“Your Grace.” Miss Reverly made the barest of curtseys.
He returned with the barest of ducal bows. They were as formal as strangers.
“Miss Reverly, you could put a garden full of flowers to shame.” One thing Matt had learned about London ladies, they lapped up this nonsense. He truly believed it was impossible to overflatter one of them.
Willa Reverly disputed his theory. Annoyance and, yes, disappointment, crossed her face. “One should expect a better compliment from a poet.”
So much for pleasantries . . . and his assumption that Willa was like all London ladies.
Riding had given Matt time to think and face some hard truths about himself. He had taken her sizable dowry for granted.
His sojourn in the country? Yes, it was true that Letty had broken his heart, except that, to be honest, he’d latched on to her because being named Camberly had been overwhelming. He’d never imagined he’d take on the title, even after his uncle had died. He’d naïvely assumed his grandfather would live forever. The old man must have thought the same or else he would have helped Matt become better prepared.
However, a blackmailer and a sharp-tongued heiress were waking Matt up.
Unfortunately, he was not liking Miss Reverly very much.
Perhaps because she was right? He hadn’t given much thought to her. Guilty as charged?
He turned his attention to Cassandra. “How are you, Lady Dewsberry? Married life appears to suit you.”
“It pleases me very well, Your Grace,” she replied smoothly, with enough of a twinkle in her eye that he knew Willa had confided in her about the note.
Did that mean Willa had also spoken to her father? Perhaps Leland Reverly was even behind the message? If that was the case, there would be no dowry.
Keeping his smile determinedly fixed on his face, Matt said to Willa, “May we sit and talk?”
“I have said all I wish to say,” was her rude reply.
“And yet, I apparently have much to explain.” His voice sounded genial, but tight. It was the best he could manage.
“Why, Your Grace, I have no interest in hearing explanations.”
She delivered her insults with a sweet, false smile, the sort of smile that meant she was furious with him—and that was good. Women never had strong emotions for things that didn’t matter to them. His sisters had taught him that.
The time had come for him to take command.
To Cassandra, he said, “Would you excuse us, my lady? Miss Reverly and I require a private moment.”
“Don’t you leave this room, Cassandra,” Miss Reverly countermanded. “My guests are not to be dismissed.”
“Not even to discuss an issue of importance between us ?” Matt asked. He attempted to sound polite. Instead, he came off testy.
“I’ve reached my decision. There is nothing to discuss.”
My decision . Interesting, and hopeful. Her father might not be aware of what she’d done. “I ask that you hear me out.”
“Your Grace, you may talk, but I will not listen.”
“Then perhaps I should discuss this with your father?”
Her shoulders came back, her chin forward. “He has nothing to say to you.”
“Then our conversation will be brief. I will have your butler ask him to join us.” Matt took a step toward the door.
She stepped in his path. “He is not at home.”
“He doesn’t know about your letter, does he?”
Miss Reverly looked to Cassandra, who had an I-warned-you expression on her face. Matt decided the time was right to repeat his earlier request. “Lady Dewsberry, I wish a word with Miss Reverly.”
“Yes, I believe that would be wise.”
“Cassandra, don’t leave .”
Her friend was already to the door. “I must, Willa. This is really between you and His Grace. My husband has taught me there are some conversations that should be private. But, please, give him a chance. Like women, men often do foolish things.” She gave Matt a considering look and then shrugged her shoulders. “He might make a decent husband in the long run.”
“Long run?” Miss Reverly echoed, her brows rising as if she couldn’t imagine such a thing.
“It all depends on how quick he is to train. No husband is perfect,” Cassandra allowed, and then added, conspiratorially, “If all else fails, the offer of our hospitality is still open. We will have the coach ready at midnight.” With those words, she left the room, closing the door behind her.
“The coach ready at midnight?” Matt repeated, intrigued.
“You would not understand,” Miss Reverly said dismissively. As if she was the queen of Sheba, she moved to the middle of the room and sat on one of the many brocade upholstered settees. “Speak your piece, Your Grace. Let us hurry through this. I have plans for the evening.”
Willa had learned long ago that when one was petite and female, she’d best be willing to know her own mind. Especially since society believed a woman shouldn’t expect very much from life. That she was really little better than a bauble, a pretty ornament.
Well, Willa had learned from her struggle with blank pieces of paper that she had no desire to be the wife of a man who behaved as if she was merely a task on his tally list.
She had been honest with Cassandra—she yearned for what her friends had discovered, even though she wasn’t quite certain what exactly that was. Or if she was even worthy of it. She felt pale and insipid when compared to the way her lovely friends took hold of life and found purpose in it.
Of course, after years of watching her mother, Willa knew she didn’t want a man who doted on his mistresses more than his wife. That would not make her happy.
She was also discovering it had been easy to release Camberly from his promise when he wasn’t standing in front of her. The duke was a good deal—no, a great deal—more handsome than she remembered.
