What the Groom Wants

by Jade Lee

  “Did you really think I would abandon you?” he asked. “Even then, did you think you were alone?”

  She swallowed. She had. She did.

  Her brother stepped up. “I was there. I told him the truth.”

  “And I heard you scream,” Radley said. He touched her cheek, turning her to look at him. “Every good sailor can read the wind. We never learn all its secrets, but we understand enough. I never believed you false, just capricious.”

  She stiffened. “I’ve never been capricious!”

  “Of course not,” he said with absolute seriousness. “At least, not to me.” He dropped his forehead to hers. “Because I’m a good sailor, my Wind.”

  She swallowed, unable to speak. Was she really safe here? Was her family truly free of Damon’s threat? She didn’t believe it. She had yet to set eyes on her mother or Henry, but for the moment, she found faith. Radley would see it through. And so, with shaking hands, she set her fingers on her earrings. It was hard to manage—and a little painful—but she’d never felt better than when she pulled out the blood-encrusted jewels.

  Then she mutely handed them to Radley. “I never wanted these things,” she said. “But he didn’t lie. I did steal them. A long time ago.”

  She barely heard Lady Eleanor’s horrified gasp. Her attention was riveted on Radley’s expression as he accepted the bloody earbobs.

  “And that’s something we will talk about. But not right now.” Then he looked at the butler. “Seelye, she’ll want to see her mother first. You can set up her bath while they’re talking. And after that…” He turned back to her. “You should sleep. We have enough time for you to rest before we begin again.”

  She blinked, startled to find her eyes burned with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered. Inadequate words for the man who had single-handedly gotten them out of debt and given them safe haven. But at the moment, it was all she had.

  His grin widened. “I like it when the wind owes me a favor. I mean to collect on it.”

  She smiled, surprised that she still could. “I drive a hard bargain, you know.”

  “I know,” he drawled. “You always have.” And with that, he stepped backward.

  “This way, Miss Drew.”

  And so she went, doing exactly what Radley had suggested, and finding peace in trusting someone to guide her.

  Twenty

  Radley was still yawning when a discreet knock sounded on his sitting-room door. He was barely out of bed though it was past teatime. He hadn’t shaved yet but had managed to call for coffee as he lounged in this antechamber to his bedroom.

  And wasn’t that a laugh. Who had an antechamber to his bedroom? A duke, obviously. And that was what he was—as powerful a man on land as a captain was at sea. Still subject to the whims of air and sea, but more master of his own fate than nearly any man on earth.

  The knock came again, and he roused himself to speak. “Enter.” Lord, he needed that coffee now.

  The door opened, he smelled the thick brew, and he turned to greet Seelye, only to have the word stop in his throat. It wasn’t his proper butler who stood with tray in hand. No, it was his cousin who glided smoothly inside and set the heavy thing down with nary a rattle.

  “Eleanor? What are you doing?” Belatedly, he realized he was supposed to stand upon her entrance. He scrambled to his feet, one hand tugging his morning jacket closed. The other went to smooth his hair. He usually felt like an unkempt braggart in front of her. That she’d caught him in dishabille made it worse.

  She smiled as she eased down on the settee across from him. “I’m hoping you will forgive this intrusion, your grace. I have need to speak with you, and as I saw Seelye gathering the tray, I imposed upon him to allow me to bring it.”

  As she spoke, she neatly poured his coffee and passed it forward. He was still standing awkwardly, taking the moment to tie his jacket front tighter. Certainly, he was used to appearing in public with less clothing, but that was on board a ship in the company of men. She was a woman and a well-bred one at that. This had to be wrong. And yet, she was smiling as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

  “Um… thank you,” he said as he awkwardly took the coffee. He needed the damn thing, and so he sipped it, though it scalded his tongue. Then he glanced guiltily at the stack of family dairies she’d given him. Bloody hell, he’d promised to read them and had done nothing more than set them in the corner, forgotten.

