My heart felt brittle, fragile with hope, and desperate for words I might never hear.
"I'm going to miss you." His tone was urgent.
"Then hurry back," I said. "Hurry back to me. There's just one thing…"
"What?"
"How am I going to explain the grass stains on my back?"
He kissed the tip of my nose. "The power of rank—no one questions the duchess."
"But they'll think—"
"What they like."
"One more thing, then." I dusted petals out of his hair. "What kind of orders have you been giving the staff not to walk in on us?"
He grinned. "What are you talking about? I haven't given them any orders at all. That's part of the excitement."
Chapter 9
Riggins
I didn't used to believe you could burn for someone. Have an ache for them that was almost physical, like the phantom pain of an amputated limb. As if I was missing a part of myself. Miss the sound of someone's voice so much you sometimes imagined it.
Back in Seattle, that was how I felt about Haley. Hell, who I was I kidding? That was how I felt when I pulled away from the castle on my way to the airport. I almost turned back. But that would have been weak. I had obligations in the real world.
But if this wasn't love, it was certainly misery.
I'd almost screwed up in the garden and handed her my heart on a gold platter. Almost told her I loved her. Damn. I was losing control. What did loving her mean? That I should stay? That we should make a little heir and get on with our life together?
I wasn't ready for that much commitment. I wasn't a forever kind of guy. But Haley was the committed type. Eventually, I would only break her heart.
The best plan seemed to be to just get over it. Get over myself. Get over this stupid notion of falling in love.
I would get over this. I would. Nothing good would come from it. People left you. Abandoned you. Disappointed you. I didn't need that shit. Haley didn't need it from me.
I wanted my old life back. I knew where that one was going. I was in control. I didn't need a broken heart. But none of that stopped me from calling or Skypeing her every day. From thinking about her constantly. From suffering endless ribbing.
"The new duchess ditched you already?" were the first words out of Lazer's mouth. And Harry's. And just about every guy I knew. Those or cruder.
I had it bad. I just had to work her out of my system and I'd be myself again. I dove into my work. Worked out for hours each day. And pored over the financials for the castle and estate. Buried in there somewhere had to be the key to getting rid of it before Haley became too attached to it. I didn't like to admit why that mattered, even to myself.
Haley
The Dead Duke was a complicated, mysterious enigma of a man. I decided that in order to find any clues he might have left for me, I had to think like him. I began in the library by reading some of his favorite books, including the family history. One book, a fictionalized account of the first Duke of Witham, back when he was still only an earl, enthralled and amused me. Although it was leather bound and embossed with gold lettering, with pages edged in real twenty-two-karat gold, it was well read and dog-eared. The leather soft with rereading. Certain passages bookmarked.
The first time Gibson showed me the library he'd said Lady Witham's Great Game was a favorite of the Dead Duke. There were multiple copies in the collection, the well-worn one being the Dead Duke's personal copy that he had picked up in an antique bookshop when he was a young man. This was how it began:
England
March 1833
There comes a time in the life of every young, newly married countess when she must conceive an heir despite the obstacles fate places in her way—husbands as homely as hoary toads, old men who've joined themselves to youth, but who, to put it delicately, aren't in their full blush of potency. Or possibly even despotic, spoiled men of tolerable age who have no cares for their wife's pleasures.
Scarcely four months into her marriage, Eliza, the seventh Countess of Witham, realized her time was now. If it wasn't too late already.
Henry Feldhem, the odious, perverse, middle-aged, money-grubbing, sweating, blackmailing heir presumptive to her new husband's title, sat on the sofa across from her, hat next to him. He glanced around the drawing room of her husband's countryseat as if it, and everything in Witham House, already belonged to him. Including her.
For just an instant, she wished she were not a countess, but a powerfully built man like Witham who could give the insolent newcomer a good right hook. Instead, she fixed Mr. Feldhem with a cold, cutting gaze.
"What do you mean—my husband is missing?" Despite the shock, she managed to sound calm and almost amused.
