste Bradley - [Heiress Brides 01]

by Desperately Seeking a Duke

  Phoebe leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the window and watched the spring rain trickle down the pain. “Is that possible?” The gray day did not threaten, but only confirmed her mood. “Can love ever be wasted? Isn’t the act of loving worth something, all on its own?”

  “Now you’re traveling to a place unfamiliar to me.” Calder leaned against the giant desk, his long legs stretched out before him. “I am not a philosopher. I do not ponder the meaning of my existence. I already know my place in the world.”

  Phoebe closed her eyes. “Then you are a fortunate man indeed, Lord Brookhaven. I certainly hope that someone comes along to shake you right out of that smug little tree.”

  He laughed, a rusty bark. “It would take an army to take me down, I fear.”

  “An army … or an arrow. Love strikes everyone sooner or later, I think—or at least it ought to, if there is any justice at all in the world.”

  “Are you bitter now?”

  Phoebe opened her eyes and gazed unseeing into the misty distance. “I am not. I am … I am only sad—and perhaps a little angry—but not bitter.” Not yet. Would she become so one day? She could forgive Rafe for pursuing her and she could forgive him for leaving her, but could she ever forgive him if his actions hardened her heart forever?

  Probably not. “You are not surprised. I can sense it. What are you not telling me?”

  Calder leaned back on the edge of his desk. “I’d rather not say.”

  Phoebe turned to gaze at him evenly. “You and I have been honest with each other ever since you came to find me at the Blue Goose. Do not fail that now.”

  Calder studied the carpet. “When he left with you, he took several possessions … but he left his signet ring on his dressing table. Since he rarely removed it, I must take it as a sign that he has no intention of ever returning to his family or his home.”

  So.

  She drew in another icy breath that stung her chest. “I will go pack now. I believe it is time I accompanied my father back to Thornhold.”

  Back to her watchful prison. Back to endless scrutiny, now doubly dangerous. She’d not been nearly as discreet this time. Her ridiculous lie at the inn would be easily penetrated if anyone took the effort. Perhaps if she disappeared now, she would be forgotten by the time word got out that Lord Marbrook had fled London for parts unknown.

  Calder stood as well. “Miss Millbury—Phoebe—I cannot but help feel partially responsible for all this.”

  Phoebe blinked at him in dull surprise. “My lord, you have been nothing but the honorable victim.”

  Calder reddened slightly. “Not so honorable. I knew—” He cleared his throat, then joined her at the window. He took her hand a bit awkwardly. “I knew when I sent your aunt my proposal that Rafe wanted you for himself. I think I even knew that you preferred him.”

  She stared at him. “But why? I am not plain, but I am no true beauty. I understand … at least, I thought I understood why Rafe chose me … but why did you?”

  He shrugged. It was odd to see a man so normally sure of himself be so hesitant. “I suppose knowing that he wanted you was enough to make me want you as well … at first. Now—”

  “I see. So the one of you who ended up with me … he gets to be dubbed the pick of the litter, is that it?”

  He looked very uncomfortable. “I … I believe that is how it began, yes. For me at least.”

  She held up a hand. “Spare me further wallowing. It is self-indulgent of you. We have both behaved badly.”

  He met her gaze. “Yes.” He took a breath. “I fear Rafe has always brought out the devil in me.”

  Phoebe began to withdraw her hand. “Our devils are our own, my lord. We cage them or liberate them of our own free will.”

  Calder did not release her. “Phoebe, you need not return to Thornhold.”

  She let her hand stay in his. What did it matter? “Yes, I do. The gossip sheets will go mad soon. I do not wish to face that here in London.”

  “There is a solution.” He loosened his grip, slipping his fingers more intimately between hers. Phoebe watched their hands intertwine without much interest.

  Calder smiled, or as close to a smile as she had ever seen on him. “Phoebe, I have come to see in these last days that you are an admirable woman, with strength and dignity to spare. I am asking you to be my marchioness—and my duchess, when that day comes.”

