by Clara Moore
She gasped, and he was relieved that at least he had gotten some kind of indication she had been listening to him. “Yes, I know that is a tidy sum. I want to make sure you are rewarded, and can live a comfortable life after you leave this place. You will not need to lean on arrangements like the one that was presented earlier to you. You would be protected by both my name and my funds.”
***
Greer was stunned. Too stunned to laugh, too stunned to even cry about the turmoil she’d been in for the last few hours. Forty thousand pounds? That was a fortune. Her family was certainly wealthy, but she doubted she would ever see that kind of money in her lifetime. She could open that shelter for orphans that she’d been dreaming off. Her father would’ve done so if she’d asked, but she had wanted for it to be on her terms.
She looked again at the man before her. He was undoubtedly attractive. His dark hair was windswept and gave the aura of danger and carelessness which belied his real attitude, focused and alert. He had a hint of stubble but he seemed like the type that always had a five o’clock shadow. His eyes were piercing, almost haunted.
All in all, he didn’t seem like the sort that would struggle to find a woman to marry. She voiced that opinion out loud in her shock, and he pursed his mouth in a grimace.
“That may be true, but I have no inkling for a pretend marriage unless it’s truly pretend. My parents had a loveless marriage, and the energy it took to keep up appearances nearly broke both in the process.” He took a breath, more affected than she had first thought.
She cut off anything he would have said after that. “There would be conditions.”
He looked back at her stunned. Clearly he had not been expecting that answer. “Conditions?”
“Well, not necessarily conditions. More like tasks.” Greer waited for him to walk away. To refuse. To demand her out of his house.
“Tasks,” he repeated dumbly. Somehow she got the feeling that the Duke of Hayward was not often put out, and here he was in front of her, practically mute with shock. A bolder female would’ve laughed aloud. Instead, she couldn’t help the small smile which drifted to rest in the corner of her mouth.
If he saw it, he didn’t comment. Smart man.
“Yes,” she continued. “I am a single female in possession of my virtue. I understand this to be sought after highly in the marriage mart. After you, I will be…tainted. I will likely not be able to marry again, especially after an annulment.”
“No offense, my lady, but from the scene I saw before, and your position there,” he motioned towards her drab clothing and the speck of dirt on her cheek, “you are not really trying to gain more than what I’ve offered. Are you?”
She paused for a moment. Was she? Not necessarily. She was just trying to make sure he understood that, while he prefer a sham of a marriage, it was unlikely she would be able to marry for love after she accepted this proposal. Although, the freedoms offered to a widow would be a refreshing change from the cloistering dullness of being an eligible female.
“I’m not trying to gain more. Just gain an understanding of the man that I would be marrying. Is that so hard to believe? That I would not just accept on the spot?”
He seemed to think about his answer carefully before responding. “Yes, I think it hard to believe that a woman of your…ilk, would be negotiating terms of a fairly impressive proposal.”
Greer tried not to be offended. He clearly thought her a lady of questionable character. Looking down at her servant’s clothes, and the position he had caught her and the Count in earlier, she could hardly blame him. Protesting her innocence would likely do nothing to sway that opinion anyhow. “Three tasks, my lord. That is all I require to prove that you would be a man that I can depend on.” Had that really just come out of her mouth? Was she really negotiating terms on a proposal to a Duke?
Clearly he was operating under the same umbrella of astonishment. He seemed to gather himself up, and said hesitatingly, “Tasks?”
“I will not divulge them at this time, but you should know that they will be reasonable, but a man of your station. They will be nothing that will turn you out in fair company, and it would be in my best interest not to do anything that would question your character or divulge you of your finances.” Her mind was traveling a thousand miles a minute. What would the tasks be?
She had sounded so confident, like she had a plan. But really, she had no idea what she would request. She needed time to plan this out, and she knew that he didn’t have time.
He must’ve came to the same conclusion. “I agree to the three mysterious tasks, but on my terms. They must be able to be completed within the next three days. They cannot require excessive travel, or items that cannot be obtained along my timeline. Agreed?”
He held out an unquestioningly masculine hand. She stepped forward, placing her much softer hand in his. He gripped it tightly. She could feel the callouses, the muscle, the hair. His hand was so much different than her own. He squeezed her hand and held it for just a minute too long. She looked up in surprise, and lost herself in the depth of his stare. Her body started to tremble.
What had she been thinking, taking on a man of his power and stature? She had not questioned the fact that he was a man in control of his life. For the first time, she actually felt a bit frightened. This was certainly not the Count. If he wanted her, he would take her.
Instead, he released her hand and stepped back. They both took in a relieved breath. The tension in the room diminished.
“When will I receive these tasks of yours?” He seemed nervous, no doubt expecting some birds of paradise to come in with the missive or some equally embarrassing mode of communication.
“I’ll send a note to you no later than dinnertime tomorrow. Is that acceptable?”
He didn’t even pause. “Of course. If I may, please take my footman on your way home. He will have instruction to wait until he gathers your response to return to me.”
