The Duke's Blackmailed Bride: Northbridge Brides Series

by Leigh D'Ansey

  Vanessa swallowed an offended exclamation— after all, his remark was entirely correct—and allowed him to continue.

  “—therefore I am come directly to you to seek your hand in marriage.”

  Here Vanessa did draw breath, but the Duke held up his hand and continued in his austere manner. “I did voice the proposition almost the moment I entered,” he said, as if Vanessa had not quite got her wits about her.

  “Indeed you did, sir.” On one of the few occasions in her existence, she found herself at a loss for words.

  While his offer had crossed her mind, she had not considered it feasible, thinking it more likely he had come to negotiate the sale of certain acreage attached to Melrose.

  She had begun the day resolved to pursue a solution to the woes that beset her. Since Papa’s death she had been in severely straitened circumstances. At first, grief had overshadowed all other concerns, but as she came out from under its mantle, she knew she must find some way to earn an income that would take care of not only herself, but also her household of loyal retainers.

  Unbeknown to Mrs. Shearwater she had even considered Squire Roberts’ offer, but knowing his means, had decided accepting it would bring little relief. The Duke’s unexpected proposal had presented her with a solution that left her momentarily disconcerted.

  “Perhaps we should sit.” She gestured him toward one of the chairs by the fireside, gratified to see that Dunn had indeed lit the fire. The room was positively temperate compared to the rest of the house.

  Mrs. Shearwater had provided tea, ale, slices of plum cake, and the remains of a haunch of mutton left over from the previous evening. Northbridge accepted a glass of ale but shook his head at the comestibles. Vanessa’s earlier hunger had deserted her.

  She poured tea into a fragile china cup patterned with rosebuds, more to keep her hands occupied while she arranged her thoughts than to allay any thirst.

  “I have had more romantic proposals,” she said, having taken her seat while he made himself comfortable in the one opposite.

  “Under the circumstances, it may have behooved you to have accepted at least one.” His upper lip curled. “Had you taken old Crockford, quite likely he would have expired by now and you might not have found yourself in your present situation.”

  Suppressing a shudder at the mention of Crockford, Vanessa narrowed her eyes at the Duke. “I was not aware you were so closely acquainted with my activities.”

  He moved in the chair as if its confines were too small for his restless energy. Although the attraction was fascinating, Vanessa found herself having to avert her gaze from the virile thrust of his breech-clad thighs.

  “Ours is a small world, Miss Fitzwilliam, and you have not moved through it without notice.”

  Vanessa’s cup halted halfway to her lips. Over its rim she sent him a cool stare.

  “Those cat’s eyes of yours could never look the innocent, so do not play the ingénue with me, Miss Fitzwilliam.”

  Her name on his tongue sounded strangely exciting.

  He leaned forward, elbows on knees, his glass cupped loosely in both hands. Not a gentleman’s hands, noted Vanessa. Northbridge’s hands were scarred and calloused, she supposed from hard riding and the perils of warfare.

  “There was the incident of the high perch phaeton driven at speed through Hyde Park.” His measured voice brought her attention back to his account of her misdemeanors. “Two wheels off the ground at one point, so I have been told. Dowagers having to adjust their hat pins as you flew by.”

  Vanessa sipped her tea.

  “The night you played understudy to one of Prinny’s coterie in Drury Lane,” Northbridge continued, “wearing trousers. The footlights showed your legs to advantage, I believe.” His gaze moved downward.

  Even though they were well concealed, Vanessa found herself pressing her limbs together. “I was obliged to play the part of a young man. What was I supposed to wear? Petticoats and hoops?”

  “Your appearance on stage was shocking enough,” Northbridge said, leaning toward her and pinning her with his gaze, “but surely even you must have been aware that staying overnight at Crockford House, without even a maid in attendance, scandalized all society and put you quite beyond the pale.”