  He’d managed to surprise her after all. She blinked at him. “My lord, I’d be a terrible duchess. Did you notice that I’m rather indiscreet?”

  His fingers curled sensuously through hers. She felt him, felt the heat and strength of his large hand. “Phoebe.” His voice was soft and husky as he pulled gently on that hand, tugging her a step closer. “Would you really rather face a future of scandal? Would it truly be so bad to be my wife?”

  Phoebe took that step, for she was wondering that very same thing. The thought of belonging to another man now—or ever—to be strung on that reeling line between despair and dizzying joy, to fly on that heartrending passion and fall into that black place between—no, that she would never willingly do again.

  When Calder’s lips met hers, Phoebe closed her eyes and waited. His mouth was warm, his lips firm and teasing. He slid one hand up her arm to cup the back of her head in his big palm and carefully deepened the kiss.

  Somewhere inside her, her body recognized his size and strength and maleness. She became aware of a slight warming of her lower belly and a tingle in her breasts.

  Her heart, however, was left entirely unmoved. It was safe from Calder, safe from that wild ride.

  Calder ended the kiss and stepped back. He moved his hand around to tip her chin up so he could see her eyes. “Was that so terrible?”

  She could do it. She could wed Calder and shelter beneath his power and status. She would inherit the Pickering trust. She would be immune.

  It would not be the life she’d imagined with Rafe. It would be a half-life … which was perhaps better than no life at all. She wasn’t even sure she could go back to Thornhold. Rafe had changed her with his passion and his intensity. She would never be the same.

  Yet she must change again. Could she wear the mantle of a duchess?

  “Calder … did you ever have a dream about someone that was so real … so glorious … that you thought they must be dreaming it, too?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “I am sure you could do better, Calder,” she said gently, a slight thaw in the ice around her soul. “I am not what you need.”

  His thumb traced her bottom lip. “I like you. I am comfortable with you. I respect you and I cannot deny that I desire you. What more do I need than that?”

  Comfort, respect, and desire. Indeed, what did any of them need more than that? The other way lay the swinging blade of agony and bliss. Her choices were clear. Be alone and ruined. Be his duchess and be spared.

  Perhaps … perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps it was time to be practical. Sensible.

  Maybe love wasn’t enough, after all.

  She turned her face away from his touch. Her gaze fell upon the “Dear Miss Millbury” letter. It was unsigned, as if Rafe couldn’t bear to put his name on it … just like he couldn’t bear to take his signet ring.

  After all, what was his name worth without the man to wrap in it?

  His name …

  She looked at Calder, thinking of the things he’d told her about Rafe, and then back down at the damned letter.

  A matter of timing.

  And as simply as that, her decision was made.

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Well, well, my pretties—it looks as though the wedding of the season is on once more! Handsome Brookhaven and his pretty Mary Mouse have thrown themselves back into the bridal fray. It is reported that the flowers for the ceremony have been ordered to the tune of thirty guineas! If you haven’t been invited to this splendid event, then you simply don’t matter, not in Mother England an
yway!

  ANOTHER SLIMY BRICK slid from the root cellar wall, leaving a hole that was heartbreakingly just a tiny bit too small. Rafe cleaned out the crumbling mortar around it and then set it back into place. He had to stop for the night. He’d never been so exhausted. His hands were bloody and throbbing. His shoulders were on fire.

  Just a few hours sleep, and then he would start again. It was ridiculous to wear himself to the bone. He’d never make it home once he escaped!

  He dropped to his knees and sat there, cold and numb and aching. They had fed him nearly nothing, just bread and weak broth. Were they cruelly trying to keep him weak, so that he wouldn’t try to escape? Or were they merely thoughtless and stupid, not realizing that he would die from another week of this?

  Ransom had occurred to him, although if those blokes thought they could squeeze a farthing out of Calder after what Rafe had done …

  I’m going to pay, it seems, one way or the other. But you were worth it, Phoebe.

  He let his mind wander to her warmth, to her eyes, to the scent of her hair when he held her close to his heart.