All manner of horrible visions—highwaymen, carriage accidents, and lame horses—should have flashed through her mind at Mr. Feldhem's insistence that Witham was not where he told her he was going to be. Namely, London. But sadly, they did not.
What crossed through instead? The exotic landscape of India and Witham on a ship bound for it, leaving her behind. Abandoned. Deserting the nobleman's life he'd never wanted. Faking his death. Returning to whatever adventures he was so fond of in the land where he'd been born and raised.
The passage was so eerily similar to my own situation. Some things never changed. Produce an heir, girl! Get on it now! Haha. Really? My duke didn't want one. Although his predecessor had been desperate for one. And still was, from beyond the grave.
Had this book been the inspiration for the Dead Duke's diabolical plans? I laughed at this line: spoiled men of tolerable age who have no cares for their wife's pleasures. At least my duke did have a care for my pleasures. Boy did he. And he was of more than tolerable age, in his prime.
I couldn't help falling in love with the book and rereading it. I commandeered the Dead Duke's copy as my own and kept it on my nightstand to read before bed, laughing aloud at the dog-eared pages, cheering for Eliza in her quest to have a baby boy and tame her earl.
What would it be like to have Riggins' baby? To make his heir? Wouldn't that solve all our problems? It was a traitorous thought. Disloyal to my husband in some ways. In others…
Two days after Riggins left, I was poking around the Dead Duke's study—with Riggins' permission and his key—when I found a secret compartment in the Dead Duke's desk.
My hands shook so badly, I could barely open it. Maybe this was where he'd hidden the secret identity of Sid's cure.
I was disappointed. At first, anyway. In it was a stack of letters, love letters, as it turned out, bound with a leather cord. Surprisingly, they were letters the Dead Duke had written to Helen. They were postmarked, but returned, unopened. The lovebirds must have had a fight. Interesting. This couple, so romantic and dedicated to each other, had fought so hard that she'd left and refused to read his letters. Which, back in the day, was like ignoring a text, only worse. She probably didn't take his calls, either.
I stared at the letters, debating with myself. Was it right to open them after all these years? Then again, if he hadn't wanted anyone to read them, the wily old duke was deliberate enough in everything he did to destroy them. No, he wanted me, Riggins, someone, to find them.
Debate over. I grabbed an antique letter opener and slit carefully through the envelopes, fingers trembling with excitement. As I pulled the beautiful writing paper out, it shook in my hands. I was struck by the Dead Duke's handwriting, how particularly elegant and beautiful it was. He must have had a tyrant of a penmanship teacher.
I read the first letter.
My Darling,
I never should have let you go. A day without you is a day wasted. A day spent wandering in the desert, a lost and thirsty man without his compass. Without his heart.
Today is another day, unremarkable, just like any other. Darker than it should have been, because I could have been loving you. If I hadn't been a coward. If I had confessed my feelings…
Come back to me, darling.
<
br /> I love you. Desperately. You're breath to me. I can't live without you.
Rans
Those letters were like popcorn, maybe better, totally addictive. I spent the entire afternoon reading, and rereading, them all. Somehow, over the course of a year, Helen had broken the Dead Duke's heart. Like tap-danced on it with her high-heeled shoes. Letter after letter returned unopened.
And Rans, that conniving, cunning old hermit, had been a true romantic down to his soul, which he poured out on the page. He couldn't fake something like that in letters like these.
So our manipulator, Rans the Dead Duke, who seemed almost like two different people in my mind, had neglected to tell Helen how he felt about her? And lost her for over a year? I made a note to ask Gibson if he knew anything about it.
The Dead Duke's letters to Helen made me wonder if I was making a similar mistake. Should I tell Riggins I loved him and take my chances?
I had been gradually ingratiating myself with the staff. Talking to them. Getting to know them. Asking them zillions of questions about the estate, the Dead Duke, the village. I was hoping to build their trust and find out what they knew in general. Hoping something would slip. I'd talked to pretty much everyone but Bird, the gamekeeper. He was always out on the estate and seemed to think, from what Gibson told me, that the game was purely Riggins' domain. I didn't see how he would be much help to me, anyway.
