The Trouble With Being a Duke (14 page)

Abandoning her mouth, he kissed his way along her jawline until he reached her ear. Allowing himself the pleasure of pushing up against her, he held her firmly in place as he whispered, “You were correct in your assessment of me
, Miss Smith,
for though I may appear to have abandoned my sinful ways, my thoughts of you are most wicked indeed.”

Isabella did not doubt him for a second. She could still feel the proof of his desire as it pressed against her. The worst of it was that she
liked
it. Good Lord! It was deplorable, unseemly, scandalous and about a dozen other awful things. To her horror, she couldn’t stop her errant mind from thinking it absolutely wonderful as well. Heaven help her, she was no better than a doxy—whatever must he think of her? Based on what they’d just done and what he’d told her, that she was the sort of woman whom he could take some rather alarming liberties with. The thought did not sit well with her at all. Placing her hands against his chest, she gave him a small push.

To her surprise, he disengaged himself from her immediately and stepped back, leaving her with a sense of abandonment that failed to allow the feeling of relief she’d been hoping for to take root. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but what we just did . . .” She looked around, fearful that someone might have seen them, but there was nobody else on the road. She let out a deep sigh. “I hope you’ll try to forget this ever happened. I am to marry Mr. Roberts, and I will not have you ruining the chance of that happening.”

“He hasn’t even proposed!” The duke sounded well and truly agitated as he crossed his arms over his chest and stared back at her with defiance.

“He will,” she said. “It’s only a matter of time.”

He stepped toward her again, looming over her with his broad shoulders, dark eyes and tousled hair. “Don’t do it, Miss Chilcott. Don’t marry him.”

“I must, for the sake of the security he offers to me and my family.”

Something deep and dangerous ignited in the duke’s eyes. “He cannot offer this.” And before Isabella knew what was happening, she was in his arms again, his lips were on hers and her arms had found their way around his neck once more. It was the safest course of action really, considering she’d probably collapse on the ground if she didn’t hold on to him with all her might. No, she couldn’t imagine Mr. Roberts being so seductive. In fact, she couldn’t imagine him being seductive at all.

Their intimate encounters with one another would probably be meticulously scheduled, and whatever they would do, it would not have anything to do with passion but everything to do with the production of a child in mind. Pushing the thought aside, Isabella tried not to think of it, willing herself to enjoy the kiss the duke offered instead. But then it ended—much too abruptly for her liking—and she found herself standing alone once more with a decent amount of space between them.

“Marry me,” the duke said, a raw longing emanating from his eyes. “Marry me, and I will promise to give you this every day for the rest of your life.”

Swallowing hard, Isabella blinked. She felt faint. Had she just received a marriage proposal from the Duke of Kingsborough in the middle of a dirt road? Her mind reeled at the possibility of his offer, even though she knew, sadly, that she could not accept. Instinct told her to fling herself into his arms and say
Yes, with all my heart, yes,
but instead she just stood there, until slowly, she shook her head. Her throat closed at the look of anguish and disappointment that filled the duke’s every feature at her rejection, and it was sheer willpower that forced the words from her throat. “Forgive me,” she said, choking back the tears of despair that she feared would overcome her.

“Why?” His words were softly spoken, but when she found herself unable to answer for the knot in her throat, his voice rose to a near roar as he repeated the question. “Why?”

“My father has made an agreement with Mr. Roberts—it is the honorable thing to do.”

He stared back at her in disbelief and eventually shook his head. “It is a stupid thing to do—an action you will come to regret many times over.”

“You cannot possibly know that,” she said, annoyed by his accusation.

“Of course I can,” he insisted. “For the minute you marry him, you’ll find yourself waiting on him hand and foot. He doesn’t give a damn about your needs or your desires, but only about his own. I believe your question yesterday about reading will attest to that. You like to read, but he doesn’t. Consequently there will be no more reading for you once you marry him. Is that really the sort of life you desire? One where your husband will dictate each detail of your existence for you just so he can take you out in public on occasion, the way other men might take out their horse?”