She nodded. He bowed low to her and then escorted her out. His touch on her arm heated her entire body. She welcomed the reprieve of the cold outside.
While she readied for bed, she thought about all the options for figuring out what kind of man the Duke of Hayward really was.
***
Grayson received the missive earlier than he had expected. Whether Greer had taken pity on the footman who was not able to sleep in his own bed, or even that she had already planned out the tasks in advance before accepting, he did not know. Nor did he specifically care.
He opened the wax dripped on the back of the sheet. He was surprised at the quality of the parchment she had written on, but then realized she must’ve ‘borrowed’ it from the Count. It shouldn’t have been surprising to him, but it was. She had seemed like she would not be indebted to the Count in any way, yet here she was…using his writing tools.
There were only a few lines of text, written in an undoubtedly feminine hand.
I have heard of your prowess in the stables, but a worthy husband must yearn after the scent of a woman more than the scent of horseflesh. To prove your worth, you must lose the Tour d’Artis that was scheduled for this afternoon. If anyone questions the loss, tell them that your heart is now held elsewhere.
His mind halted. Was this serious? In order to procure a wife, all he had to do was lose a horserace? It seemed too easy. Then again, a gentleman never threw a race. But, was that really true? He supposed that the gentlemanly thing to do would be to do anything for a lady in need. She certainly didn’t seem to need his aid, but if this was all it took to secure marriage, and the partnership, he would gladly do it.
***
Greer heard about the Tour d’Artis but did not dare frequent the racetrack to see if he would really do it. As it turned out, the whole ton was aflutter that the notable Duke not only lost the race, but he didn’t even attempt it. In fact, he had taken ever wager that was offered, including the offer of a small piece of his property on the edge of Somerhalder. Then the flag had dropped,
and his horse had taken one charge, and then stopped.
When questioned, he had repeated over and over that ‘his heart was held by another’.
Greer was shocked. She had assumed that he would ride at a breakneck pace, and then stop just short of the finish line to take second place. Instead, he had thrown her challenge back in her face and done the complete opposite of what she had expected.
He had taken the ultimate blow of manhood. To not only lose the race, but also money and land, and then to blame it on love.
She laughed at out loud. Maybe she had underestimated this Duke of hers.
***
He received the second task not even twelve hours after the first. He tried to steady himself, picture the little vixen that had stood up in front of him the other night. Her hair tumbling down, her gown drab and worn, she had not let the garb drown out her brightness in the least. He didn’t know why he hadn’t seen it at first. She was no mouse. She was truly the lioness.
He unrolled the parchment.
The town is abuzz with the professionof your love. Bravo. However, a silly race cannot compare to the humiliation of dancing with wallflowers. At the ball at O’Creche manor this evening, you must ask at least three wallflowers to dance.
He almost laughed, an urge he hadn’t felt in a good long while. Wallflowers? She thought wallflowers would keep him from his business venture? At this point, he would give up nearly anything to be able to succeed in this endeavor, and prove the little nettle wrong about him. Clearly she believed too many of the rumors around ton. He was not nearly the rake the papers put him out to be. Sure, he’d had his dalliances, but what young man hadn’t?
He called for Herron. “Ready my blue and gray. We’ve a ball to attend.”
***
She heard about the ball from at least half a dozen of her friends before the sun had even risen. The whole ton was awash with the new gossip. Rumor had it the Duke of Hayward had danced with the entire row of wallflowers at O’Creche manor.
She nearly giggled in pure delight. Apparently the Duke was throwing her rules to the wolves and trying to show her that he was more than she thought.
A part of her actually regretted that he would not complete the last task.
***
He waited by the front window for his footman. The last task had come earlier than the previous and he hoped that this one too would be earlier still. He wondered what it would be. Parading about the square naked? Dancing a jig in the middle of Parliament? Professing his undying love to his horse?
The missive was shorter than the rest and he grew nervous. How far would she make him go?
Find an innocent that you have seduced and ruined, and offer marriage to her.
He halted mid-step to his study. Surely she couldn’t be serious? She must think him the biggest rakehell, and wolf in sheep’s clothing. He had not made a habit of seducing innocents. He stuck to married and widowed women – much less drama.
Suddenly, he hatched a plan in his mind. If she was determined to make him out to be a tried scoundrel, then a scoundrel he would be…
Two hours later, he walked out of Rutherford’s drawing room with his head spinning. According to the Count, the woman he had been considering marrying was not a governess. She was, in fact, a lady! She wasn’t as titled as a duchess, but she was the daughter of a Viscount. That was not insignificant. Worse yet, he knew the Viscount Sutherland. He was a good, and powerful, man about ton. The fact that he offered marriage to her, not in the proper circumstances, would not likely go unnoticed around ton. In fact, he was sure to be the laughingstock of ton if this got out.
A part of him questioned her motives. What she out to make a fool of him? Had that been her plan from the beginning?