  “Pray, sit down. I assure you, it is perfectly natural for cousins to talk casually.”

  What choice did he have? He couldn’t toss her out. So he sat, he sipped, and he waited. Meanwhile, she poured herself a small cup but didn’t drink. Not surprising. Tea was her choice, if he recalled. But she held the cup as she sat back and watched him. Just watched him in a way that made him distinctly uncomfortable. As if she were studying him and trying to discern his weaknesses.

  “Really, Eleanor,” he said as he drained his cup. “I should probably get dressed.”

  “Nonsense,” she said as she waved a negligent hand in his direction. “As I said, I wished to speak in private with you.”

  He waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. She settled pleasantly in her seat with the sun highlighting the gold in her blonde curls. She was, indeed, a beautiful woman, he realized, but much too reserved for his tastes. The woman he really wanted to catch him in dishabille was apparently still sleeping. Which was annoying. Which abruptly snapped him out of his awkwardness regarding his cousin.

  “What is it, Eleanor? I’m afraid I’m feeling rather flat this morn—afternoon.” Like a ship without any wind, he thought wistfully, as his eyes drifted to the hallway. He couldn’t see Wendy’s bedroom door, but he’d be able to hear it open.

  “I wanted to talk to you about tonight’s ball.”

  His gaze jumped back to her. “What?”

  She released a delicate sigh that conveyed benevolent tolerance. “I knew you had forgotten.”

  Bloody hell, Wendy had been trapped by a madman, her brothers’ lives were in danger, and Eleanor was annoyed that he’d forgotten a ball?

  “I don’t blame you, of course,” she said, immediately taking the wind out of his annoyance. “But you did promise Lady Aikin and her daughter that you’d appear.”

  He had?

  “And more than that,” she leaned forward, eyes alight with excitement, “Prinny has stated that he will attend.”

  The Prince Regent was going to be there? He was supposed to meet royalty tonight? He had no idea what to think. It was so beyond his usual frame of thought. He scratched his chin, then silently cursed. He hadn’t even shaved.

  “I don’t think I can attend,” he said. He wasn’t ready.

  “But you’ve promised. And I think Prinny has said he will come specifically to meet you.”

  “That can’t possibly be true. How would the prince know that I’m…” He knew the answer before he finished the question. If he’d promised to attend then the hostess would have bragged about snaring him. Lord, he hated navigating unfamiliar shoals.

  “I see you understand. And now, everyone in the ton who can attend will be there. They all want to see you and Prinny meet. You cannot miss that.”

  Bloody hell, he didn’t feel in the least bit prepared for such an event. But he could already see that if nothing else, Eleanor would suffer shame if he failed to appear. Just to be sure, he leaned forward, watching her face carefully as he asked his question.

  “And if I don’t care? If I don’t go?”

  She visibly paled, but then gathered herself again. Matching his pose, she spoke clearly. “You would damage your credibility among the ton. You would likely anger Prinny, which is stupid beyond reckoning. You have no footing right now, except as a novelty. Why would you make enemies before you’ve even begun?”

  “Enemies? That’s overstating things a bit, don’t you think?” After all, a real enemy was a pirate with a broadsword. Or Damon—cutter of women—with half the nobles in d
ebt to him. Not appearing at a party was hardly enough to anger any man.

  “At some point, you may wish to buy sheep or seed for your tenants. Those transactions are often negotiated between noblemen. Perhaps you wish to connect your land to a canal, or even take someone special to a playhouse. We do not have a box anymore, you realize. It was let go a few years back.”

  He frowned. A canal seemed improbable, but a visit to the playhouse would be nice. Naturally, a duke could not stand in the gallery. He needed a box or to borrow one.

  “Business deals are handled with merchants.”

  She laughed, the sound light and musical. It wasn’t a derisive sound, but one that indicated pure mirth. “You know I once said that to my mother. I recall it distinctly. And then, I spent my first Season in London and learned how malicious society can be. In fact, few negotiations have anything to do with logical business sense.”