Shocked by his statement and pained by its accuracy, her hand flew across his face in a hard slap. Her blood was boiling she was so enraged—at Mr. Roberts for wishing to deny her freedom, at her parents, who’d made the match, at herself for being too honorable to reject Mr. Roberts’s attention and at the duke for making her doubt a decision she’d long since come to terms with.

For a moment they just stood there staring at each other, their breathing coming hard as they fought for control. “I will not allow you to speak of Mr. Roberts in such a manner,” she said. If she was to hold on to her sanity, then she had to believe that marrying Mr. Roberts would not be as bad as she feared, and the duke was not being the least bit helpful in that regard. “Being a duke has obviously led you to believe that you can toy with people’s lives as you see fit, that you can have whatever you wish for regardless of the consequences.”

He didn’t respond, but there was no mistaking the dangerous glint in his eyes as he stood there staring back at her. Clenching and unclenching his jaw, he finally said, “I advise you to think very carefully about your decision to marry Mr. Roberts.” His anger abated and his voice grew softer and gentler as he spoke. “I should hate to see you sacrifice yourself in such a meaningless way.”

“There is nothing meaningless about it, Your Grace.” Whether he wished it or not, his words riled her.

“Yes, there is.” He reached for her hand, and she was powerless to pull away as the heat of his touch seeped under her skin. “You have an alternative in me. As you have just pointed out, I am a duke, Miss Chilcott. Don’t tell me I do not trump Mr. Roberts’s offer any day. Whatever reason you think there is for having to choose him over me—the agreement he has with your father as you claim—is exaggerated, I assure you. But the matter will not be made easier once he makes his offer, which is why I would strongly urge you to make it clear to him now that you will not accept him.”

“Why?” she asked, unable to believe that
he
would be willing to sacrifice himself for her—a mere nobody—when he could have any woman he desired. “Why would you wish to marry me? We hardly know one another.”

Tilting his head to one side, he appeared to consider her question quite thoroughly. “True.” He paused for a moment before saying, “May I speak plainly?”

“I would encourage you to do so,” she said, curious about what he planned to confide.

“Very well then . . . to be quite blunt, I am seven and twenty years of age. My experience with women has not been . . . limited.” Isabella felt herself blush, but, sensing the importance of what he was about to divulge, she kept her eyes on his in spite of her embarrassment. “But then I met you, and I felt something different than what I’ve felt for all the rest—a connection that made all my prior experience inconsequential. I know that it may sound strange to you, but trust me when I tell you that whatever it is that binds us together is rare. It’s not something that I can turn my back on with ease, for I know I’m unlikely to find it again with someone else.”

What on earth could she possibly say in the face of such a declaration? This was the fairy-tale moment she’d always dreamed of, and yet, tragically, it couldn’t be hers. She shook her head with sadness. “Even if I turn Mr. Roberts down, my parents will never allow me to marry you.” She didn’t have to look at him to know he had to be thoroughly confused.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, confirming her thoughts. “Any other parent in the world would be thrilled at the prospect of a duke paying court to their daughter. Why would they possibly be against it?”

She couldn’t look at him as she spoke, her words reflecting her sadness. “It is my mother, to be precise. She hates your kind and will never allow me to wed you.”

Silence filled the air with a crispness that crackled around them. Unable to stand it any longer, Isabella looked up at him and saw the incomprehension in his eyes. He shook his head and blinked. “She doesn’t approve of my history as a rake.” He spoke as if this had to be the obvious meaning behind Isabella’s words. “Surely she must know that I’ve given up on that life, but if not, I shall just have to prove myself to her.”

“It’s not that,” Isabella said, eliciting a frown from the duke. “She hates the nobility and everything it stands for.”

“Well,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips and placing a tender kiss against her knuckles, “then it is fortunate that your father shall be the one making the decision. I will speak to him.”

And I will pray for a miracle,
Isabella thought, keeping silent this time, reluctant to say anything that might instigate another argument. She knew that he was right—that it was her father he would have to speak with, but that was only a matter of convention. When it came to actual decision making, her mother had some very firm opinions, and her father never resolved anything of importance without consulting her first. No, in order to marry the duke, she would have to elope with him, and that was something she could not do.

