In Bed with the Duke (16 page)

What had she done? Insulted him to a point past bearing—that was what. Because marrying him
wouldn't
have been an ordeal. Not if he hadn't been a duke anyway.

How could she have been such an idiot? Gregory had never given her cause to suspect him of double-dealing. He'd been chivalrous to the point of...of saintliness! Any ordinary man would have washed his hands of her after she'd thrown that rock at him, but what had
he
done? Lent her his coat and bought her breakfast.

Even after she'd insulted him in the worst possible way just now, by accusing him of avarice, he was still going to do all that was necessary to get justice for her, to get her money back and ensure she had somewhere to stay while he was doing it.

But she'd had years of being an obligation already. She couldn't face forcing him to stick by a betrothal he'd considered farcical from the very first.

She opened her mouth to say the words that would end a betrothal that should never have begun.

And hesitated.

There was no consolation at all in telling herself she was about to do the right thing.

But she loved him too much to let him put his head in what he considered to be a noose.

She bowed her head and squeezed her eyes shut. Loved him? How could she have fallen in love in such a short space of time? Why, because she was her mother's daughter, that was why. Her mother—who'd fallen in love with a handsome young officer at the assembly and run away with him before a week was out.

Oh, Lord, but Aunt Charity was right about her. She was the amalgam of all the worst traits of her parents. Not only did she have her mother's impulsiveness, she had inherited a hefty dollop of her father's stubborn pride, too. That was what had made it so hard for her to swallow the discovery that Gregory was a duke. She'd had no qualms about proposing marriage when she'd believed she had the upper hand. When she'd felt as if she was graciously bestowing her hand upon a penniless but worthy suitor. But when he'd turned the tables on her...

She hated having nothing to bring to this union. Becoming a burden again. An obligation. And she'd rather retain at least a sliver of pride than face a lifetime of such humiliation.

She lifted her head and regarded him bleakly.

‘Very well,' she said. ‘I release you.'

And, just to prove how sensible she could be, she ran from the room.

She ran all the way up the stairs, so that she reached her room out of breath. There she was immediately challenged by the luxurious carpet, which lay, just like his title, directly in her path. She pulled off her worn-down shoes, wishing she could as easily discard her grubby background, then dropped them by the door, wishing it was as simple a matter to dispose of the way they'd met. Or the things she'd said to him just now. Things that had hurt and alienated him.

She ran across the sumptuous carpet and threw herself face-down on the bed. But even there the pristine eiderdown wouldn't give her leave simply to burst into tears. Not until she'd squirmed her way up the bed and got her face into a pillow out of which salt stains would wash could she really let go.

Chapter Sixteen

I
t was the most selfless and also the most stupid thing she'd ever done.

She could have been his wife.
His wife!

And now her life stretched out before her as a long, grey, barren vista. Because he wouldn't be a part of it. He was too proud to remain friends with her. Even if he never managed to extract her money from Aunt Charity—because there was every chance Mr Murgatroyd had somehow lost it all anyway—and she became his pensioner, he'd take good care to avoid her. His pride would demand it.

She didn't know how she would bear it.

She'd been alone before. During those long, dreary years with Aunt Charity she'd felt terribly alone. But it would be as nothing compared to the misery of being without him.

She was just reaching for a handkerchief to blot up the tears when the door burst open so forcefully it banged against the wall and bounced back onto the man who stood there, breathing hard and looking as if he was about to commit murder.

‘Gregory!' She sat up and swiped at the tears streaming down her face. ‘What are you doing in here?'

He stalked across to the bed.

‘Firstly, I want to know how much, exactly, you stood to inherit from your grandfather. Since you accused me of wishing to marry you so that I could get my hands on it.'

‘I was very wrong to think that,' she said. ‘I know now you wouldn't have done anything so underhand. It isn't
you
.'

‘How much, Prudence?' He planted his hands on his hips and glowered down at her.

She supposed it didn't matter now. ‘It was ten thousand pounds.'

He raised one eyebrow. ‘Per year?'

‘No. Ten thousand pounds total. In trust.'

He gave a bark of bitter laughter. ‘I could drop that amount in one session at White's and not turn a hair. Haven't you taken a good look at this house? Don't you realise it's only one of my smaller properties? So far from London or any of the race courses that I chose it only as a rendezvous for settling up with Hugo? And you heard what Lady Mixby said about me letting her run tame here. What kind of man can afford a profligate widgeon like her for a pensioner, do you suppose?'

She swallowed. It had been bad enough to learn of the discrepancy in their rank. But now...

‘My main seat is in Sussex,' he continued. ‘It is one of the largest houses in the country. I employ hundreds of servants in my houses, and untold numbers in my factories, mines and farms.'

