The Duke That I Marry: A Spinster Heiresses Novel

by Cathy Maxwell

  “We were just discussing the wedding, weren’t we, Willa?”

  She found herself nodding.

  Yes. Yes, she would marry him . . . because she really hadn’t known how to confront her father and risk his wrath . . . because maybe all she’d really wanted was a sign from Matt that he knew she was there . . . that she mattered.

  And because she really wanted a kiss.

  Was she being foolish?

  She didn’t know. But right now, it seemed like every muscle in her body, including deep-seated ones, hummed with awareness of him.

  And it had happened so fast.

  Desire surprised her with its intensity, with its willingness to trust.

  “You know the invite to the wedding breakfast has been deemed the invitation of the year,” her father said proudly.

  “It will be a big day,” Matt agreed. “Although for me, the prize will be Willa.”

  He spoke her name as if it was a caress. She remembered another piece of gossip she’d overheard—Letty Bainhurst claimed Camberly was a prodigious lover. None better, she said.

  And Willa wondered exactly what Letty meant, even though her imagination sent heat to her cheeks and other regions of her body.

  Matt took a step toward the door. “I should take my leave. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” He looked to Willa on the last word, and she felt herself blush again.

  He’d won her over. Effortlessly.

  “Of course. Of course. You will see plenty of your bride after the morrow when you join the ranks of the rest of us poor husbands who find ourselves unable to escape the weight of the parson’s knot.” Her father laughed at his own jest and escorted Matt out into the hall, where a footman waited to help him with his oilskin coat, gloves, and hat.

  Her father was beginning to say something else to Camberly when the corners of his mouth tightened. Willa moved forward so she could see what had displeased him. Her mother lingered in the hallway as if she had just come out of one of many rooms.

  Joanne Reverly was a touch taller than Willa. She’d been a fiery redhead in her youth but now her hair had turned the color of a mouse pelt. She had a habit of staying in the shadows or tucked away in card rooms among her friends as if she didn’t wish to draw attention to herself.

  Her husband had always been the one to make the decisions. Her responsibility had been to carry out his wishes. Her acquiescence had never gained her his respect.

  Willa walked down the hall and took her mother’s arm. “Come, the duke has paid a call.”

  “That is nice,” her mother answered, allowing herself to be directed to the gathering by the door. She gave a small curtsey to Camberly. “It is good to see you again, Your Grace.”

  “Especially under such happy circumstances, no?” he answered, pulling on his gloves.

  “Ah, yes,” her mother agreed. Her glance shifted to her husband. “All is good.”

  “It will be the affair of the decade,” her father promised the duke. “It will be remembered throughout all of history.”

  The pleasant expression on Matt’s face didn’t waver, except Willa noted his gaze went from one parent to another with sharp scrutiny, and she wondered what he was thinking. Few people cared about the dynamic between Leland Reverly and his wife.

  And Willa realized that if she had cried off, it was her mother who would have paid a price. Her father would have blamed her for Willa’s rebellion. Willa was now thankful that Matt had eased her doubts.

  Peters, the butler, held the front door open, but Matt eased closer to Willa. “I’m sorry we were interrupted.” He spoke for her ears alone.

  She was as well, but she didn’t trust her voice to speak, not when her father was obviously straining to catch every word between them.

  Matt took her hand. Lifting it to his lips, he surprised her by turning it over and kissing her wrist. His lips lingered there a moment, right upon her pulse, and she thought she might faint from the surge of heat that shot through her.

  He met her eye and then smiled. “Six points,” he whispered, reminding her of his intent to play the “game.” His husky tone hummed through her body.

  “Four points,” she managed to croak out. “That wasn’t worth six points.”

  His grin turned wolfish. “I shall take that as a challenge.”

  “I pray you do.”

  Where had that come from? She had started off so angry with him that she had been willing to risk scandal, to now counting the minutes until she would see him again.

  He had convinced her to trust him. He’d slipped past her doubts and wariness. Although the impetus for their marriage was money, she was beginning to believe there could be something meaningful between them.

  It had also not escaped her notice that when the servants had helped him with this coat, he’d murmured a thank-you. He was male, and he was appreciative?

  Perhaps Camberly was different.

  He released her hand. “Until the morrow, Willa. I shall be waiting for you at the church.” With a cocky set of his hat, he was out the door.

  She watched him toss the street lad a coin and gather the reins of his horse. The animal seemed hardly tamed, and yet, he was up in the saddle and on his way.

  She placed her hand over her wrist where he had placed his kiss. She’d lied. It had definitely been worth six points.

  My lover’s kiss is like no other, an answer to my soul . . .

  Chapter 4

  Matt had salvaged the marriage. Miss Reverly’s much needed dowry would be his, and his grandmother could rest easy. He’d not be jilted on the morrow.

  Then again, he’d not had a fear of that. Matt had known he could work his way around Willa. She’d had more to lose than he had. He could have found another heiress . . . but what sort of life would she have had if she had succeeded in rejecting him? He’d saved her from being branded an eccentric and toddled off to some nether place reserved for headstrong and foolish women.