  Vanessa’s skin crawled at the very mention of Crockford’s name. The reports of her behavior had been salacious but she had no need to make excuses or apologies. If Northbridge chose to believe such gossip, and still request her hand in marriage, that was his prerogative.

  “Your own escapades are far more notorious than mine.”

  He waved her argument away with a careless hand. “I am a man. I would not be doing my duty if I did not disperse my wild oats at will.”

  His deep voice held an ironic note, but Vanessa could not discern if he mocked her or himself. Heat rose into her face. Fearing the color of her cheeks matched the rosebuds on her cup, she set it on the small inlaid table beside her chair. “You have detailed my misdeeds with accuracy, Your Grace. May I ask why I should be reminded of my shortcomings? Could it be that you are highlighting the dearth of marriage proposals to me of late, giving yourself an advantage, so to speak?”

  A grim smile twisted his lips. “I do not need an advantage, madam,” he said. “I could marry whomever I please. But I do not wish to be burdened with one of those simpering virginal misses thrust at me by their aggressive mamas over these past weeks.”

  “I certainly have no aggressive mama,” Vanessa said, fighting the sting of tears behind her eyes, “and as to my virginity…” Her flush deepened.

  His mouth compressed. “It is of no matter. You may be a hoyden but you are well-bred enough.”

  Vanessa brought a fingertip to the pulse in her throat. “You are very blunt, Your Grace.”

  He looked into his glass for a moment before redirecting his piercing gaze at her. “I will make myself clear. It has become necessary that I take a wife. You may have heard that my cousin, who would have inherited my title and all it entails, was mortally wounded in Spain.” The lines about his eyes and mouth deepened like craters.

  “I had heard.”

  Northbridge raised his ale and swallowed deeply before continuing. A brittle light had come into his eyes.

  “I was with him when he died.”

  “You were wounded also, I believe.”

  He shook her remark away like a dog shaking excess water off its coat. “My injuries were minor. He was my junior officer, but more than that, we were as brothers. He was under my protection.” His fingers closed about the glass until his knuckles stood out white as bone.

  “Tragedies have a way of catching us unawares,” said Vanessa. She looked past him at the grey landscape. “It does not do to apportion blame.”

  He put his glass aside, holding his body as if he were carefully rearranging its parts before he spoke again. “Pardon me. I had not commiserated you on the death of your father.”

  Vanessa stiffened. Even now, twelve months past, she could not bear to speak of Papa. Neither could she accept the sympathy of others with her usual grace. Her sorrow and guilt ran too deep and had to be contained, for if she allowed it to surface, it might run its banks and drown her utterly.

  When she remained wordless, Northbridge continued, “With Patrick dead and his young wife without child, there is only that accursed fool Frimley, who is barely related to me.” He ground his teeth. “He has already gambled away his own inheritance. I will not allow him to lay waste to the Northbridge estates as well. It is imperative I marry and breed a successor.”

  Vanessa lifted her jaw. “Instead of a woman, perhaps a sturdy mare might fit the bill.”

  Northbridge glowered. “It is but a figure of speech.”

  Vanessa brought the tips of her fingers together in her lap. “I remain puzzled as to why I have been selected for this…honor.”

  He made a sound deep in his throat. His eyes darkened. Vanessa had the impression he had been about to make some other remark befor
e he changed his mind and said, “I know you to be an independent woman. You managed your father’s home with efficiency.

  “You will not be continually clinging to my coattails wanting to know my whereabouts, nor attempting to curtail the activities I most enjoy.” He did not elaborate on these but Vanessa’s heart stumbled beneath her shift as his dispassionate gaze explored her curves.

  “We are of the same ilk and will do very well together. You have experience of life and are cognizant of what marriage involves. You appear to be strong and healthy and you are certainly good looking.”

  Vanessa’s shoulders tightened as he concluded the list of qualifications he appeared to deem suitable in a wife.

  “It seems more and more as if you are counting off the points of a useful brood mare.”