In a capital filled with beautiful people, there wasn’t a male in London who could be compared to him. Not in height or in dark, singular looks. Few had that square jaw that suggested character, or such a straight nose, or finely proportioned, even features. Even his ears were excellently formed, and Willa never admired ears . . . but she’d noticed, and approved of, his.
Camberly also did not need padding in his jacket. He had a horseman’s build. His shoulders were broad and his muscles long. Her imagination did not rebel at the thought of seeing him naked.
She was also partial to deep blue eyes. Poet’s eyes, Cassandra had once called them when she’d been half daffy in love with him herself. But then, Cassandra had always fancied poets.
Willa did not. Not any longer.
Or, at least, that is what she told herself, in spite of the strange fluttering in her belly at being in this room alone with Camberly.
His hair was damp. There was mud on his boots and breeches. He’d come for her, his costume said. He’d ridden hard to reach her.
Perhaps she was wrong about him—?
She quickly scrubbed the errant thought from her mind. One thing she’d learned from her father was that one must watch what men do, not what they say. The duke’s absence had been too great an insult, and Willa did have her pride. She’d hear what he had to say, and then throw his words back in his face. She’d been quite successful so far in their interview. It was obvious Camberly didn’t know what to do with her.
And then he surprised her. He left the room.
He shut the door behind him.
She found herself completely alone.
For the briefest moment, she debated going after him—
Oh, no, she would not follow after him. Even though she was brimming with curiosity—
There was a knock. Before she could decide to answer, the door opened. The Duke of Camberly swept inside, a pleasant smile on his oh-too-striking face.
“Miss Reverly, I’m honored you have a few moments for me.” He sounded . . . sincere.
He shut the door and walked toward her. “Please, don�
�t rise. Sit right there being your beautiful self.” He bowed with a great deal more respect than he’d shown her earlier. “I have pined these last few months for the opportunity to see you again.”
Ah, so this was his game: placating her.
Willa relished saying, “You have ‘pined’ for me? Pined? As if you were a tree?” She widened her eyes and batted her lashes, pretending to have bubbles for brains.
And he laughed.
The laughter caught her off guard. It was full-throated, strong, easy, and a far cry from the sound she imagined an arrogant duke would make.
He sat on the settee beside her and indicated the door with one hand. “Willa, I wanted to start again. I know I sounded silly, but sometimes being ridiculous is needed to break the tension.”
Willa. He’d used her given name. It was the first time she’d heard it from his lips.
“I’m not tense—” she started to deny.
“Of course not. I am,” he admitted freely, although that wasn’t true. He seemed relaxed while . . . she was tense.
When she’d written her letter in the early hours of the morning, she had anticipated some sort of response. After all, he needed her dowry. Money was important. But she hadn’t expected him to show up in person or so quickly.
If she’d thought about it, she would have anticipated manly bluster and stomping about. Or wheedling. Or he could have gone to her father to complain, but he hadn’t.
He’d come to her first.
Was that enough?
She didn’t know.
And she wasn’t certain she’d wish to find out. She was not one to go back after she’d made her decision.
“Your Grace—” she started. However, he interrupted.
“I’m Matthew. Or Matt. I actually prefer the latter. It is how I think of myself and the name my family and friends use. My grandmother calls me Matthew. You can make your own choice.” Without waiting for a response, he said, “I did not mean to ignore you after our betrothal—”
“You barely spoke two words to me before it,” she had to interject.
He nodded slowly. “I believe matters transpired rather fast—”
“You actually asked my father for my hand. Not me. You didn’t speak to me .” She wanted to be certain he understood her full complaint.
There was a beat of silence. “I might have done that.”
“Might have?” She faced him now, his offenses rising like bile inside her. “And everyone knew who you really wanted was Lady Bainhurst. That you were ‘pining’ for her. For all I know, the two of you have been carrying on scandalously over the past months while I have been left to wander around ballrooms like Kitty Pakenham.”
“Kitty Pakenham?” he repeated in confusion.
“Never mind,” she replied, not wishing to go into the details. “You won’t understand. Men don’t . . . because they can do whatever they wish. They can walk the earth as if they own it while expecting women to trail behind them, seeing to their needs and making their lives easier.”
Oh, that felt good to say. Willa was almost in awe of herself.
And now she could barely breathe, waiting for him to deny and lie and chastise her. Because that was what men did. That was what her father did. They told women that what they could see with their own eyes was not true.
An indecipherable expression crossed his face. “I had hoped my friendship with Letty Bainhurst had been more of a secret.”
“Everyone seems to know, except her husband.”
“Probably because he has been with her for the past few months. I have not been with Letty. We did have a . . .” He paused as if not knowing how to characterize their liaison. “It was over before I offered for you.”
So, rumors were wrong . . . ?
And then she heard herself ask a question she had promised herself she would never ask because she’d overheard her mother say it more than a time or two, “Do you love her?”
“I did.”
Willa’s stomach went hollow. She had not experienced such frank honesty. Her father had always denied any emotions for any women in his life.