  Although his sisters would have applauded her on. There wasn’t a one of them who would have approved of how Matt had treated Willa. And he did feel a bit ashamed.

  As he rode through London’s busy streets, Matt had to admit that Willa Reverly had caught him off guard.

  In the past, when he’d called upon her, they’d not spoken on any topic with depth. It had not been necessary. She was a means to an end, a way to fill his empty coffers. She’d seemed poised enough to be a duchess, and that was all that one expected.

  Besides, when compared to Letty, Willa had lacked fire. He’d convinced himself that would be fine. Preferable, even. Except he hadn’t been excited or even truly interested in marrying her—until she’d threatened to jilt him that morning.

  Now, it was as if he was noticing Willa for the first time. She was an attractive bit, and there obviously was a brain under all her hair. She had proven she had some spirit to her as well.

  His mare kicked out as she passed an ostler leading two horses through the busy streets. “Sorry,” Matt muttered in answer to the man’s curses, and pushed the mare forward as his thoughts returned to his bride, and a decision.

  Over his months at Mayfield, he’d vowed that he would never again let a woman make a fool of him the way Letty had. He would ever again trust anyone so freely. He’d been too open with his heart, too caring, too bloody naïve.

  No wonder he’d been such a terrible poet. And a foolish duke.

  On the rare occasions when Matt had been with his grandfather, Henry had admonished him to not be “soft” like his father, Stephen. Both of his grandparents had believed that the actress Rose Billroy had bewitched Stephen into disappointing his family. Over the years, Matt had learned that they did not believe in the concept of “love.”

  “Hogwash and nonsense,” Henry had declared when Matt had tried to defend his parents. “Love is lust in disguise. A forward-thinking man doesn’t let himself be led around by his short staff.”

  Henry must have turned in his grave over the way Matt ha
d tossed his heart at Letty.

  However, Matt’s marriage to Willa was one of convenience. For both of them. A simple business transaction that would have met with Henry’s approval. Certainly, Minerva was pleased.

  Matt would be a good husband to Willa. He would treat her fairly and with respect. In turn, she would have a position of authority in Society.

  Nor was he going to mind bedding her. She was a tempting piece. Of the three Spinster Heiresses, Willa had been the one to catch his eye.

  However, Matt was starting to think that, perhaps, his feelings for Letty had been nothing more than lust? Henry had once opined that if Stephen and Rose had lived longer, “They might have been as miserable as the rest of us. One can’t sustain passion.”

  Certainly, Letty hadn’t been able to sustain her feelings for Matt for more than sixty days.

  And the truth was, Letty had broken him. Matt would never allow himself to feel for any woman what he had for Letty. He’d never give his heart again. Or his trust. That was where he’d gone wrong. He’d given too much.

  He turned the mare onto High Holborn Street. The hour was half past four. Matt caught up with his cousin George just as he was just leaving his chambers.

  George Addison was at least twenty-five years older than Matt. They shared the Addison height, although Matt was inches taller. George’s dark hair was now streaked with gray and his eyes were a trustworthy brown. In looks and manner, he reminded Matt of his own father, Stephen.

  George’s sire had been Matt’s grandfather’s twin, and the younger by a mere two minutes. Henry’s favorite jest was that if George’s father had been quicker, he’d have been the duke.

  It was a poor joke. Then again, if George had any resentment, he never showed it. In fact, he’d always been kind to Matt. When Matt’s father had died, George had been the only member of the Addison side to attend the small service. It was at the funeral that Alice had approached George about setting up a meeting between her and their grandparents. George could have refused, and then Alice, who had been newly married and starting a family of her own, would have found it difficult to gain an audience with Henry and Minerva.

  Instead, according to Alice, George had championed her desire to see Matt properly educated. He’d help swayed Minerva and Henry’s opinions. If his uncle William had a voice in the matter, Matt had never heard.

  George had also taken Matt aside and urged him to study hard. “You never know which way life will go. Study a profession. Make yourself useful.”

  So Matt felt close to George. He valued his opinion. When Matt had inherited the title, George had supposedly shared everything he knew about the estate’s affairs . . . everything except the blackmail. Matt was anxious to hear what he had to say.

  George was surprised by Matt’s appearance at his door but greeted him warmly. “Ah, so the prodigal duke has returned from the country. There will be a wedding.”

  “ ‘Prodigal’ duke?” Matt winced. “Is that what they are saying?”

  “What? Do you believe I’d coin such a phrase? But yes, it is whispered that you are licking lovesick wounds. There isn’t a betting book in town that doesn’t have a wager over whether you would show to wed the Reverly Heiress or not.”

  “Did you write down a wager?”

  “A yellow George either way.”

  “Hedged your bet, eh?”

  “Always. I’m a lawyer, Your Grace. It is how I make money.” He then added slyly, “Have you heard the rumor that Letty Bainhurst asked one of her many male friends to place a wager on the matter?”

  Matt grimaced. If he needed proof of what Letty truly thought of him, well, there was an answer. Doggedly, he focused his mind elsewhere. “How is Venetia?”

  George was married to a woman who had been a renowned beauty in her time. However, Venetia had taken to her bed several years ago and rarely went out. George had once told him it was because of her melancholy nature. He and his children appeared devoted to her.