That evening before Gibson retired for the night, I asked him about the Dead Duke and Helen. "I found some letters in the late duke's desk." I was trying to be more respectful of the Dead Duke around the staff, who seemed to have loved him. I explained my find. "To your knowledge, did the late duke and Helen break up for a time before they married? Do you know anything about it?"
Gibson nodded. "I heard the stories, of course, ma'am. The young duke had to marry for money to save the estate. Helen had money. The story I heard was that she fell madly in love with him. But came to believe he wanted her only for her money.
"I can't blame her for thinking so. It was a common enough practice in those days for a financially strapped British noble to look for an American heiress to marry. She refused his initial offer of marriage and returned to Seattle, I believe, for over a year. Until he finally went to Seattle himself and convinced her he loved her. She finally accepted his marriage proposal. It's a romantic tale, ma'am."
"Yes." I frowned. "So they married in 1934." I'd been piecing the family history together. "And had their first baby in 1939. Helen died a few days after of a hemorrhage."
"I believe so," Gibson said.
"Odd that there were no babies in five years." I was still puzzling it out. Helen had been only twenty when they married. And the Dead Duke twenty-three. They should have been fertile enough.
"There were many miscarriages, I believe."
"Ah." I nodded. "That makes sense. Poor thing."
"The Rh factor is what the doctors eventually suspected. The late duke had O-positive blood. The late duchess, the rare B-negative. They were doomed. The young heir was likely the only child they would have had that lived."
I bit my lip and frowned harder. "But usually, without treatment, only the first child is unaffected. After the first baby, the mother's body builds up antibodies that attack the developing baby. Which explains the miscarriages."
"They got lucky having the one who lived." Gibson nodded. "Though he lived less than a year. The official cause of death was a childhood fever of some sort. But he was a sickly baby. Very likely he had heart problems from birth and wouldn't have lived to adulthood."
"That's tragic." It really was. I had more and more sympathy for the Dead Duke. How much loss could one man take?
"Yes. Broke the late duke's heart to lose his son. The baby was the last bit of Helen he had. And losing his only heir was a blow, too. He insisted on a blood test before marrying either of the second two duchesses, even though by then there were treatments for the Rh difference. There was no Rh factor problem between them."
I sighed. "Sadly, it didn't make a difference. No more babies for him." I had a thought. "Did the other two duchesses miscarry?"
"No, ma'am. Both barren, as I understand it."
Riggins was supposed to fly back for our one-month anniversary. Instead, Kayla went into labor. Riggins had to stay in Seattle to run Flash while Justin was out. I could have flown over, but I was feeling under the weather. Tired. And he was swamped, anyway.
I stayed at Witham House, frustrated in my search for Sid's cure. Where was that elusive twin? And who would know anything about him or her? I met the locals. Listened to their stories of the castle, the Dead Duke, his family. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing!
Rose, to my chagrin, became a regular guest at the castle. Suddenly, she was my best friend. That was what she reported on social media, anyway. She was also dating a wealthy older man. A sugar daddy? Maybe. But as long as she was out of my hair, I was happy for her. Though I still didn't trust her.
The more I got to know the Dead Duke, the more convinced I was he knew something that could help Sid. It may very well have been the twin that Mr. Thorne thought existed and I was desperate to find. But the Dead Duke had hidden whatever knowledge he had well, leaving only a cryptic, vague treasure map for me to puzzle out. At times, I hated him for keeping the cure from me.
He wanted that heir. And was determined to withhold the prize until he got it. I wanted my sister to have a long, healthy life.
At others, I loved the old man. Or, more correctly, the young, romantic man. And admired the way he'd saved the castle and lovingly restored it.
