Who Wants to Marry a Duke

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “What were you expecting?” he asked, hoping for something to get his mind off the fact that he wanted her again.

  “You know—what they always tell young ladies.” She fixed her gaze somewhere beyond him. “That once you’re married, you’ll have painful relations with your husband, but it’s all right because he’ll gift you with jewels and furs and such.”

  Good God. That certainly dampened his arousal. “In other words, they tell young ladies they’ll be whores after they marry.”

  Her gaze shot to him. “That’s what I always said! Why do you think I wasn’t keen to marry? I mean, how is a society marriage any different than being a man’s mistress?”

  “For one thing, your children won’t be born bastards.” He smoothed out a lock of her disordered and highly erotic hair. “If ‘painful relations’ was what you expected, why did you let me . . . I mean . . .”

  “Because I wasn’t sure what to believe. And when I’m not sure, I always want to experience things for myself.”

  “Like an experiment.”

  “Exactly!” She beamed at him.

  So that was what it was like to have her beaming at him. No wonder Juncker had been so pleased with himself. Just seeing her like that made Thorn’s chest swell.

  He chuckled. “I much prefer that sort of experiment to the kind you’ve been doing.”

  “It’s certainly more . . . enjoyable in some respects.” Her expression turned pensive. “And speaking of those experiments, do you think Grey will be terribly upset to learn the truth about his father’s death?”

  “I doubt it. He has suspected it for some time. Besides, he never knew his father, and given what he’d heard from others about the man, the late duke wasn’t a very nice person.”

  “That’s rather sad. Forgive me for asking, but if he never knew his father, why does he care if the man was murdered?”

  Thorn debated how much to tell her about Grey’s father, but at this point she might as well know the whole of it. At the very least, she’d be testifying at the trial of the murderer, assuming they could learn who the man was. Besides, she might have some insight into the other deaths, too. She was, after all, a clever woman.

  “Grey is afraid that the person who poisoned his father may also have murdered my and Gwyn’s father and our stepfather, not to mention Sheridan’s late uncle.”

  Her eyes widened. “But . . . but I thought your father died in a carriage accident.”

  “He did. I spoke to the local constable this morning, however, and he said it was conceivable that the accident came about because someone damaged the carriage beforehand. Perhaps even loosened the screws on the coachman’s perch, since it was found at a distance from the carriage.”

  “Dear heaven. How awful!”

  “This is all conjecture, you realize. So we may have trouble proving it. But I’m willing to look into it to see what I can learn.”

  “What about the other deaths? Did those people die of poison, too?”

  “Afraid not. That would make everything simple. The death of Grey’s father was actually the easiest to prove, which was why we were investigating it first. The manner of death for the others is different. But their deaths did seem suspicious—all were accidents and the like. That’s why this is important to us. Because none of us can feel safe without being sure of the reasons for the deaths of our fathers . . . and for two of Beatrice’s and Joshua’s uncles, one of them being our stepfather.”

  She hugged him closer as if to protect him. “That does seem to be a lot of deaths.”

  “Especially when all four were dukes. And two of them died relatively young.”

  “How shocking! And your poor mother, to be widowed three times. How does she bear it?”

  “For one thing, we haven’t involved her in this investigation, as I mentioned before. We don’t want to say anything to her until we’re certain they were murdered.”

  “That’s wise. No point in alarming her unless you’re sure.”

  “Precisely.”

  “But what I meant was how does she bear the loss of three husbands? That has to have been difficult.”

  “It was. It is.” He smiled. “Thankfully, she has all of us to lean on.”

  Olivia shifted to lie on her back, staring up at the canopy. “Oh, but that’s not the same, and you know it. I can’t imagine being used to having a husband, and somehow having him torn from me through no fault of my own. Even once would be awful. But three times? That would be horrible.”

  She had a point. And he did know Mother had suffered. It was a vote for never marrying, in his opinion. Yet Mother obviously didn’t feel that way.

