Falling Into Bed with a Duke (Hellions of Havisham)

by Lorraine Heath

  “She’s more than coin.”

  A corner of Locke’s mouth hitched up. “Is she? I don’t recall you having much interest in her before. Has she suddenly transformed into a fetching skirt?”

  “Why is everyone so consumed with looks? And why can they not see the beauty in her?”

  Locke’s smile grew, until it almost resembled one of childish wonder. “You’re in love with her.”

  “What? No. She intrigues me is all. She’s bold as brass and can stand toe to toe with any man. She states her mind. She doesn’t back down. It’s refreshing.”

  “Refreshing for now, she might be, but she’ll grow stale over the years with her nag, nag, nagging. Bold women determined to speak their mind have a tendency to irritate after a while.”

  “Is that based on your extensive experience with women? When have you ever stayed with one for more than a night?” Ashe downed the remainder of his scotch, then rose to refill his glass. “More?”

  “No, I have to finish going over the books tonight.”

  Ashe looked over his shoulder. “Everything all right?”

  “With the estate? Absolutely. No troubles there.”

  Ashe reclaimed his seat. “How do you keep your finances in such good order?”

  “It’s not as though my father is a spendthrift. A butler, a cook, a housemaid, a footman to manage this monstrosity.”

  “Not all of it is managed.”

  “No, only the rooms in which we live. The others are left untouched. God knows we could probably plant seeds in the dust that’s accumulated over the years and have a bountiful harvest.”

  “That’ll change when you take a wife.”

  “I’ll never marry. Madness is not a legacy to pass on.”

  “It’ll end with your father. You’re not mad.”

  “Maybe I’m simply better at covering it up.” He sipped his scotch, once again studying Ashe. “You’re not yet betrothed, so no exciting news there. I’m still trying to determine what prompted your visit.”

  “Wanted to ensure you were all right. You left rather abruptly when we got off the ship.”

  “We were gone longer than I’d planned. Needed to make sure all was in order here.”

  “Are you coming to London for what remains of the Season?”

  “I don’t think so.” He stood. “I need to finish up. Shall we go riding tomorrow?”

  “First thing. I’d like that.”

  “Good.” He started walking toward the desk. “You can tell me then why you’re really here.”

  WHY was he here? Ashe wasn’t even certain he knew. The quietness in the house as he wandered about was eerie. The absence of the ticking of clocks making it more so. When he was a lad, he would sleep with his father’s watch beneath the pillow just so there was something other then the winds howling about. He’d found the pocket watch resting on the table beside his father’s bed. It was strange that it had been left behind, and sometimes Ashe wondered if his father had had a premonition about what would happen. But if he had, why hadn’t he left himself and his duchess behind instead of just the watch?

  He stepped into a long hallway, where only one door stood slightly ajar, a pale finger of light slicing along the floor. Even knowing he should turn back to avoid upsetting the old man, he carried forward and walked into the bedchamber that smelled of bergamot and lavender. He thought perhaps the marquess kept lavender sachets around the residence, because there were pockets of the scent in the air here and there. In the marchioness’s bedchamber—which hadn’t been touched since the night she died, other than to remove any evidence of her death—on the vanity had stood a bottle of lavender perfume. Ashe knew because he and the others had snuck into the room one night, even knowing it was forbidden. Grey and Edward had gotten into one of their usual shoving matches. When Grey had pushed Edward into the table, the bottle had toppled over onto the floor and broken into a thousand shards. The sound had brought Marsden into the bedchamber.

  He’d been furious at their intrusion. It was the only time that he had ever punished them. In the library, he’d lined them up, made them drop their trousers and grab the back of their knees. He’d taken a switch to each of them, repeatedly, determinedly, and harshly. Until his arm grew tired, until he dropped into a chair, and wept. Huge, gut-wrenching sobs that had hurt Ashe more than the switch slapping against his backside.

  After that, the door to his wife’s bedchamber had been locked. Not that Ashe had any desire to return to it. He’d never again wanted to make the marquess weep with such soul-crushing despair.