His plan that he had so meticulously drawn up suddenly seemed to strangle him. It had been such a decent plan. If she wanted him to seduce and propose to an innocent, he would do so. Because, after all, she had declared she was still an innocent herself!
Besides that, the thought of seducing the comely lass wasn’t a completely unwelcome task. He hardened as he thought of her long blonde tresses, and full figure.
At this point, he had only days left before his time would be up. He knew that he didn’t have time to seek another bride. And part of him really looked forward to making the little minx pay for the tasks she had put him through.
Seduction it is, he decided.
He contacted James, his friend from Eton and requested he delve into Lady Greer Maxwell. It didn’t even take the private eye an hour before he had her schedule. Grayson read through the list of activities. It appeared that the Lady Maxwell would be present this evening at Vaux Hall.
Apparently he was going to one last ball as a single man.
***
Greer clicked through the heavy double doors and into the Hall. She noticed that a group of gents immediately to the right of the stairway were giving her the once-over. She suppressed a shudder. She hadn’t quite recovered from the incident with Count such a small time ago.
She smoothed down her merlot-colored silk gown. It was one of her favorites. It made her assets appear to their advantage, according to Addy. She saw one of her friends and headed over to her direction. On her way over, she caught sight of the clock. Only a few more hours before she’d know what the Duke of Hayward had decided to do. Was it wrong that part of her hoped he would turn down her task?
Striding faster, she tried to leave those kinds of thoughts behind. The Duke of Hayward was not for her. He was callous. A rake. A scoundrel. She could find a decent man that would give up everything to be with her. And for the rest of her life, not just months. She understood what he apparently did not – that she would be ruined if they indeed proceeded with marriage followed by an annulment.
***
Maxwell walked into the crowded Hall. He searched around for Greer but without her plain clothing, he figured she would be hard to pick apart in a crowd. He knew her signature golden tresses, but unfortunately not a lot more. Her figure was buried in plain loose clothing, but he was fairly certain her curves would stand out.
He made the necessary small talk until he could take it no longer. Perhaps she had not come. He had turned to head out the front door when he caught sight of her.
Her. The women that had been in lavender and cream when he had first seen her. She was deliciously rounded in all the right places, and only a few feet from him. Again, she had her back turned towards him. This time he could hear her voice. And he knew it instantly.
She tilted her head in his direction and he stumbled to a halt. Her gaze caught his, and he heard her audible intake.
It was Greer. Her hair was curled and piled high on her head, and her dress was tailor made of shiny silk, but it was definitely her.
How had he missed this? He should’ve recognized even just the backside of her. But somehow, he would never have placed the haggard governess in the same visage as the angel before him.
He quirked his head in the direction of the retiring room. She answered with an impersonal smile and then turned her head back around.
That little tease! Well, he’d show her. They were no longer on her turf. She owed a debt to him.
He came upon the group, and all eyes turned curiously toward him. It wasn’t every day that the Duke of Hayward joined an intimate gathering like this.
“Lady Maxwell, would you care for a turn about the room?”
He saw her eyes widen. Clearly she had not been expecting that. “Unfortunately, my lord, I fear I’ve just recently twisted my ankle. I will not be able to walk with you.”
All the female members of the party sucked in a breath. This was not done. An eligible female turning down an eligible duke?
He retaliated in a smooth and overly charming manner. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Please, let me escort you to the retiring room so you may have a brief reprieve.”
He held out his arm. To ignore such a gesture would be a cut direct, and of course Gre
er knew that. She clenched her jaw visibly and took his arm.
She waited until they were behind the doors of the retiring room to start to berate him. “How dare you take ahold of me in that manner! I’m am a lady, not your servant! You cannot drag me around like a limping dog!”
He bit back a smile. Clearly this cat had found her claws. Well, he had talons. He stepped forward, forcing her back. They repeated this awkward dance until her back was to the wallpaper and his body was inches from her.
He was so close he could even see her pupils dilate when his finger rose to caress her face. “Little Greer. What a merry chase you’ve led me on.”
She stuttered, “It-t wasn’t my intention to play games, my lord. It was y-you who offered me a proposal below my station, and insulted my virtue!”
His fingertips trailed down from her hairline to her jaw and tilted her head up. “About this virtue. It would appear that our bet is still on.”
She gasped. “Surely, you cannot mean that…but I…you wouldn’t!”
He smiled a Cheshire cat smile. “Oh, wouldn’t I?”
He dropped his mouth to rest on hers gently, giving her the feeling that if she truly pulled away he would let her go. Problem was, her limbs wouldn’t seem to cooperate and pull away from him! Maybe it was the punch. Or the heat from the ballroom. For whatever reason, she stood there and let the assault on her mouth happen.
It started slow and heated, but when she couldn’t hold back a whimper, the onslaught became much more passionate. His mouth bruised hers, biting gently on her swollen lower lip. She allowed his tongue inside her mouth, groaned at the sensation of his warmth inside hers.