  “Much the same,” he answered. “I wanted her to attend Evanston’s rout this Saturday with me. She might.”

  “You have always been good to her,” Matt observed.

  “That is marriage. You stand by your wife, your children, your family,” he added with a nod to Matt. “You do what is right.”

  “Including paying off a blackmailer?” Matt asked.

  George had been locking the door, but he now went rigid. His head turned to meet Matt’s eye. “How did you learn of this?”

  “I confronted Minerva.”

  “She wouldn’t have told you on her own. She didn’t want you to know.”

  “I found the money missing in the ledgers. It was actually quite obvious. Shall we discuss?”

  George pulled the key from the door and pushed it open. “Come in.” He followed Matt into the anteroom. It was filled with empty desks.

  “Everyone has gone home early?” Matt observed. Usually the office was a hive of activity.

  “My clerks? A few are on errands. Another I sent home. The lad appeared peaked and I don’t want his sniffles around me.”

  George indicated that Matt should continue to his private chambers. Inside was a large desk covered with neat stacks of ledgers, much like the ones Matt had spent his time studying at Mayfield.

  On the corner of the desk was George’s wig and stand, a symbol of his profession. A large bookcase took up one wall, and the room smelled of paper, bindings, and ink. George waved Matt to a chair in front of his desk.

  Matt took a seat and placed his hat on the desk next to the wig stand.

  George removed his own hat and set it on the wig. He took his chair behind the desk. “Would you like a drink, Your Grace?”

  Matt shook his head. “No, thank you.” He needed his wits about him.

  “You do not mind if I do?”

  “Please, go ahead.”

  George took a glass out of his desk drawer. The building was quiet at this hour, just the way Matt would wish it. No prying eyes or unwanted ears. The day was ending. The street traffic outside spoke of people hurrying to their homes or rushing to other activities. The overcast skies had been clearing and a faded autumn light came in the window and highlighted George as he poured his drink. He placed the decanter to the side before saying, “What do you wish to know?”

  Matt leaned forward in his chair. “Tell me what you know of Hardesty.”

  George looked away as if he would rather avoid the conversation, but then he said, “Hardesty is a criminal. My advice is that you steer clear of him. Or has he been in contact with you or the dowager?”

  “No, we have not heard from him. Grandmother said that after William’s death, they have had no further contact. Why did you not tell me about the blackmail?”

  “Because it was the past. It was done.”

  “Except the man’s demands bankrupted the estate.”

  “I told Henry to report Hardesty to the authorities when he first received the letters years ago. He wouldn’t. Instead, he asked me to hire some men to hunt the bastard down and beat him senseless. Of course, no one could find him. The man is like a shadow. We found signs of him and heard whispers but could never catch him. Worse, anything we tried only made Hardesty demand more. Henry was afraid . . .” He paused and then carefully said, “You know about William?”

  “I do. Did you know about Uncle William?”

  George drained his glass and set it aside before admitting, “I had heard rumors, although most people didn’t know, or so I believe. William was discreet. I will also say, he was a good, stalwart man. Ambitious, but honest. The last man one would believe of being—” His voice broke off. He looked to Matt. “I counted him a friend. He would have been a brilliant duke.”

  Much better than myself , Matt could have answered. After all, William had trained all his life for the role. He’d been the Marquis of Tilbury. He understood the expectations. He’d been discreet in his amorous pursuits.

  Instead, Matt sat quiet.

&
nbsp; Leaning his arms on his desk, George said, “I suggested, especially when I saw how determined this blackmailer was of draining the estate dry, that Henry tell Hardesty to have at it, let William’s name be dragged through the muck. Your grandfather refused.”

  “He loved his son,” Matt said. “Both of my grandparents did.”

  “More like he didn’t want any scandal to taint the title and consequently himself. Henry was proud and vain. A stickler through and through. Look at what your grandparents did to your father. And to you before your sisters pushed you forward.”

  “Grandmother will still not recognize them.”

  “The duke and his duchess barely recognized you until William died.”

  That had been true. “They made me angry,” Matt confessed. “They paid for my education but little else until I became the heir. I wasn’t going to accept the title. I could have lived my life without it or them.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “My sister Alice. She’s always the peacemaker. Of course, I thought once I became Camberly, then I could use the title’s income to help their lives, educate their children. Thanks to Hardesty, there is nothing to share.”

  George poured another drink. “I didn’t understand how Henry could be so cold, especially when your father died. He’d lost a son but he never spoke of it.”

  “Or attend the funeral.”

  George nodded. There was a beat of silence and then he said, “Venetia and I lost a baby. A girl. She was only five weeks old. I don’t believe Venetia has ever recovered.”

  “I didn’t know,” Matt said. “I’m sorry to hear of the child’s death.”

  “It was about the same time your father died. Hard for both of us,” George answered, and took a healthy sip from his glass. He set it down, forced a smile. “But now things are better for you, no? You will marry the Reverly Heiress and set the estate to rights.”

  “That is my intention.”

  “Her dowry is so vast, you can even educate those nieces and nephews. Of course, be ready, Minerva will not approve.”