  But still, at nine, he’d offered the man no comfort. With the others he’d stood there, stared, and shifted his feet in discomfiture as the marquess grieved the loss of a fragrance. Not until he grew into manhood did he fully realize the man was grieving the loss of so much more.

  “Ashe,” the marquess rasped, as though his vocal cords had grown tired.

  “My lord,” he said, walking farther into the room until he reached the cushioned chair where Marsden sat in front of the window. He pressed his shoulder into the casement, welcoming the support, the sharp bite of the wood. The marquess’s hair was stringy, unkempt, the white strands brushing his shoulders. White stubble dotted his jaw. He had no valet, but someone had shaved him recently. Probably Locke.

  His dressing gown was threadbare and faded. Ashe wished he’d thought to bring the man a new one from London. Not that he would have worn it. He didn’t like the unfamiliar.

  “She’s out there tonight, waiting for me,” Marsden said, his fingers trailing over the small, framed painting resting in his lap. “Do you hear her?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “I’ll join her soon. When Locke is happy.” He grinned slightly, his green eyes boring into Ashe. “When you are. When Greyling and Edward are. How are they?”

  “They’re well, my lord. In London.”

  “Why aren’t you?”

  Ashe looked out into the darkness. He thought he’d needed to see Locke. He was wrong. “You loved her very much.”

  “No.”

  Surprised by the answer, Ashe shifted his gaze back to the marquess, who was shaking his head.

  “That does not even begin to describe what I felt for her. What I felt was … everything. When she was no more, everything was gone.”

  “In all my years here, you never told us about her. What was she like?”

  A faraway look came into Marsden’s eyes as though he were traveling back through the years. “She was the moon and stars. The sun and rain. I did not like her as much as I liked the way I was when I was with her. I was optimistic, invincible. Kinder, gentler. She brought out the best in me. Does she bring out the best in you?”

  Ashe wrinkled his brow. “Who?”

  “This woman you love.”

  He stared at the marquess. His eyes held knowledge, understanding. “I don’t love her, but there is a woman, yes. She’s sharp, clever, strong-minded. I need her dowry. I made rather a mess of my fortune.” He pressed his shoulder harder into the sharp edge of the casement. “I can’t make numbers work.”

  “Neither could your father.”

  Ashe straightened away from the window edge. “Pardon?”

  Marsden chuckled low. “It was his secret. But he told me. Was fearful he wouldn’t be able to manage his estates. So he would bring me his books, and I would provide him with the answers. I forgot that. All the years you were here, I never thought to tell you. Never paid any attention to your studies. Damnation,” he whispered. “That’s why he selected me. To be your guardian. I knew his secret. He thought I would guide you. Instead, I failed you.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. If anything, it was my pride, not letting on that I was struggling. Relying too much on my man of business, when I wasn’t completely open with him. I need to find someone I can trust to know everything.” If he could convince Minerva to put her pride aside, she would make an excellent person to manage his accounts.

  Marsden waved
a finger. “Locke, he’s your man.”

  Ashe wasn’t convinced. Quite possibly what he needed was a woman.

  THE horse’s hooves thundering beneath him, Ashe rode hell-bent for leather over the moors, with Locke riding along beside him, his gelding keeping pace. Being out here brought forth memories of running wild, of spending days doing whatever he pleased, never worrying about estates, income, salaries, upkeep, expenses. Numbers, figures, tallies.

  “Enough!” Locke yelled, bringing his horse to a halt.

  Ashe drew his up short, circled about, and guided the black back to where Locke waited on a white. Heaving, the beasts’ nostrils flared, created puffs of smoke in the early-morning gloom.

  “Let’s walk for a bit, shall we?” Locke asked, dismounting before Ashe had even given his answer. Locke might be merely a viscount and younger than Ashe, but this was his home, and he’d always reigned here, knowing that one day he would be master of it all. There was something to be said for growing up on the ancestral estate. It created an immense sense of appreciation, of understanding one’s place and responsibilities. Those had come late to Ashe. Probably to Grey as well. And never to Edward, as second son.