  “I have no wish for any emotional entanglement”—the Duke’s expression lightened— “although I am very good to my horses.”

  “Indeed, they need to be well housed and fed to draw out the best performance.” Vanessa’s response was sharp.

  He stood abruptly, forcing her to look upward. “I know you to be in straitened circumstances. All my homes would be at your disposal and you would not want for pin money.”

  “And if I had conditions?” “They would be considered.”

  Vanessa rose. He did not step back and she caught the scent of outdoors on him. Rain and wind mingled with the earthy fragrance of saddle leather and horseflesh.

  Although most of her acquaintance had married for just such the reasons advanced by Northbridge, Vanessa had held out hope of something more. Memories of Mama and Papa holding hands, strolling through sweet summer grasses, reading quietly by the fire, had lifted her expectations above the ordinary. But Mama had wasted away and died of the consumption before Vanessa was twelve years old, and Papa…

  She drove the memories away. Her mind needed to be clear, for the full import of Northbridge’s offer had begun to sink in. She knew this was an opportunity she could not squander. “I do not wish to marry you,” she said, “but there are others to think about besides myself.”

  He inclined his head. “I would appreciate a swift decision.”

  No doubt in the event of her declining, Northbridge would cast about for another brood mare, Vanessa thought without charity. But she met his interrogative stare with a straightforward gaze. “I will inform you of the outcome tomorrow.”

  He took the hand Vanessa offered, grazed her fingers with hard lips, and then strode from the room, calling for his coat and hat. Vanessa stood by the window and watched him ride away across the fields, moving as if born to the saddle, until he was swallowed up by the rain.

  Chapter Three

  The rain had eased but the skies were still leaden when she galloped over to Ashton Castle before noon the next day. A brisk wind tore her hair out of its dressings and chilled her face. Dirt flew from Morgana’s hooves as they raced along muddy lanes and over rough winter fields.

  She was breathing as heavily as her mount when she pulled up in the forecourt and left Morgana with the stable boy who hurried out to take the reins.

  “Rub her down well,” she said, softening the request with a quick smile before picking up the skirt of her habit. Her boots rang out on the broad stone steps as she marched up to the enormous oak doors. They stood open, as if awaiting her arrival.

  No maid or manservant came to assist her, but in the great stone hall she found Northbridge planted at the foot of a sweeping staircase. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his flat abdomen and the thrusting curves of his thighs delineated by close-fitting buckskin breeches.

  Perhaps it was only the light striking his face from high, mullioned windows, but for a moment Vanessa thought his eyes blazed with a hot light as she strode toward him.

  By the time she had raised her head from its token inclination, the flame, if there had been one, had been extinguished. The Duke’s swarthy countenance was unreadable.

  “I had thought you to be out of mourning,” he said, nodding toward her black velvet habit.

  “It is warm and weatherproof,” Vanessa said in a voice rimed with frost.

  Her beaver hat had come adrift and she held it at her side in a black-gloved hand, a long feather of ostrich trailing down her thigh. With her other hand she brushed strands of tawny hair away from her face.

  She became aware of his eyes following her movements and her fingers stilled.

  “It becomes you well,” he said. His gaze lingered on the curl she had lifted from the collar of her chemisette and tucked behind one ear.

  Vanessa felt an odd vibration, like a faraway hum holding the promise of a full-throated song.

  “I take it you have come to a decision?” Northbridge asked. His stern query quenched Vanessa’s fanciful notions.

  Her mouth twisted. “I have not come to a decision. A decision has been thrust upon me, as well you know it.”

  His black brows drew together. “We will speak in the library,” he said, with the decisiveness that was becoming unpleasantly familiar.

  She was hard on his heels as he led her up the broad staircase and showed her into a spacious book-lined room. Blood-red velvet drapes were drawn back from high windows. An expansive desk was positioned so that its occupant oversaw rolling parklands studded with ancient trees.