She made herself speak, “Well, then you should be happy that you are free to pursue her.”
He reached for her hand. He was not wearing gloves. She wanted to refuse the contact but found she couldn’t.
Other than the dance floor, the last time they had been hand-in-hand had been when they stood together in front of a crowded ballroom and announced their betrothal. They had both been wearing gloves then. Now, she was startled by how strong, firm, and warm his grip was.
“Letty claimed she was unhappy in the marriage. I was new to London and the title, and obviously in over my head. I appreciated her attention. She offered me guidance . . . and I believed her when she said that I was her savior.”
“She called you that?”
“Many times. Her husband didn’t understand her. He didn’t appreciate her. He ignored her.”
“Then why didn’t she live apart from him?” It was a question Willa had once asked her mother without receiving any meaningful response.
“Letty likes his money. And his power.”
Of course. Her mother had once noted every woman could tolerate a great deal of unhappiness in exchange for a secure life.
Willa just didn’t want to believe she was one of them.
She loved her father, but she clearly saw his shortcomings. She would not wish to be married to him.
“I was a bit of rebellion for Letty.” There was bitterness in the duke’s voice.
Willa tilted her head. Could a person be resentful over someone who no longer mattered? “They say Lady Bainhurst rebels quite often.”
“I have heard.” He straightened. “I wished to believe I was different. And isn’t that what we all want?” he asked with a slight, deprecating smile. “To be uniquely valued?”
Yes, that was what she wanted.
“Listen,” he said, claiming her attention and gently pulling her hand toward him, “I don’t understand the reference to or even who Kitty Pakenham is, but I have sisters who would tell me that I have been an ass. I do owe you an apology. I lost my way. I became wrapped up in my own problems these last few months.”
“You have sisters?”
“Four of them. And not one holds back on her opinion. They are brutally honest, much as I sense you are.”
“I am not that direct, but I wish to be.” That was true. His candor was a powerful lure for Willa. Her parents never conversed, not in the manner that she was talking to the duke—
Her mind stumbled over his title, and replaced it with Matt . Matthew.
Matt sounded right.
“I also believe,” he said, “that we should revive that point game you and your friends played.”
Her heart almost stopped in alarm. “The point game?” She attempted ignorance.
He straightened, even white teeth flashing in his smile. “Yes, the point game. Don’t pretend you know nothing. You and your friends had a competition to gain my interest.”
“You knew about it?”
“What was it, three points if I asked you to dance?” Matt said. “A point for an introduction? How many points did you receive when I invited you to a weekend party?”
“How did you find out about it?” Willa countered.
“Letty had heard—”
“Letty? ”
He held up his hand as if to ward off whatever she was going to say. “I shouldn’t have mentioned her. My apologies. However, the person-I-should-not-mention told me I had been singled out.”
“I did not single you out. It was happenstance. You were the catch of the Season. The game always focused on one man.”
“Why not all the others?”
“There is no sport in that,” she replied.
“And you caught me.” His voice took on a warmth. “Does that mean you ‘won’ the game?”
“I am not confessing to anything.”
He gave her a wicked
smile. “I wonder if I should play?”
Willa went on alert. “What do you mean?”
“To prove to you my attentiveness. How many points for a call?”
“Three.”
“And for begging my intended for another chance?”
Their gazes locked.
“I don’t know if we should give points for that,” she answered, her throat suddenly tight. He sat closer than she had realized, and she did not mind.
“You are right,” he agreed. “It shouldn’t be a game.” His gaze went to her lips, or was she staring at his? She couldn’t take her eyes off them as he said, “However, will you let me try again? You have my complete attention now.”
He certainly had hers.
There had been a time not so long ago when she’d dreamed about what it would be like for him to kiss her. There had been a line in one of his poems that had caught her attention . . . My lover’s kiss is like no other, an answer to my soul .
Willa had never been kissed. Not once.
The night before their betrothal, she had anticipated he would kiss her. She’d practiced using the back of her hand. Her greatest disappointment had been leaving her own ball, still uninitiated in that practice that seemed the most common of all things between men and women.
But he could kiss her now.
Everything about him, from the laugh lines around his eyes, to the afternoon growth of his whiskers, to the scent of him, of horseflesh and rain and man, it all swirled around her, drawing her still nearer to him.
“Another chance?” his well-formed lips whispered. “Willa, will you marry me on the morrow—?”
The door opened.
Willa reacted by practically jumping to the other side of the settee and coming to her feet. Matt rose with more polish.
“Your Grace,” her father said in his heartiest voice, and offered a bow. He was not a tall man. Both of Willa’s parents were small in stature, but Leland Reverly could fill a room with the boom of his voice. “What a pleasure. No one told me you were here until just now.” He looked between the duke and Willa and then grinned. “Having a moment, eh?”
There had been a time when Willa would not have been allowed to be alone with anyone. Her father sounded happy to throw her at the duke.
The Duke That I Marry: A Spinster Heiresses Novel Page 4