A cold hollowness opened up inside her. He was
that
rich? So rich that her ten thousand pounds was like a drop in an ocean? Oh, to think she'd accused him of wanting to gain control of her money. What had seemed like a fortune to a girl born into an army family, then brought up amongst the middle classes, turned out to be small change in the world Gregory inhabited.

So why had he been so determined to stick to a betrothal
she'd
instigated when she couldn't even bring what he'd think of as wealth to the union?

Why, precisely for the reasons he'd given. Because he'd wanted to restore her damaged reputation. And to be in a strong position to bring her guardians to justice. And get her money back
for her
.

All very fine, honourable motives. None of which would have been of any benefit to him.

And she'd flung it all back in his face.

No wonder he'd looked at her with such coldness. No wonder he'd stalked away and turned his back on her. She couldn't have offered him a worse insult if she'd been trying.

‘So that's that point dealt with,' he said. ‘Secondly, let us discuss your attitude to the wager I had with Hugo. I saw your face when he said one of the conditions was that I was not supposed to pawn anything. What do you suspect me of there?'

She sighed. He was determined to make her eat her words. Even the ones she'd only thought.

‘I felt like an idiot for not understanding why you'd been so reluctant to pawn your watch. I thought at the time that it was because it had some sentimental value to you, but now I can see that it meant you losing the wager.'

‘I concede,' he said, ‘that I was smarting over having to sink to the depths of visiting a pawn shop. But I told you later, didn't I, that I regretted not doing all in my power to bring you here safely? You must know by now that your welfare had become more important than winning a wager that I'd agreed to in a fit of...of temporary insanity?'

She recalled his horror when he'd seen the state of her feet. His words of contrition.

‘I know you were sorry you'd let me walk all day with no stockings on,' she conceded, ‘once you saw my blisters. But I can't help wondering if you agreed to my suggestion to leave the horse where it was because you were still trying to delay meeting up with Hugo until the agreed time.'

‘It was not a deliberate delaying tactic,' he said, coming to stand over her. ‘And you know how much I detested that horse. I was downright glad at the prospect of never having to set eyes on it again.'

She didn't like the way he was towering over her.

‘You let me sing in the market square,' she pointed out, surging to her feet so she wouldn't feel quite so far beneath him. ‘I was accosted by those drunken fops...'

‘I didn't
let
you sing in the market square. I couldn't stop you. You even stole my hat to collect the takings.'

They were standing toe to toe now, just the way they had stood when they'd been arguing at the foot of the market cross.

‘And don't forget,' he said, pointing his finger at her, ‘that this morning I climbed the wall of my own property so you wouldn't have to walk all the way round to the front gate. Is that the act of a man who is trying to delay his return?'

‘I suppose not,' she admitted grudgingly. ‘But—'

‘But nothing. You have no reason to break our betrothal. So I am not going to permit you to do anything so foolish—do you hear me?'

She gaped at him.

‘But
why
? I mean, you cannot
possibly
want to marry me.'

‘I want to know why you persist in saying that, Prudence. When I have given no indication that that is the case.'

‘But... Well...' She twisted the handkerchief between her fingers. ‘
I
asked
you
to marry me. And you were thinking about it, I do believe, because you wanted to...to bed me,' she finished in a rush, her cheeks heating. ‘And then in the morning, when the farmer found us and I sort of embellished our relationship so he wouldn't haul us off for trespass, I can see that you had to go along with it. And then, when we got here, I suppose you felt honour-bound to introduce me as your fiancée since you hadn't found the words to let me down gently.'

‘What utter nonsense! If I hadn't wanted to marry you I would have introduced you to my family as a lady under my protection. I am a selfish man, Prudence. Nobody can make me do anything I don't want.'

‘What are you saying?' She rubbed her forehead, where a vein was starting to throb.

He strolled to the foot of the bed and propped one shoulder up against the post.

‘You do realise,' he said coldly, ‘that after this episode you will be completely ruined?'

‘Wh...what? Why?'

Was he threatening her? Saying that since she'd refused to marry him he wouldn't help her get her money back? No, no, that couldn't be it. He wouldn't do something so despicable.

Would he?

‘Most women would kill to have been in your shoes,' he said. ‘Betrothed to me, that is. No matter how the betrothal had come about. Nobody is ever going to believe you cried off. They will say that I jilted you—do you realise that? They will speak of you as my leavings. Is that what you really want?'

‘No, of course I don't!' She gasped, sickened by the picture he'd painted of a future of shame. ‘But surely you can see it will be even worse for you if we were to marry? I
had
to let you off the hook—can't you understand? If I made you stick to a vow you gave under duress I'd feel as if I was no better than...than...' She shook her head, at a total loss to think of anyone she could imagine doing anything worse than forcing a man into a marriage he didn't really want.

‘So you maintain you broke the betrothal for
my
benefit?'