  Before she sat, Vanessa dug into a deep pocket stitched into her habit. She drew out a folded document and, without looking at it, slapped it onto the table between two chairs set a small distance from a roaring fire.

  Northbridge’s pitted cheeks looked gaunt.

  He gestured her to one of the chairs, its wings high enough to deflect any breeze that might steal its way around window frames that had been fitted centuries before.

  When Vanessa was seated, straight-backed, hands clasped tightly in her lap, he lowered himself into the chair opposite. He rested his elbows on its arms, steepled his long fingers beneath his jaw, and waited.

  Vanessa flicked a glance at the document between them. “Are you not going to peruse it?” she demanded.

  “I know almost every word,” he said.

  Vanessa leaned forward, her fists clenched at her waist. “You have made it impossible for me to remain at Melrose. You have bought me out stock and block!”

  “I had thought you would be pleased, as my wife, to remain in possession of your family home.”

  “It is no longer my family home. If I do not marry you I will not have even a roof over my head, let alone a stick of furniture. As your wife, I own nothing in my own right. I may as well be the brood mare we spoke of.”

  “It is common knowledge your father left you in pitiable debt. I have purchased your debts and you are now without burden.”

  Vanessa felt the color drain from her face “Do not speak of my father. You are not fit to have his name on your lips!”

  His jaw firmed. “I am offering a practical solution. You will certainly have a roof—more than one—over your head and all the furnishings and falderols you may wish for.”

  “You have entrapped me,” said Vanessa. “You did not arrange this overnight, but must have had it in mind for some time. I had heard you desired to extend your acreage here but I had not thought you to stoop so low as to snare a woman who is without the protection of husband or brother.”

  “I pity the husband or brother who would attempt to protect you, madam. I’ll wager you have always gone your own way.”

  His words struck Vanessa so cruelly she sat upright and drew in a sobbing breath. Had she not been so wilful, Papa might well be alive this day.

  She sprang up and stood over him, smothering her grief with rage. “You are the most detestable man! I hope”—she ransacked her mind for the worst possible evil she could wish upon him—“I hope I bear you nothing but a pack of girls!”

  One corner of Northbridge’s mouth twitched. “I look forward to your efforts most sincerely.”

  Vanessa glared down at him. “At least I know now why you have
offered for me,” she said, aware of the acidity in her voice.

  Northbridge vaulted to his feet. “And that is?” he asked softly, now seeming to tower above her.

  Vanessa tilted her jaw, eyes flashing. “Even you, in your station of society, could not escape censure should you throw a lady out of house and home.”

  “I care not what others think,” he said in inflexible tones. “In any case, I am not holding you captive. You could take a position as a governess and choose against the marriage.”

  Vanessa’s throat closed on a sob. “And then what will happen to my faithful servants? How would they be repaid for their many years of service to me and my family?”

  “What is it you wish me to do for them?”

  “They need homes of their own in the village—or wherever they choose,” Vanessa said, “and an annuity to cover their needs and more.”

  Northbridge sighed. “How many of these ancient retainers am I expected to provide for?”

  “Mrs. Shearwater, Dunn, old Jared who has doubled as groom and gardener these past years, and Nanny, who is presently living with her sister but needs her own independence.”

  “Gadzooks. I had not thought that by marrying you, I would be put out of pocket by your servants.”

  Vanessa stared at him defiantly. “I will indeed take a position as a governess if you do not agree to these conditions.”

  She took the growl that emanated deep in his throat as assent.

  “Are there any other stipulations?”

  “Pansy,” said Vanessa. “I must bring Pansy with me as my lady’s maid.”

  He looked surprised. “Of course you should have your own lady’s maid.”

  “—and Morgana, my horse. I had been about to sell her but am loath to do so.” Her voice caught. “She is like a good friend to me.”

  He nodded. “The Ashton stables are excellent. I employ only the best grooms and stable boys.” After a moment’s silence during which he regarded her with a penetrating stare, he said, “Is there anything further?”