by Clara Moore
“He would,” Addy whined, “if only you asked him to. You know he does anything you want when you set your mind to it!”
She had a point. Greer Maxwell was her father’s favorite daughter. The Viscount Sutherland did not make any hesitation conceding to that point, regardless of the fact that he had four daughters. Greer always thought it was because he saw parts of himself in her. Their mother was a timid, insipid sort who had always been respectable. Her father was a boisterous, contagious sort of man that infected the very air he walked into with exuberance.
Greer wouldn’t go so far as to compare herself with that, but she did have a habit of getting herself into trouble with her need for excitement and adventure.
She thought again about the Count’s invitation. She had only been around him on two occasions, and while he had professed her beauty and poise, she had never had any cause to consider him an actual suitor. She was not fond of rakes. On her very first season, she had fallen for a blond haired charmer who had convinced her that she was his moon and stars, and that she should run away with him and get married. Her father had not approved the match, and when she had regrettably turned Richard down, it had turned ugly. It became suddenly clear that Richard had only been after her dowry, and had tried to circumvent her father by trying to convince her to steal away with him and marry.
After that season, her second and third seasons had gone remarkably better. She had turned down seven proposals this last year, and would continue to do so until either her father required her to marry, or until she found someone that was worth accepting. To date, all the men that had proposed were either rakes, or of questionable moral character.
She refused to marry a gambler or a wastrel, or a womanizer. And so far, that’s all the men that had proposed to her. She mentally sighed. Maybe she would meet that someone tonight. She absolutely wanted to move out of her father’s house and start to run her own household. She longed for a sweet baby in her arms, and a husband to support and shoulder her.
Addy brought her out of her reverie with a tug on her arm. “So, can we go? Please!”
Giving up, Greer accepted. “All right, but we’re going to visit his mother, Diana. No other reason than that.”
Addy squealed and started to pull dresses off their velvet hangers. “Not this one. Too green. Too many ribbons. Too short. Too last season. Too…”
Her voice trailed off and Greer started to wonder what she would wear. She settled on the lavender dress with the cream pinafore. She had commissioned it several months ago and had not had the occasion to wear it yet, since it was richly embroidered and far too formal to wear to a regular supper party.
“Violet,” she called to her maid. “Can you air out the lavender and cream that we got from Madame Susa? And can you work some magic into this hair of mine?”
It was bound to be a long night.
Grayson pulled up in the carriage as close to the front door as he could get with all the waiting carriages of the guests already inside. It seemed like the Count had outdone himself. He could hear the symphony of eloquent music even from the exterior of the large brick home.
He made his way inside, giving the appropriate greetings and inquiring as to the whereabouts of the Count to give his sentiments.
Finding his way to Rutherford’s private chambers, he was not surprised to see him seated with not one but two women on his lap. Both were dressed provocatively and were clearly not ladies. At least not ladies of the day variety.
“Rutherford,” he nodded, shaking his free hand. “Many thanks for the invite. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of being inside the home before. It suits you.”
The Count chuckled. “Hayward. Always the stickler for manners. It’s a wonder how you get the ladies that you do with such a strict countenance.”
Grayson’s hackles raised. “Yes, not all of us can flounce from one party to the next with no form of respectability or responsibility.”
Immediately sensing that he had just formed an enemy, Grayson still refused to back down. “Anyway, thank you for the invite. I believe I’ll show myself out.”
Without waiting for a response, he headed back out the lavishly painted door he had walked into seconds prior. On his way out of the gold brocaded hallway, he just caught the twirl of a skirt headed into the ballroom. Before his brain had even formed a reason why, he was following her into the crush of the dancehall, anxious to catch of glimpse of her.
He found her with her back to him, laughing with a group of what had to be prospective suitors. They were all young, younger than him. He recognized a few of them around the ton – second sons and the like. None were a match for her, even without him seeing her face.
She was taller than the average woman, and much curvier. Whereas the current trend was reed slim and willowy, she was voluptuous and gorgeous. Tiny waist and rounded bottom that made his hands itch to palm it.
He had stepped closer in his inquiry, and hauled himself to a stop just a few feet from her. He wanted her to speak, but she had her head tipped in attention to one of the young bucks that was telling no doubt a horrendously boring story.
Her skin was perfect – golden and clear. A tendril of curled blonde hair rested on her exposed neck. He thought he could even smell her, although that was a bit of a stretch. The heavily perfumed bodies surrounding them were pungent and strong. Hers was a crisp smell, of apples that had yet to fall from the tree and lavender still on the branch.
When a group next to him burst out in laughter over something likely offensive, he finally gained clarity. He had to leave. He had been walking out when the sight of her had bewildered and seduced him.
With a sharp turn, he headed back out the doors he had just come from and out the front door. He called for his carriage and climbed in as soon as it pulled to the front. Craving the peace and quiet of his own home, he rapped sharply on the roof to indicate he was ready to leave.
***
Greer let out a fake laugh, again, and fairly felt her cheekbones start to crack with the ache of smiling. This was not as good of a time as she had wished it to be. She was tired, her feet ached, and her heartfelt attention at the beginning had started to wane. She looked around for Addy.