  “To be honest,” he said, “our mother only truly loved one of her husbands—in the grandiose sense of a romantic love for the ages, that is.”

  Olivia turned to stare at him. “Your father, you mean. The one Mama said had a mistress.”

  “Yes. Though I’m not entirely sure I believe your stepmother on that score anymore.”

  “But you used to, apparently. Is that why you don’t put any stock in love and happiness in marriage?” she whispered. “Because of what Mama said about your parents?”

  Damn. They’d wandered into a subject he’d rather not discuss just now. He knew he must make an offer for Olivia’s hand, but he wasn’t ready to do so.

  You’re afraid she’ll turn you down again, his conscience whispered.

  That wasn’t true. He wasn’t afraid of anything.

  Yet here he was, talking around the fact that she deserved better. He shook off that thought.

  “Well?” she persisted. “Is that why you don’t believe in love and happiness? Because of what Mama told you?”

  He sighed. “Partly. But partly because I’ve seen firsthand how unhappy a marriage can be.” He turned the tables on her. “And so have you. You said yourself that your stepmother might as well be a widow given how often your father leaves her alone.”

  “Yes, but I don’t think their marriage is unhappy. They don’t fight. They just . . . don’t do much of anything together. Neither did Papa and my mother, to the extent that I can recall. He’s just . . . not the marrying sort. I suspect he has a mistress. Or a string of them. Although honestly, I don’t know for certain. He would never be so foolish as to flaunt them.” She met his gaze steadily. “So whose unhappy marriage did you witness ‘firsthand’? Your mother’s to your stepfather?”

  “Not them. Like your parents, they weren’t unhappy exactly. But neither were they in love. They made a practical match, and it served them well. I think they had true affection for each other . . . just not the sort of romantic love the poets praise.” He smoothed a lock of her hair over her shoulder. “In fact, I would hazard a guess they were happy precisely because love did not enter into their marriage.”

  “So, once again, not an ‘unhappy’ marriage you’ve ‘seen firsthand.’ I wager you’re just using that as an excuse for why you continue as a carefree bachelor.”

  He tensed. Offer for her, you arse. That’s what she wants.

  Damn his conscience. Instead, he said, “Trust me, I’ve witnessed plenty of unhappy society unions from the viewpoint of various married women’s beds. They thought being bedded by me would make up for the misery of their marriages. They thought wrong.”

  “‘Various married women’s beds’?” A pained expression crossed her face. “How many?”

  Why must he keep blathering things that only made the situation worse? He definitely didn’t want to talk about how many women he’d bedded. Not with her, anyway. “Enough to make me skeptical of my prospects for happiness with the typical society bride. The young ladies trying to capture my affections only wanted me because I’m a wealthy duke. They never cared about me in particular. For that matter, neither did any of those married women. I was always just a means to an end.”

  She eyed him askance. “How can you be sure of that? With the young ladies, I mean.”

  “I just am.” He shifted to lie on hi
s side, facing her. “Must we talk about this now?” Slipping his hand over her breast, he pressed a kiss to her lips. “I can think of any number of things more enjoyable to do.”

  Despite his fondling of her bountiful breast, she seemed to hesitate. Then with a forced smile, she slid her hand behind his head to pull him back for another kiss.

  He was safe. He would offer for her, just not at this very moment. Not while they still had these few hours alone.

  Scoundrel. Blackguard. Reprobate.

  Yes, he was all those things. And he meant to be them a short while longer. There was plenty of time later for offering marriage.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As she awakened, Olivia looked for Thorn, but he’d left her bed. And judging from the bright sunshine flooding the room, that was probably wise of him. Still, there was no reason for her to rush around, now that he was gone.

  She pulled the covers up to her chin with a sigh of pure contentment. Thorn had made love to her twice. And though he’d left her rather sore after the second time, she still couldn’t help feeling like a woman. Not a girl anymore, although obviously she hadn’t been a girl in some time.