  Holding the reins, he fell into step beside Locke, their long strides stirring the fog that lay low over the moors. Locke didn’t harangue, it wasn’t his way. Still, Ashe knew he was waiting for Ashe to speak first.

  “I moved into Ashebury Place,” he finally said.

  “Put the ghosts to rest? That’s good.”

  “It’s more that I couldn’t afford to pay the lease on the other place. Edward’s taken it over.” Reaching down, he plucked up a tall blade of grass for no other reason than it gave him a moment to collect his thoughts. “I’m in a bad way financially.”

  “Hence the decision to marry Miss Minerva Dodger.”

  Ashe gave a curt nod. “Unfortunately, she doesn’t fancy fortune hunters and is rather put out with me at the moment for failing to acknowledge—or at least reveal to her—my impoverished state. She refuses to marry me even though …” He grabbed another sprig of grass.

  “Even though?” Locke prodded.

  “I compromised her.”

  Locke stopped walking, grabbed his arm, and spun him around. “On purpose?”

  Ashe glowered. “Well, I certainly didn’t accidentally fall into bed with her.”

  Locke sighed with annoyance. “You know what I meant. Did you compromise her to force her into marriage?”

  “No, I bedded her simply because I wanted to. I desired her as I have desired no other. Locke, she visited the Nightingale.”

  The viscount’s green eyes widened, disbelief crossing his rugged features, but Ashe knew whatever was said here on the moors stayed on the moors. “Indeed?”

  “That’s where she first came to my attention as desirable. She had decided to accept spinsterhood and thought she had nothing to lose. She quite charmed me.” He shook his head. “Charmed is too tame a word. She’s bold, courageous, goes after what she wants. She’s unlike any woman I’ve ever encountered. Why I failed to notice her before is beyond me. Why no man has taken her to wife simply demonstrates the foolhardiness of men. She is remarkable. So I began courting her through traditional means, within Society, at balls and such. She was agreeable to marrying me, and then she discovered I had no coins lining my coffers, and told me to go to the devil. My courtship was wasted.”

  “I don’t see the dilemma,” Locke said and began striding forward again. “You simply need to begin courting a woman who doesn’t care that you want her for her dowry, one who is enamored of your title and good looks. Shouldn’t take overly long for you to snag another fish.”

  “You’re right. I just need to find another dowry. It’s disappointing is all, after all the effort I put into the courtship and gaining her willingness.” And they were very good together in bed. He didn’t know if he’d ever been so well matched. He regretted that he wouldn’t have that. Or her smiles or her humility. “I’m not usually one to give up on a hunt, but I don’t know how I can make things right with her.”

  “What if she had no dowry?” Locke asked.

  “Pardon?”

  “Miss Minerva Dodger. What if she had no dowry? You wouldn’t have gone after her, you wouldn’t be disappointed. You’d have never known what you were missing.”

  “But I do know, that’s the hell of it.” He wanted to slam his fist into something, but there was nothing within miles except for his horse, which he would not abuse, and Locke, who wasn’t deserving of a fist to the face. “I know how stubborn she can be. How magnanimous. I know she can tear a lady down if she set her mind to it, but she sets her mind to not doing it. She could win a fight in a boxing ring. She smells of verbena. She’s brazen in the bedchamber. And she’s smart. Incredibly smart. She devises investment opportunities. She thinks like a man, which common sense tells me should make her unattractive, but all it does is make me want her all the more.”

  “You’ve fallen in love with her.”

  “No, no. I just—” He spun around, paced three steps one way, three the other. It was just that he adored her. Every inch. From the top of her head, to the tips of her toes, inside and out. He adored the challenge of her. He adored the times when he was with her. He liked talking to her, listening to her opinions. He liked that she had opinions. He liked everything about her, even her stubborn belief that she deserved a man who loved her. He stopped pacing, removed his hat, and tunneled his fingers through his hair. “I may very well have, yes. But she’s not going to believe it. I can pen love letters, write poems describing my feelings. She’s not going to believe them. Not when no man before me has ever wanted anything other than the fortune that comes with her.”