With her neck craned in the opposite direction of her feet, she didn’t even notice the Count come upon her. He bent to whisper in her ear, and Greer gasped and twirled when she felt the warm breath so intimately close.
The Count somehow lost grip of his wine goblet and its contents poured all over her cream pinafore. Greer felt the warm liquid seep through every gap in the fabric. She didn’t need to look down to know the gown was ruined. Her first thought was annoyance at the Count, first for coming indecently close and surprising her, and second that, for a notoriously graceful man, he had lost his grip quite gracelessly onto the front of her bodice.
He apologized, and the group made their unhappiness known as he escorted her to the breathing room to ‘freshen up’.
He offered her his arm and they retreated to the hallway.
“I really am most sorry, my lady. Sometimes I can be an awful klutz.” Something in the Count’s tone seemed less than genuine.
She ignored it, and the frustration that was bubbling inside her, and soothed his concern. “Don’t even worry about it for a moment. I’m sure it was clean out quite nicely. My handmaiden is quite gifted at these kinds of stains. I only need to lift it from the fabric as much as possible now.”
He took her past the breathing room into a suite of bedrooms. Her footsteps faltered as she realized that he intended to take her to his bedroom.
“Oh no, my lord. I’m sure a retiring room would be just fine. No need to compromise my reputation unnecessarily,” she reminded him. They were both unattached, and eligible. Even a hint of gossip would ruin her, although his scoundrel’s reputation problem would remain untattered.
“Don’t fret, love. I’ll just drop you in the bedroom and my serving girl will attend to you.” They reached a gol
d etched door that left no question as to its owner. He tugged it open, revealing similar gold plated furniture and a forest green bed.
“Sir, I really must insist…” Her statement was broken when he turned quickly and left the room as suddenly as he had come. She breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently her ruin was not paramount to him, thankfully.
She swished her way to the sink and started to cleanse the hopelessly stained cloth. A few moments later a service girl walked into the room.
The girl curtsied. “Beg pardon, ma’am. The Count tells me to take your clothing straight away to be cleansed and returned to you. There are gowns in the armoir behind you for you to wear temporarily.”
Greer felt a pinch of discomfort knowing that these gowns were most likely his paramours’. She declined politely but when it was clear the girl was not to take no for an answer, she finally acquiesced. The maid helped her strip down to her chemise, and then took the clothing away in a whoosh of silk.
Greer made her way over to the large piece of gold furniture and opened it. She let out a gasp.
It was empty.
***
Grayson made it home without incident and had proceeded to drink himself into quite a stupor by the time the idea came to him. The Count had unquestionably insulted him. However, he also had connections to any number of eligible women that could pose as a fiancé, and even wife, until his partners were satisfied, Grayson locked into a business contract, and then he could drop her back off where she came from, several thousand pounds richer.
It could’ve been the drink, or the boredom, or possibly even the thought of losing out on this business arrangement that made him get back in his carriage several hours later and drive right back to where he had left earlier.
At this point, there was only a handful of carriages left, no doubt the Count’s closest friends and most entertaining of guests.
His name was announced and he was taken back in the same hallway to the same door he had been at. He squared his shoulders, preparing for the mental battle that would no doubt ensue once the Count realized he was at the advantage.
What he walked into was nothing that he had been prepared for.
***
Greer turned toward the welcome intrusion, hoping that it was someone coming to her aid. She had no idea how long she had stayed in the room. What felt like hours could’ve been only minutes. Realizing that the Count no doubt was out to ruin her and then return her, she had padded around the hallway in the shadows until she came across a chamber maid. Of a close enough size, she had given the frightened girl all the jewels on her person, including her hair pins, in exchange for the black serving ware she had been wearing.
Without a way to get home or to notify her family, she had been forced to sneak out. The Count, unfortunately, must’ve had eyes and ears everywhere and noticed her sudden attempt at departure. He had ordered her brought into her study for, of what she could not doubt would prove to be, nefarious purposes.
She kept her eyes trained on the man at the door. He was large, even broader than the Count. But where the Count had lean muscles built from hours of sword play and gentleman boxing, this man had brawn and sinew built from some kind of hard labor.
She did her best not to shudder, but when his dark eyes trained on her, she knew he had seen. If this man would not help her, she was doomed. She had a chance against the Count, but this incomer she had no chance of overwhelming.
“Please,” she whispered. He stepped forward and she held her breath, knowing what this must look like. She had been forced to barter into servant’s clothes. Her hair was a mess from the lack of pins, and the Count’s hand was still squeezing her breast painfully.
“What’s going on here, Rutherford?” The man’s voice was intense. It was strong and low. She felt the sound whip through her tingling body.
“None of your concern, Hayward. Just conducting a bit of business with the gel.” His hand squeezed even harder and Greer let out a pained moan.
“It doesn’t appear she’s enjoying your ‘business’. I’ll thank you to unhand her and we’ll forget about this incident,” he demanded. “I have business to speak with you of my own and I won’t do it with her here.”