  A woman, yes. His woman.

  With a quick pang, she turned her head to look at his pillow. That’s when she remembered that somewhere during their second time, they’d climbed under the covers. But now it was almost as if he’d never been here.

  She thrust out her chin. Nonsense. He’d been here, and he’d behaved as if she was special to him.

  You mean, like last time? When your mother had to blackmail him into offering marriage?

  “Hush,” she said aloud to her saner self. “Let me enjoy this a while longer, will you?”

  Suddenly, her temporary lady’s maid burst into her bedchamber. “Oh, thank heaven you’re finally awake, miss. Your stepmother has come, and she’s spitting mad. She’s with His Grace right now in the drawing room and asking for you.”

  It took a moment for that to sink in, but when it did, panic replaced her delicious haze of satisfaction. Mama, here?

  Dear Lord. Something must be wrong. Otherwise, how had Mama known that Olivia had come to Rosethorn? And Thorn was with her mother? This just got worse and worse.

  Olivia was about to leave the bed when she realized she was completely naked, which the maid was bound to find suspicious.

  So she told the young woman, “Would you mind calling for a pot of coffee? I’ll never make it through a conversation with my mother otherwise.”

  “Of course. But you should probably hurry, miss. His Grace seems a bit . . . um . . . annoyed at Lady Norley.”

  “No doubt,” Olivia muttered.

  As soon as the maid had gone out into the hall, Olivia leapt from the bed, found her nightdress, and dragged it on. Then she froze as she spotted last night’s clothes draped over a chair. She knew she hadn’t done that, which meant that he had.

  She ran into the sitting room to look at the windowsill where he’d undone her chignon. There was nary a hairpin to be seen. He must have gathered them all and put them somewhere.

  Sure enough, when she returned to the other room, she found them on her dressing table. Her heart sank. He’d gone to great pains not to have her caught doing something that might ruin her for good.

  She could take that one of two ways. Either he was being scrupulously courteous to the woman he meant to marry. Or he was covering his tracks so he wouldn’t have to marry her. No doubt that was something he’d done countless times before with his married lovers.

  The maid returned to announce that the coffee was on its way, and Olivia thanked her. Then the young woman walked over to the bed and started as she saw something.

  “Miss,” the maid said, pointing to the coverlet. “There is . . . um . . . blood here.”

  Oh, dear, Thorn had missed one crucial indication of their . . . indiscretion. Olivia thought fast. “I came in so late and was so exhausted that I barely had time to disrobe before I had to lie down on the bed or risk falling down. When I woke in the night, I realized my menses had begun. I was too tired to do more than change out of my shift into my nightdress and grab some rags. I didn’t realize I had bled on the coverlet. I hope it doesn’t prove too difficult to clean.”

  Olivia knew she was babbling, but she was desperate to hide what had happened. Because if Thorn had gone to such great lengths to do so, he might have had a reason, and she didn’t want to be truly ruined just because she couldn’t lie convincingly.

  Though the maid blushed, her suspicious expression had vanished entirely. “Oh, no, miss, don’t you worry your head about it in the least. We women know how that happens. If you’ll just give me your soiled shift, I’ll make sure it’s taken care of.”

  “Thank you.”

  The maid helped her dress and didn’t say another word about Olivia’s menses. Olivia could only hope the young woman had believed her.

  But Mama was here. Olivia found that more reassuring than she should have. It would be nice to have a shoulder to cry on if Thorn proved to be as much of a rakehell as he’d seemed last night.

  Even if he did offer marriage, he’d already as much as said he would never offer her love and happiness. And he probably meant it. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

  Once she was dressed, she gulped some coffee, then hurried downstairs to the drawing room. She walked in to find both Gwyn and Thorn trying to hold her stepmother at bay.

  “I swear on my life, Lady Norley,” Thorn said, “I haven’t hidden your daughter or whisked her away somewhere. I’m sure she’ll be down any moment.” He glanced over at the doorway and saw her. “You see? Here she is. She must have been sleeping deeply. I do know from the servants that she worked in her laboratory until very late.”