  “Then I ask you again, what if she had no dowry?”

  “If she has no dowry, then I remain an impoverished lord.”

  Locke met and held Ashe’s gaze, his intense green eyes reflecting a myriad of questions, the possibilities of answers.

  Ashe looked out over the moors. “But if I asked for her hand in marriage under those circumstances, she would have no choice except to believe, to understand, that I wanted her.”

  “Well, then, that seems simple enough, doesn’t it? I’ll race you home.”

  Locke mounted and was off, before Ashe completed deliberating all the consequences of what he was considering. With a laugh, he climbed into the saddle, urged his horse into a frenzied gallop, and sprinted after the man who fate had deemed would become one of his brothers.

  Chapter 20

  “MR. Dodger.”

  “Ashebury.” Off Jack Dodger’s tongue, the name sounded like an insult. Not that Ashe blamed him. On the way back from Havisham, he’d given a lot of thought as to how to approach the former gambling-house owner. He’d been surprised that the butler had shown him into the man’s library. He was grateful that Minerva, as of yet, didn’t know he’d come to call. “You’re a brave man to show up here after breaking my daughter’s heart.”

  “It was not my intention to break her heart.”

  “Yet you did it all the same. I’ve killed men for less.”

  “Not recently I hope.”

  A corner of his mouth shifted up. Minerva had not inherited the shape of her mouth from her father. Perhaps her mother. Otherwise, it was all hers. “Whiskey?”

  At least Ashe was assured he’d live long enough for a drink. “I’m a scotch man.”

  “I think I have some on hand.”

  Ashe watched as Dodger poured scotch into two tumblers. There was nothing delicate in his movements, nothing polished. Every inch of him spoke of a man who had begun his life in the streets. He might have risen above them, but they still clung to him.

  He turned toward Ashe and extended a glass. “Have a seat.”

  “I prefer to stand.”

  “I prefer to sit.” He dropped into the chair behind his desk, took a sip of his scotch, studied Ashe. “So why did you come?”

  “To ask you to
take away Minerva’s dowry.”

  Arching a brow, Dodger slowly set his glass on the desk. “It’s not often I misjudge a man’s purpose in meeting with me. I must say your request has taken me by surprise. Why would I not honor my promise to provide her with a dowry?”

  “Because it will always come between us. Because she will always doubt the reason I married her.”

  “I don’t recall giving you permission to marry her.”

  “But you will because her happiness means everything to you.”

  “And you’ll make her happy?”

  “Ecstatically so. But she has been hounded by fortune hunters, and she believes it is her dowry that drew me to her.”

  “And it wasn’t?”

  “No.”

  “What was?”

  Ashe wondered if, when he heard the answer, Jack Dodger would break his jaw or blacken his eye. He was likely to do both. “Her legs.”

  “And how is it that you happened to see her legs?”

  “That’s between her and me. Her legs drew me, but her boldness, her spunk, her cleverness, her character held me. She is quite simply the most remarkable woman I’ve ever known. I love her. Beyond all imagining, beyond any capacity that I thought I had to love. But she will always doubt my veracity if, when she gives me her hand, it holds a pouch of coins.”

  “Her dowry is much more than a pouch, boy.”

  “I’m well aware. It was a figure of speech.”

  “I’ve made inquiries. I know your financial situation. She’ll do without.”

  “Never. I can sell a good many of the treasures that I amassed during my travels. They’ll provide us with a tidy sum. Not as much as her dowry, but it gives us a start. Working together, we can build it into something grand for our children. I want her to be my partner. Equal.”

  “To come to you with nothing?”

  “Dear God, how can you possibly believe there is any part of her that is equal to nothing?”

  Ashe saw newfound respect and admiration enter Jack Dodger’s dark eyes, eyes he’d passed on to his daughter, and he knew on this matter at least, he’d won.