  He had the uncomfortable feeling that she was correct. He rubbed a hand over his face, thinking again that he needed to shave.

  “You are already at a disadvantage,” she continued, “because you did not go to any of the elite schools.” She peered at him. “You didn’t, did you?”

  “No,” he said. “My father was a tutor. My mother as well, for girls. They taught me—”

  “An excellent grounding in the classics, I’m sure. But that means you have no boyhood friends.”

  He had a great many boyhood friends, but none who could help him here.

  “Now, imagine if you want to go into politics—”

  He held up his hand. “You have made your point, Eleanor. I shall attend this party long enough to bow deeply to the prince before dancing with Wendy. But that is all I can promise.”

  She inhaled sharply, though she quickly covered it by pretending to drink her coffee. He knew it was a sham, but in this he was determined. Wendy would be at his side tonight. If he had to face the entire haut ton, including the prince himself, then he wanted his Wind with him.

  Eleanor set down her cup with a click, and he could tell that she was about to battle with him. She didn’t know it was useless. He would take her advice on anything having to do with society, but he would not compromise when it came to Wendy.

  “Radley, I know you are fond of the girl. Indeed, you have extended yourself immeasurably for her safety and that of her family.” She paused, her gaze holding his as she tried to measured his reaction. He gave her none. He simply waited to hear her out. In time, she started again. “You have only been back in London a week, you have barely begun to function as a duke, and you have no idea of the consequences of even the smallest slips in protocol. What you are doing for Miss Drew and her family does you credit, but you must understand that you cannot trust your feelings on this matter. You cannot adequately judge the ramifications of your actions. And you cannot…” Her brows pinched in a worried frown. “You simply cannot do this to the family name. The weight of generations rests on your shoulders, as it will rest on your bride’s.”

  She stopped speaking, again studying his face. He knew what she was asking herself. Would he listen? Did he understand? The answer was “no” on both counts, but he didn’t say it. She hadn’t asked the questions yet.

  She sighed, seeing that he would not be pushed to speak. “Cousin, please,” she said, “let me guide you.” To add to his discomfort, the pile of family diaries mocked him. There was history there, not just his family’s, but England’s as well. And yet, he could not give her what she wanted.

  “Of course, you are my guide. In a great many things.”

  Her shoulders drooped, and he knew she understood his implication. In this matter, he would not be swayed. But his cousin was a persistent woman. Her expression softened, and she tilted her head so that the light fell sweetly across her face and hair.

  “There are many women anxious to meet you. Beauties, intellectuals, and even bold, scandalous women. Many will be at tonight’s ball. Why would you hurt Wendy by throwing those females in front of her? Showing her clearly what she could never attain?”

  He tilted his head, honestly confused. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Her expression took on a pitying look, quickly masked. It was as if she were speaking to a young child. “Think of it from Wendy’s perspective. She hasn’t the training, the refinement, or the speech patterns of the ton. It’s not her fault, of course, but taking her to a ball will expose her shortcomings. How awful to spend an evening seeing what you can never be, reviled at every turn. Oh, no one will be openly rude. They would not risk offending you, but she will feel it—the thousand, tiny stings of disapproval and disgust. It is inevitable, you know. And it will hurt her deeply.”

  He hadn’t thought of that. He hadn’t realized that attending a society ball might be painful to Wendy as bitter harpies found ways to wound her. With gentle smiles and refined poses, they would find a way to stab her, he was sure.

  Unless, of course, she had a protector. Unless she had someone to teach her how to act and stand as her guide. He would do everything he could, of course, but in this, he was nearly as lost as Wendy. He might turn to his mother, but in terms of experience, Eleanor was by far the better choice. She just had to be willing to perform the task.