  With a superhuman push, he stumbled to his feet once more and turned back to the damned hole in the damned wall. Just one more brick and then he would rest …

  PHOEBE TRIED TO hide from the world in the family parlor, but the world insisted on following her, in the form of Tessa.

  Phoebe sighed. “What is it, Tessa?” She had no use for the niceties now.

  Tessa narrowed her eyes. “I won’t hedge any longer. I want you to break it off with Brookhaven and go back to your moldy little vicarage immediately.”

  Phoebe didn’t blink. “That is hardly news, Tessa. It is quite obvious that you think Brookhaven could be convinced to want Deirdre instead. You might even be right. However, what you think doesn’t matter to me in the slightest.”

  Tessa sneered. “Arrogant twit. I—”

  Phoebe interrupted her with a harsh bark of laughter. “I hardly think you are in a position to call anyone a twit, Tessa. Now, I refuse to tolerate you any longer. Go annoy Deirdre.”

  Tessa paled with fury. “Flee back to Thornhold or face the consequences!”

  Phoebe folded her arms and regarded Tessa with boredom. “What consequences, Tessa? Will you dress me in ruffles, like Sophie?”

  Tessa moved closer, her chin jutted venomously forward. “If you do not break it off with Brookhaven immediately, I will make sure that he and everyone else in London knows about Marbrook!”

  Phoebe stared at her. “Do you think anyone in London will bring that up once I’m properly and respectably married in a few days?” She shrugged. “And Brookhaven knows already.”

  Tessa gaped. “He knows? And he still—”

  Phoebe rolled her eyes. “God, Tessa, don’t be thicker than you have to be! Brookhaven knows and soon no one will care, I promise you. So keep your poisonous, amateurish blackmail to yourself, if you please.” Phoebe turned away.

  Tessa reached out to grasp her arm with cruel fingers, yanking her back. “I’ll wager you didn’t tell Brookhaven about that nasty little incident when you were a girl, did you?”

  Phoebe went very still. “What are you talking about?”

  Tessa bared her teeth in a not-smile. “I’m talking about the foppish little dancing master and the whorish little vicar’s daughter.” She folded her arms and lifted her chin. “I’m talking about the difference between one mistake and the wanton habits of a lifetime. Do you think he’ll still want you when he knows how well-used you are?”

  Phoebe stared at Tessa long and hard. “The vicar didn’t tell you.”

  Tessa blinked. “He did!” But her gaze flicked sideways when she said it. “He warned me before he let me bring you to London!”

  “No,” Phoebe said slowly. “I might hate my father sometimes and I might even wish to flee him forever … but he would never betray me to someone like you. He despises you and all you stand for.”

  She narrowed her eyes and took a considering step toward Tessa. “So how did you learn of this? Only three people in the world knew—myself, the vicar, and the foppish dancing master himself …”

  Phoebe felt the familiar chains of manipulation and control tightening about her once again. “You sent Terrence to Thornhold. I’d forgotten that. How could you do that to me? I was only fifteen!”

  Then again, there was no cause for surprise. This was Tessa.

  Tessa didn’t lose.

  Tessa lifted her chin haughtily. “What of it? Your father asked for my help. It was all he could do to contain your wildness. He asked me to select a few qualified people—”

  “Qualified? Like the maid Papa hired for me—the one who left me unchaperoned to be with her lover night after night? Like the governess, who drank every drop of brandy in the house and then disappeared after a mere week?”

  Phoebe laughed, a short, harsh noise. “And how perfectly I fell into your trap. A lonely, unsure girl and a predatory young man looking for a way to ride free through life—”

  Phoebe halted, another outrageous idea taking form. “You told Terrence about the trust, didn’t you—although you must have left out a few key bits, or he would have known I’d never get it if I wed him—”

  Tessa backed up several steps, nearly at a run. “I did no such thing and you cannot prove I did!”

  Tessa looked honestly alarmed now. As well she should, for if she’d leaked the information to Terrence, the lot of them would be instantly disqualified, even Deirdre.