“This is not your home, Duke,” he spat. Greer’s ears pricked. A duke? Surely a duke would not overlook the mistreatment of one of his own. She was a viscount’s daughter after all. Her eyes met the duke’s, pleading silently. He face changed, become even harder.
When he spoke this time, each word was a threat. “Let her go, Rutherford. Or meet me at dawn. Weapons of your choice.”
The Count seemed to think over his options. The Duke of Hayward was certainly known for his incapability to die in duels. There had been many husbands of lovers, offended brothers, and outraged fathers that had called for his death in that manner. Obviously, none has succeeded.
Count Rutherford seemed to realize this, and let her go. “Another time, sweetheart.”
She stumbled towards the doorway, and thankfully landed against the duke’s thick shoulder. His hand wrapped around her waist in support and she sagged against his lended strength.
They turned simultaneously, now attached. The Count’s voice called after him. “What business did you wish to speak with me about?”
The duke’s steps hesitated, then resumed. He tossed back over his shoulder. “I will not conduct any business with the likes of you. Not anymore.”
Greer shivered at the dull coldness of his voice. This was definitely not a man you wanted to cross. And with a title like ‘Duke’, his threats had to carry some significant weight.
They walked together out to his carriage. He helped her inside. Once he had rapped and the coach had lurched into motion, she swept her hair out of her eyes and waited for his questions.
They never came. She figured it had been maybe a twenty minute ride before they halted. He jumped down, holding out his arm for support down the slippery steps.
She looked up at the brown stone they had stopped in front of. It was huge, taking up an entire city block and more. She had thought her own home impressive, but this was something out of the Middle Ages. It was gothic, dangerous, and beautiful. Not unlike its owner.
Inside, it was just as dramatic. There were pieces of art that seemed more like history than frivolities. Everything was mahogany and black, a stark contrast to the gaudy gold she had just come from.
His voice cracked through the silence. “I have a proposition for you.”
Her body instantly tensed. She had already had one ‘proposition’ for the evening. “No thank you.”
Grayson focused on the voice over the words it had just said. Of course she would accept his proposal. There were hundreds of mamas that had prepared for daughters for moments just like these. True, he had never thought of marriage to a governess, which is what he assumed her to be. Her clothes spoke of servitude, but with her skin and hands too soft to have hand to endure the labor, governess was really the only option.
Her voice matched her body. It was husky and rich, but undoubtedly feminine. He couldn’t see much through the rags she wore, but her breasts strained against the fabric so she was undoubtedly well-endowed. His cock started to rise to attention and he focused on calming himself. She had just gone through a spot of trauma and was likely still shaken.
“I believe you’ll want to hear me out. Tea?” He offered, holding out the still-warm teapot from earlier. He didn’t want to involve the servants, on the off chance she did accept his proposal. He needed her servants to see her as the duchess she would be, not as the penniless governess they would see before them now.
She declined with a shake of her head. “No offense, Your Grace, but I’ve already had one offer tonight. I’ll thank you not to force another on me.”
He admired her quiet strength. This was no meek mouse like he had thought when he had came upon her. “I am the Duke of Hayward. I doubt you have heard details of me, but I am, in most things considered, an honest man. I will
not harm you.”
He could see that she appreciated the sentiment, but had not relaxed fully yet. He tried again. “I have a business arrangement to offer you. If you choose not to take me up on it, I will not press the issue. But I would thank you not to mention it to anyone else.”
She was definitely curious. He even noticed a light that had come to her eyes upon realizing that this was a proposition, and proposition, only. “I assume you have agreed to listen at least.”
She slowly nodded. He continued. “I have two business partners with whom I am, unfortunately forced to work with; they pushed forward an endeavor for which I care fervently. They are of the notion that an unmarried man, especially one with a title and a need to produce heirs to secure the title, is an unreliable partner. While I understand their reasoning, I can’t say I agree.”
He cleared his throat, searching for the right words. “However, this does not change the fact that I do need to agree to their terms in any case. And they wish for me to engage in matrimony.”
He dared not look at her for this part, and instead, focused on the important task of pouring brandy into a snifter. “I am inquiring as to your married state. I assume with the lack of wedding band, and the scene I came across earlier, that you are unmarried?”
At this point, he did look at her, but only to confirm her hesitant nod before proceeding. “Then I would like to make a proposal. Not one borne of love and passion, but an impersonal business arrangement. I need a wife, for no less than one calendar year. After that time, if my business venture had successfully taken off like I predict it shall, we can procure an annulment and separate. Or, we can continue the marriage but live separate lives.”
He waited a few moments, but when she did respond, he felt the need to clarify. “I do not feel the need to procreate, but it is a necessity for the title. I will require an heir if we intend to not dissolve the marriage at the appropriate time. Being a duchess will certainly open doors to you that would not otherwise open of their own accord. However, I have no intention of caring for you outside of the way a partner would, and I will not force myself on you. I understand this will force you to lead a very quiet, and lonesome, lifestyle. As such, I will reward you handsomely. I am prepared to offer you forty thousand pounds in exchange for this year.”