One late-night escapade behind her mother’s back was one thing, betraying both of her parents’ trust in her was entirely a different matter. She nodded, but there was no conviction behind it. “Get his approval, and you shall have mine.”

She watched him smile—the smile of victory close at hand. If he only knew the obstacle that awaited him in the form of her mother. He had no idea. Reluctant to ruin his good mood, however, she accepted the arm he now offered her and recommenced walking. They had lingered enough already. It was time she delivered the pie to her aunt.

Chapter 15

I
t was not without apprehension that Anthony arrived at the Chilcott home later that day. He’d put on a confident smile for Miss Chilcott’s benefit, but her words of defeat worried him. After escorting her all the way to her aunt and uncle’s doorstep, where she had, to his great consternation, proven herself capable of splitting an apple in half with the mere twist of her hands, he’d returned to Moxley, assured by Miss Chilcott’s aunt that her uncle would take her home in his buggy.

Rapping on the door, he now waited for it to be opened by the same maid he’d met on his previous visits. “Is Mr. Chilcott at home?” he asked, hoping she’d respond in the affirmative.

She did, much to his relief, leading him quickly inside to wait for his host in the parlor. “Mr. Chilcott will be with you shortly.” She gestured toward a beige armchair that stood as part of a larger seating arrangement. “Please have a seat.”

Thanking her, the maid bobbed a curtsy, then exited the room, leaving Anthony alone. Looking around, he was just preparing to take his seat when the door to the dining room opened, revealing the man himself. “Your Grace, I am honored once more by your visit.” Anthony straightened himself, accepting the hand Mr. Chilcott offered him in a firm shake. “Do have a seat—tea will arrive shortly.”

Thanking Mr. Chilcott for his hospitality, Anthony placed himself in the beige armchair while his host took a seat on the sofa across from him.

So far so good
.

“I apologize for coming unannounced like this,” Anthony began. “But there is a matter of grave importance that I must discuss with you—indeed, I have a moral obligation to do so.”

Mr. Chilcott frowned as he leaned back against the sofa and crossed his arms. “That sounds rather serious. Do continue.”

Anthony steeled himself. The nerves in his stomach were in utter uproar. What if he failed? He wanted Miss Chilcott at his side—needed her in such a profound manner that he felt quite desperate at the thought of losing all hope. Swallowing his misgivings, he trained his features into a mask of utter confidence and said, “I wish to ask for your permission to court your daughter, sir.”

Mr. Chilcott blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”

Taking a deep breath, Anthony directed his intense dark eyes squarely at Mr. Chilcott and pressed on, attempting to choose his words with care. “I know that it was she who I met at the ball—the mystery woman whom I’ve been searching for—that it was her I danced with, spoke to and . . .”

Kissed.

Mr. Chilcott raised an eyebrow.

“She’s a remarkable woman,” Anthony continued, hoping he wouldn’t be asked to elaborate on what he’d just left unsaid, “and I am confident that she will make an excellent duchess.”

Mr. Chilcott frowned again—more deeply this time. “What makes you so certain? You cannot possibly know that you will get along well with one another in the long run—you barely know each other, for heaven’s sake!” The words were barely out before Mr. Chilcott’s eyes widened with alarm. “Don’t tell me you’ve been romancing her in secret and that she went to the ball specifically to meet with you. Good God! Has she been compromised? If you’ve—”

“It’s nothing like that—I assure you.” The corner of Anthony’s mouth edged upward to form a crooked smile. “Regarding the length of our acquaintance however, which, for the record began on the night of the ball, I think you should know that your daughter made the exact same point.”

Mr. Chilcott’s eyes narrowed and Anthony shifted a little in his seat. He might have been a duke—a man whose presence most men would tremble in—but for the moment, he was nothing more than a man laying bare his deepest wish to the father of the woman he hoped to marry. Mr. Chilcott might have been nothing more than a carriage driver, but Anthony was wise enough not to underestimate the power he had to turn down Anthony’s proposal.