  “No,” Phoebe said slowly. “You wouldn’t have done that … although I’m sure you hinted at something of that nature, or he wouldn’t have exerted himself so to win me. Terrence ever did have a reluctance to exert himself.”

  “It’s all rubbish,” Tessa snapped. “I did my best to help your father through a difficult time and this is the thanks I get! You always were an ungrateful girl! I knew you’d turn out badly when that idiot told me you’d given over after only a month of courtship—” The bolt of shock that crossed Tessa’s expression was very brief, and very telling.

  Phoebe felt the chill, sure place of control within her harden to ice. Her hatred was not hot and flaring, it was glacial and inexorable.

  It was time to end this puppet show.

  “What if I had no more secrets, Tessa? What if the world knew it all? What strings would you pull then?” Her lips formed a smile, but she felt nothing but the ice. “Would you like to find out?”

  Tessa blinked, confusion finally wrinkling her pristine brow. “What—?”

  Phoebe turned away and stepped slowly toward the window. The world outside was a large one. So many people, so many secrets. Surely hers were not all that interesting … and if they were, why should she care? “What if I told all, Tessa? What if I gave the gossips what they want—Terrence … and Marbrook … and the Pickering Trust.”

  Tessa inhaled harshly. “You—you cannot do that! Think of the family—think of your father!”

  “Oh, I imagine he’d survive. He’s never much liked being the vicar, you know. With Brookhaven’s fortune, I could buy him a lovely cottage where he can read all day if he likes.”

  “But—what of Deirdre? Of Sophie? Of m—” Of me.

  Phoebe turned from the window, the ice within her hardened to stone. “Deirdre is a well-connected beauty with many beaus. I’m sure she’ll do nicely enough.”

  “Pray, do not distress yourself on my behalf, cousin.”

  Phoebe and Tessa turned toward the door to see Deirdre and Sophie standing there, watching.

  Deirdre went on. “I’m sure my loving stepmother will stand by me.” The hatred in her voice matched Phoebe’s—or perhaps surpassed it. Who knew what Deirdre had truly suffered at Tessa’s hands all these years?

  “As for Sophie—” That was a problem, for of all of them; Sophie had the least protection.

  “As for Sophie,” Sophie interjected, “I have no plans to marry—ever—so I lose nothing by way of possibilities.”

/>   Phoebe nodded. Sophie might just prove the most sensible of them all. “So you see, Tessa, no one will suffer all that long—except for you. No one will call. No invitations will come.”

  Tessa’s pallor belied her fear of that very outcome, but she snarled anyway. “I have friends—powerful friends. They will not desert me.”

  “Truly? What will all your dear friends think of your own virtue as a guardian and chaperone? Isn’t that the most sacred duty a lady can perform for merry old England—protecting her daughters from disgrace so we can all wed to advantage and bring many more marketable girls into the world? After all, if I reveal the story of Terrence, I will most assuredly reveal your part in it. Won’t they wonder how much of all this was your influence? Will they want you around their own precious daughters?”

  Tessa was pale and shaking with fury. “You stupid trollop. You take it all so lightly, don’t you? You think none of this affects you—you think you’ll wed Brookhaven and no one will care what you’ve done? Don’t be an idiot, girl! You’ll ruin your entire future!”

  Phoebe thought about that for a moment, her expression serene. “Yes. I might. I’ll ruin my own life, with no help from you or Papa or even Marbrook. My future—my decision.” Then she smiled slightly. “The fact that I could take you down with me would merely be the icing on the cake of my ruin.”

  Then a deep voice came from the doorway. “Lady Tessa, are you under the impression that I would cancel the wedding just because a jealous, spiteful woman exposed my fiancée’s tragic victimization?”

  Tessa whirled. Phoebe turned to see Calder now standing in the doorway with a politely inquiring expression on his face, but black murder in his eyes.

  Even Tessa was not so self-involved as to miss that. She shrank back. At this moment, Phoebe could well believe that Calder was capable of violence.

  But never against a woman, not even one so malevolent as Tessa.

  Calder nodded to her. “Miss Millbury.”