  He leaned back in his seat as he considered his cousin. At his thoughtful look, he saw her smile in triumph. She hid the expression, of course, covering it with a false sip of coffee, but he saw it. And sadly, his estimation of her character dropped a notch.

  Was she truly the best the ton had to offer? If so, then he would never look among their ranks for a woman. Meanwhile, he took another sip of his coffee and started his attack with the most casual of questions.

  “Do you not think that the aristocracy is rather stodgy in their notions? I know extremely little of animal husbandry, but even I recall that stock must be replenished by new blood, or the entire herd grows sickly.”

  She gasped. “Surely you are not comparing England’s elite to a herd of sheep!”

  He was, actually, but he could see the notion would be a struggle for her. Very well, he would take a different tack.

  “You have spoken quite eloquently, Eleanor. As always, I am impressed by your poise. You are quite a beauty.”

  Her cheeks tinged pink as she bowed her head. “Thank you, cousin. You are very kind.”

  “No, actually, I am not. You are the epitome of refinement, and I have a task for you.”

  She blinked. “A task? I don’t understand.”

  “No,” he said, his voice growing colder, “you don’t. You have spent a great deal of time telling me what I should think. Now it is time for you to listen.”

  “Cousin, I—”

  “I am the Duke of Bucklynde, the head of your family, and the man in whose house you reside.”

  “Of course—”

  “I know you value the family legacy and honor. The dukedom has a history that I need to learn, traditions that only you can teach me. And then, there are the societal protocols with which you are so familiar.”

  She flashed him a quick smile. “Exactly! Which is why—”

  “You will cease interrupting and listen to the head of your family.”

  Her mouth was caught open, but she quickly snapped it shut and dipped her gaze.

  “It is too late to mold me into the kind of duke you are used to. However, I do value your input in the societal seas, as will Miss Drew.”

  She nearly said something then. He knew because of her quick inhalation, but she wisely held back her words.

  He smiled in approval. “I intend to marry her, Eleanor. Now, you may choose. You can stay here as a valued friend and advisor, helping myself and Miss Drew live up to the best of the family name, or you can depart from here.”

  Now, she was too horrified to hold back her words. “You would throw me out?”

  “Isn’t that what the previous duke did to my grandfather?”

  “No,” she rasped. “My father was the previous duke, and he never met your grand
father.”

  Radley didn’t respond. What she said was an irrelevant detail, and they both knew it.

  “I will have your answer, Lady Eleanor,” he said coldly. “Is your family pride stronger than your outrage? Do you help us? Or do you leave and damn the loss of a great family name as it falls to a common sailor and his seamstress bride?”

  She flinched. He could tell that the idea of the dukedom falling to commoners felt like a sickness deep in her belly.

  “You will not even consider other women?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Didn’t you hear her? She’s a thief! Have her as a mistress, if you must, but marry someone else.” Her gaze rose, and he saw the unspoken statement in her eyes. Marry me.

  He sighed and shook his head, saddened that she didn’t understand the smallest thing about how the real world worked. “You have no idea how to survive alone. You have been cosseted your entire life, your every need met. You think that makes you pure. I think it makes you weak. I will not have a bride who crumples at the first sign of adversity.”

  She shot to her feet, her hands balled into fists. “You know nothing of what it takes to be a daughter of a duke.”

  True enough. “And you know nothing of what is needed to build a business as a seamstress. Or to live when you have nothing, save a will to survive.”

  She didn’t respond. Her jaw was clenched tight, her fists pressed uselessly against her sides. She shook with the force of her emotions, but no words escaped her lips. And for the first time during this meeting, he had no clue as to her thoughts.

  They remained this way for a minute, maybe longer. But eventually, she spoke. “Without guidance, you will be a disastrous duke.”

  He nodded. “I am sure there will be others who wish to teach me.”

  She blanched, realizing too late how precarious her status was here. To her credit, she didn’t seem to care. “I am only trying to help,” she said. “You and I are all that is left of the family.”