The door to the parlor opened, admitting the maid, who’d returned with a tea tray. She poured a cup for each of them in turn, bobbed a curtsy and departed once again.

“What did you tell her?” Mr. Chilcott asked as soon as she was gone and the door had been closed behind her once more.

Leaning forward in his seat, Anthony stared into his teacup for a long moment, recognizing that what he was about to say would be detrimental to both his and Miss Chilcott’s future. He eventually looked up and, meeting Mr. Chilcott’s serious gaze, he said, “That I cannot explain the connection between us, but that I know it is there, so powerful that I cannot ignore it. I know she feels it too, for I can see it in her eyes.” He swallowed hard before adding, “She is marrying Mr. Roberts for your sake alone—not because she wishes to. It is a sacrifice, Mr. Chilcott, in every possible sense of the word, for she will have to abandon herself in the process.”

“What are you talking about?” Mr. Chilcott had been reaching for his tea but froze in response to Anthony’s words, spearing the duke with a hard stare instead. “Mr. Roberts may be a bit . . . reserved, but he will offer my daughter a most comfortable life, complete with a grand house to live in, beautiful gowns and countless servants. What more does she possibly need?”

Respect?

Instead of saying as much, Anthony raised an eyebrow. “I do believe Mr. Roberts neglected to tell you that he intends for her to earn her keep.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“His housekeeper will retire as soon as he’s married, and, considering it an unnecessary expense in light of the fact that his wife will be more than capable of taking on the task, he has no intention of hiring another.” Feeling more confident in the face of Mr. Chilcott’s shocked expression, he went on with, “I do not know him all that well, I admit, but I do know this—the man is a snob. He will not treat your daughter well, for to his way of thinking, she is far beneath him socially. Therefore, one must wonder at his reasoning. I believe he is quite aware of her beauty and imagines that she would make a fine accessory.”

“How dare you speak of my daughter in such a degrading fashion?” Mr. Chilcott’s words were spoken beneath his breath and with little force behind them, but his eyes had grown dark.

“Because I care about her and should hate to see her shackled to someone so lacking. She deserves better than that.”

A smirk presented itself on Mr. Chilcott’s lips. “You, perhaps?”

Anthony closed his eyes as he took a deep breath. This was not going as well as he’d hoped. “I know how this must seem to you, sir.” He opened his eyes and looked back at the man opposite him. “I assure you that my first concern is for your daughter’s happiness, and to be frank, I feel she stands a better chance for that if she attaches herself to me. I have more money than I know what to do with, so she shan’t be lacking and neither will you. I will not dictate to her what she can and cannot do with her free time, provided that such activities are appropriate for a young lady to enjoy. Forget about Mr. Roberts and let me court her. Please.”

Mr. Chilcott sat completely unmoving for a long moment before finally saying, “I shall have to speak to my wife.”

Bloody hell.

Hadn’t Miss Chilcott told him that her mother would never give her consent? Anthony felt as if the ground was falling away beneath his feet. He was doomed.

Running his fingers through his hair, he expelled a deep breath and reached for his tea. If only he had a brandy instead. He was in dire need of something stronger than flavored hot water. “I don’t understand it,” he muttered as the tepid liquid flowed down his throat. “Your daughter is receiving an offer of courtship from a duke, and not a single one of you is responding with the degree of elation that one might expect under the circumstances. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I assure you that there is
not,
” Mr. Chilcott said, his voice a notch tighter than it had been before. “Perhaps our lack of enthusiasm is merely based on your sudden appearance upon our doorstep, your eagerness to court our daughter based on one fleeting encounter with her, during which, according to you, an incomprehensible connection was formed between the two of you—one that urges you to hasten to the altar with her at the first available opportunity. Forgive me, Duke, if I am not as willing as you would have liked me to be in offering my nod of approval, but your argument is quite fantastic, not to mention rank with suspicion. Are you quite certain that you did not compromise her in any way?”