‘Yes. You deserve better.'

‘Isn't that for me to decide?'

‘Well anyway, it's too late now.'

‘No, it isn't,' he said. Then he strode back to her side of the bed and dropped down on one knee. ‘I can see that I have made you think I am a touch reluctant to enter into the matrimonial state for a second time. So this time round
I
am asking
you
. So you can have no doubt it is what I want. Prudence...' He took hold of her hands. ‘Would you do me the very great honour of becoming my wife?'

All the breath whooshed from her lungs, leaving her head spinning.

‘You cannot mean that—'

‘Why not?'

‘Because you said...and Hugo said you'd rather cut off your arm than marry again—that everyone knows it.'

‘You are surely not going to base your entire future on what Hugo says?'

‘No, but he—'

‘Prudence, listen to me,' he said sternly. ‘You told me once—do you recall?—that you were reluctant to marry because you wanted to be free. Yet you changed your mind and proposed to me. Why can you not believe that meeting you has changed my view of matrimony, too?'

‘But you—'

‘Yes, I stood over Millicent's grave and vowed that no woman would have a hold over me ever again. I admit it. And I have never let another woman close. And I
did
gain a reputation in society, which I freely confessed to you, for keeping my numerous
affaires
on a purely physical level. I was determined that no woman would ever reduce me to the state she did.'

‘Exactly! Which is why I cannot bear to back you into a corner now. You got all tangled up in my troubles, and now you—'

‘Hush.'

He reached up to place one finger against her lips. It was all she could do not to purse them and kiss it.

‘Look at me now. I am on my knees, asking you to marry me. I don't
have
to. Last time I
had
to marry a woman chosen for me by my parents. This time I am asking you to marry me because I
want
to.'

Her heart lurched. She wanted to say yes. Oh, how she wanted to say yes. But all the obstacles that made their union impossible still existed.

‘But I'm a nobody!' she wailed. She had a vision of a flock of outraged society matrons pointing their fingers at her and wagging their heads in disapproval if ever she appeared in public on his arm. Then going into a huddle and whispering about how she'd snared poor Gregory. Which would make her look scheming, and him like a pigeon for plucking. ‘Worse, I'm the product of a runaway match. I grew up following the drum, for heaven's sake!'

‘Yes, I've been thinking about that,' he said, ‘and talking to Lady Mixby, who remembers all the old scandals. Your father wouldn't happen to be the same Edmund Carstairs who ran off with a girl he met at an assembly in some out-of-the way place in the north where he was stationed while he was in the militia, would he?'

‘Well, yes...' she admitted.

‘Then you are from a good family.'

‘Not directly. I mean, yes, my
father
was well-born, but once he married my mother he was entirely cut off from them all. And they never acknowledged me. Not even once both my parents had died. It was the Biddlestones who took me in when I became an orphan.'

Even though they'd done so grudgingly. And ended up betraying her.

‘That will not be an obstacle to your social success. Everyone knows what a clutch-fisted man your grandpapa Carstairs is. People will be only too ready to believe he didn't want the expense of bringing you out, if we start rumours to that effect.'

‘Why would we do any such thing?'

‘To smooth your path, of course. Not that it will need all that much smoothing. For heaven's sake, your Carstairs grandfather is an earl, didn't you know that? The Earl of Sterndale. Which makes you perfectly eligible. The granddaughter of an earl may go anywhere, and marry as high as she pleases.'

‘I don't think of myself that way. Not after the way he repudiated me when Papa sent me to him—'

‘Yes, but since then your father has died a hero, hasn't he? And even I remember rumours about how your grandfather shut himself away for a week and was as surly as a bear when he came out. I shouldn't be a bit surprised to learn that he will acknowledge you now joyfully. Particularly if you are presented to him as my duchess,' he finished with a cynical twist to his lips. ‘So that acknowledging you won't cost him a penny.'

She sucked in a deep, painful breath. Then forced herself to say what had to be said.

‘In other words you are going to have to spend the rest of your life making excuses. Explaining me away. I had enough of that with Aunt Charity. And I couldn't bear it if you...' She turned her hands over in his and gripped his. ‘I don't want you always to be ashamed of me.'

‘Ashamed of you?' His eyes widened in surprise. ‘Why should you think I could ever be ashamed of you?'

‘Because you already are.'

‘No, I'm not.'

‘You are. From the very first moment we got here, and your butler practically had an apoplexy at the sight of me, you have been obliged to make all sorts of excuses to explain me away.'

‘Perkins is far too good at his job to have anything like an apoplexy,' countered Gregory. ‘And anyway, I don't care what servants think.'

‘But
I
do. I don't want people whispering about me wheedling my way into your life. Or you being made to feel as though you need to hide anything about my past—which you've just admitted you would have to.'