  Olivia’s stepmother walked over to kiss her on both cheeks, concern clear in her eyes. “You’re all right, aren’t you? I was so worried!”

  “I’m fine, Mama.”

  Gwyn said, “How about I call for some tea and coffee for all of us?”

  “And perhaps a bit of toast and butter for me?” Olivia was starving after her late night activities.

  “Of course,” Gwyn said with a smile, and left the room.

  Reluctantly, Olivia turned her attention to her stepmother. “How did you even find me, Mama?”

  Her stepmother pursed her lips. “Don’t remind me that you didn’t tell me the real reason you were going to Greycourt’s estate. And you certainly made no attempt to let me know you agreed to come here with”—she shot Thorn a chilling look—“with a man who nearly ruined you once before. And is obviously not trying to keep from ruining you again.”

  Thorn was unusually silent on that score.

  “Mama!” Olivia protested. “The duke has been nothing but kind and courteous. Besides, as you can see, his sister, Lady Gwyn, has been here the whole time as my chaperone. Everything is perfectly proper.”

  Her stepmother snorted. “You never cared about things being proper before. But you don’t realize how quickly a woman can go from being a diamond of the first water to being the subject of ruinous gossip, and all with one heedless act.” She glared at Thorn. “I, however, know precisely how that can happen. I’ve seen it plenty of times in my years in society.”

  “All I have done, Mama,” she lied, “is to practice my profession. Greycourt and his wife were very courteous hosts who gave me a chance to be a real chemist. To do something important instead of... of embroidering cushions and enduring courtships from men who had no interest in me beyond my modest fortune. The only reason we had to come here later on was—”

  She caught herself too late, judging from how Mama was frowning.

  “Was what?” her stepmother said.

  “Something . . . er . . . happened to my laboratory there. Someone broke in and destroyed a few things—”

  “You mean, by blowing the place up? I would call ‘destroyed a few things’ an understatement,” Mama said with a hint of hurt in her tone. “You, you
ng lady, are still keeping things from me.”

  Olivia surprised herself by saying, “And you, Mama, are doing the same. For one thing, you still haven’t explained how you learned I had left Carymont.”

  When her stepmother hemmed and hawed, Thorn stepped in. “It’s important that we know, Lady Norley.”

  “Very well.” Mama straightened her posture. “I received an anonymous letter at home, saying I should look to my daughter because she was no longer at Carymont. The letter did not say where you had gone, but I went to Carymont to find out. Then I came here straightaway.”

  “Do you have the letter with you?” Thorn asked.

  “I’m sure I do.” Her stepmother hunted around in her large reticule until she found it. “Here you go, Your Grace,” she said as she held it out to him. “Though I don’t know what more you can discover from it.”

  He examined it, envelope and all. “Did it come through the regular mail?”

  “No. It was left with the butler at our house in Surrey.”

  “May I keep this?” he asked.

  “Of course,” her stepmother said, though she was clearly bemused by the question.

  Olivia watched a frown cross his brow. “What are you thinking?” she asked. “Who do you believe sent it?”

  “The same lad who blew up the laboratory, most likely.” Thorn turned to Mama. “Did you spot anyone following you on your way here?”

  “Following me? Good heavens, no! Mind you, I wasn’t looking out the window to watch for anyone behind us, but I’m sure our coachman would have noticed someone following us and would have informed me.”

  Olivia focused on Thorn. “So you think the fellow sent a letter in order to see where Mama went? In hopes of finding me?”

  Thorn shrugged. “We’ve already established he’ll stop at nothing to keep you from determining if Grey’s father was poisoned.”

  “Poisoned!” Mama exclaimed. “Oh, my.” She began rooting around in her reticule. “Where’s my smelling salts? I need my smelling salts.”

  Olivia walked over, searched her reticule, and handed her the smelling salts.