“You have my word on it, Mr. Chilcott,” Anthony promised. He had to admit that the man had a point. He hadn’t made a very convincing case by attempting to explain his motives for wanting to court Miss Chilcott by trying to make sense of his feelings toward her. It sounded unlikely to his own ears, and if the situation had been reversed, he’d probably have thought that the so-called
connection
he spoke of was nothing more than pure lust.

It wasn’t though. Anthony knew all about lust, and whatever it was that drew him so strongly to Miss Chilcott was a different beast entirely. Deciding he had to say something more to make Mr. Chilcott understand, he asked the most absurd question he’d ever imagined himself asking another man: “Do you believe in love at first sight, Mr. Chilcott?”

Mr. Chilcott choked on the tea he’d unfortunately just taken a sip of. “I hope you’re jesting,” he said once he’d composed himself again. “Love at first sight? That’s the stuff of fairy tales, Duke.”

“Yes,” Anthony agreed. “And I’m not suggesting that I’ve fallen in love with your daughter, but rather that for the first time in my life, I have glimpsed the possibility for it with her.”

Something in Mr. Chilcott’s gaze shifted, and as Anthony looked back at him, he knew he’d managed to say the right thing, that as unlikely as it was, Chilcott understood.

“It is this possibility that I wish to explore,” Anthony continued. “I know how rare it is for anyone to experience such . . . oneness with another person and how fortunate I am to have done so with your daughter that I cannot—nay I will not—relinquish the chance of a love match with her.”

“How very noble of you, Your Grace.” The words came from the doorway, and Anthony turned his head to find Mrs. Chilcott standing there dressed in a violet gown that suited her complexion immensely. A matching ribbon had been twined about her hair, reminding Anthony of the Greek style that so many upper-class women were presently fond of.

Anthony rose to his feet without pause and approached her, executing a polite bow as he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “A pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Chilcott,” he said as he straightened himself.

She did not smile—not even a little bit. Instead, her lips remained drawn in a tight line while her eyes assessed him slowly from head to foot and back again. Without comment, she swept past him and took her seat upon the sofa next to her husband. With a deflated feeling of having just been cut by the woman he hoped might one day become his mother-in-law, Anthony hesitantly returned to his own seat, upon which Mrs. Chilcott said, “I strongly advise you to abandon this ridiculous notion at once.”

Caught off guard by her curt remark, Anthony stared back at her for a long moment before managing to find his tongue. “There is nothing ridiculous about it,” he said, looking to Mr. Chilcott for a bit of support. Before Mrs. Chilcott had arrived, Anthony had been certain that he’d managed to convince him of his plight. Now, however, the man appeared to have retreated inside himself, his eyes trained stubbornly on his teacup.

“Of course there is,” Mrs. Chilcott went on, her eyes narrowing as she leaned toward Anthony. “You are mistakenly romanticizing your own beastly instincts by using some emotional attachment you wish for us to believe you have developed with our daughter as an excuse. Well, allow me to unravel your feelings for you, since you are clearly incapable of doing so yourself. Considering how little the two of you know each other, there can be no doubt that what you speak of is desire. If you say otherwise, you are being dishonest. All this talk of love or the possibility of love is nothing more than a means by which to make a gross elaboration of the truth.”

Anthony blinked. He didn’t know what shocked him more—Mrs. Chilcott’s blatant rudeness or her swift dismissal of what he felt. “It is more than desire,” he ground out, determined not to let this woman have a say without fighting back. “I am no stranger to desire, madam, and I assure you that this is something more—something much more permanent.”

“He wishes to court her,” Mr. Chilcott muttered.

Without a change to her demeanor, Mrs. Chilcott said, “Then I must inform you that your wish, Duke, has been declined. Our daughter will marry Mr. Roberts. They have known each other for almost a full year and I have every confidence that they will be very happy together.”

Incensed by her quick dismissal, Anthony rose to his feet, stared down his nose at her and said, “It appears, Mrs. Chilcott, that you are completely blind when it comes to the affairs of your daughter. Either that, or you simply do not care. Good day.” And with that, he exited the parlor and the house, taking what little pleasure he could from slamming the door behind him as he left.