Two days after our one-month anniversary, Gibson announced Riggins' cousin, Maggie Feldhem, had arrived to see me. I hadn't invited her. It was bold of her to come. I met with her as briefly as possible. It was an unpleasant affair.
I told Riggins about her visit that evening.
"What the hell was Maggie thinking?" His frustration with her came through loud and clear. "Did she want money?"
"Oh, so you do know your cousin!" I laughed, although it wasn't funny. "Oh, yeah. She not only wanted money, she made some not-so-veiled threats she promised to act on if she didn't get some. She threatened to contest the will.
"She claims she can have your dad's death certificate revoked because his body was never recovered. And the investigation reopened."
"How? Let me get this straight—she thinks she can have him re-declared alive? That's bullshit."
"With the estate in the balance, she thinks she can. She hinted you had motive to get rid of your dad once you realized what you stood to inherit if he was out of the picture."
Riggins snorted. "Right. I was in Seattle. I didn't even know where he was or that he was dead. Or missing."
"She can open a can of worms. If he was alive, he'd be the duke and you'd lose it all—"
"She's blackmailing me?" He laughed. "Did you tell her she should have done her research? That she'd be giving me what I want? That would have shut her up."
"Riggins! This is serious. She says she can make you look bad. And petition for her share of the money that your dad would have given her. Because she was his favorite niece. And by him being declared dead, she was cheated out of her rightful inheritance."
"Eh. She's all bluster. She only goes for the easy money. Everything she described is too much work and too iffy. She doesn't have the money for a big court battle, anyway. Or the connections or patience. As we know, the will's airtight. I'm sure the Dead Duke thought of every contingency. She doesn't have a prayer."
"It points out one thing—you need a will." I hesitated. "Or an heir."
There was a heavy pause in the conversation. I shouldn't have brought it up.
"It would break my heart if someone like Maggie got the estate," I said. "She'd ruin it in the space of minutes. Spend every penny and bankrupt the place. Throw outrageous parties that trash it. You can't let that happen, Riggins. Please. Be responsible about this—"
He sighed. "I won't let it happen
. I promise."
"Don't die before you do. Don't die ever." I let my emotion into my voice. Damn him. Why couldn't he see that the easiest solution was for us to have a child? I was wanting one more and more. It was like living here had cast a maternal spell on me.
The Feldhem dynasty needed a new generation to keep things going. Someone with Riggins' drive, intelligence, and charm. And I wanted to have his baby. Couldn't he see how much I loved him and wanted to provide that for him? I couldn't even imagine him having a baby with anybody else.
"I'll try not to. But I'll die eventually." His voice was soft. "I miss you. Desperately. Get well and come home to Seattle."
"How desperately?" I tried to sound light. "Do you feel like a man wandering in the desert, lost and thirsty, without his heart?"
"Worse." His voice was so damn sexy. "I'm parched. Have you been reading the Dead Duke's letters again?"
"Hey, you could learn something from them, duke." My voice had a harder, more desperate edge than I'd intended.
"Are you saying I'm not romantic enough?"
I might have been reading too much into it, but he sounded almost hurt beneath his trademark amusement.
"I'm saying I miss you, too. In the worst way. As soon as I find some hope of Sid's cure…"
I swallowed hard. I missed Sid, too. Maybe I could bring her out for spring break and we could look for clues together. "It feels like Rans is keeping it just out of reach until I give him what he wants."
"Rans? Are you on a first-name basis with the Dead Duke now?" Riggins didn't sound happy. He sounded almost worried.
"It's easier and kinder than Dead Duke, isn't it? It was his name." Why was I so defensive? Tears stung my eyes, both of frustration and sentimentality. I was awfully emotional these days and working on a tightly wound string.
"Huh."
"He wasn't all bad, Riggins."
"No. Probably not."
"Let's not argue," I said.
"No. Let's not."
It would have been the perfect time to say I love you. But he didn't. And neither did I.
The Temporary Duchess: A Jet City Billionaire Serial Romance (The Billionaire Duke Series Book 3) Page 11