When Seducing A Duke (18 page)

Chapter 15

W
hen scandals came, Grey realized, they arrived not as single spies, but in battalions.

“Bronte did what?”

“She eloped,” Archer informed him as he poured drinks for the four of them. “With Lord Branton’s oldest son.”

Lord Branton was the older of the two men sitting across the room on the sofa—glaring at both Grey and Archer. The younger was another of his sons. “Where is Mama? Does she know?”

“Of course she does. It was she who discovered our sister’s absence. Thankfully she chose to remain behind at the house. I hate to think of her walking in on your bare arse as I did. What the hell were you thinking?

Grey glared at him. “Not that someone might waltz into my private chambers without so much as a frigging knock.”

“Jesus, Grey,” his brother leaned close, making sure they weren’t overheard. “She’s under your protection.”

“And now she’ll be my wife.” The
she
in question was hopefully in her own bed, and hopefully asleep. No need for both of them to be awake and frustrated over what had been interrupted between them.

Or was Rose lying in bed thinking of their bodies entwined? Did she fantasize about having him inside her? Were her fingers working between her round thighs, sliding through moist heat to relieve the ache?

Frig. Just what he needed—a cockstand in the company of strangers—and worse, his brother.

“Do you love her?”

“Since when have I had to love a woman to fuck her?” Yes, he was deliberately dodging that question. It made him decidedly uncomfortable. More so because just a few hours ago he’d told Rose to never use that term in reference to what happened between them. And now he was because he was too embarrassed to admit the truth to his brother.

“You’re not simply bedding her, you’re going to marry her.”

Grey shrugged. “Our kind doesn’t care about love, Arch. It’s a decent enough match. And now Mama can stop worrying that she’ll never have grandchildren.”

Archer straightened. “That’s cold, even for you.”

It was the “even for you” that needled. “Gone romantic on me, have you? Must be that lovely widow you’ve been pining over.”

Arch colored, his lips tightening, but he said nothing.

Grey inclined his head toward his unexpected guests. “Shall we forget about my rash behavior and concentrate on our sister’s instead?”

His brother took Lord Branton and his son a glass of scotch. Grey followed with similar glasses for himself and Archer. When they were all seated, Grey spoke: “Why did your son feel the need to whisk my sister away, Branton? Does he have ruination or marriage on his mind?”

Impugning the honor of a man’s favored son might not be wise, but Bronte was the daughter of a duke, and therefore, a prize. And Grey was in no mood to play polite. The man had interrupted his making love to Rose—something he could cheerfully strangle his impulsive little sister for being a part of.

Branton’s lean cheeks flushed, but he retained control of his emotions. “I am certain it is marriage Alexander intends, Your Grace. He is very much in love with your sister.”

Grey arched an imperious brow. “Really? Then why have I never met him? Why has he not come to me to ask for my sister’s hand?”

It was the boy who spoke, glaring at Grey with all the defiance of a loyal brother. “Perhaps because society believes you to be some kind of monster, Your Grace. Perhaps because your sister thought you would never agree to the match.”

Branton admonished his son, but Grey didn’t listen. He turned to Archer instead, who stared at him with a steady, yet sympathetic expression. It didn’t bother him what society thought—not really. What bothered him was that it seemed his baby sister agreed. How could she have thought that he would ever deny her happiness?

“Lord Branton, does Alexander have sufficient funds to marry my sister?”

The man nodded. “We are a wealthy family, Your Grace. The bulk of my fortune may have come from trade and investments and hard work, but I’ll not apologize for it. Our family can trace its roots back to the Conqueror, and while we have skeletons the same as every other family, we’ve not been scandalmongers.”

Unlike the Kanes
was the part left unspoken.

“And you are convinced that he loves her?” The emotion might not need to be present in order for him to marry Rose, but it would be a part of Bronte’s marriage, even if it killed him.

The older man nodded, face set with conviction. “I am.”

Grey raised his glass and swallowed the potent liquor with one gulp. Then, he rose to his feet. “Then let us bring them back to London where they can have a proper wedding and I may give my sister away. Arch, have the carriage readied. I have something to attend to before we depart.”

Of course Archer knew what he meant. To Grey’s surprise, his brother acquiesced without argument—or smart-arse retort.

He left the men to fend for themselves for the time being. Perhaps he should have lit a fire under them and the servants to have a carriage ready so they could go tearing off into the night, but they would find them. And even if they had already eloped, Grey would make sure his sister had a proper wedding. And damn it, he would be there to walk her down the aisle, and society be damned.

He had promised Charles that he would give Rose the same kind of wedding, that he would see her married to a good man who would love her. He’d never intended to be a liar in that matter, but he was and he didn’t even have the decency to feel that badly for it.

Although he was certain the day would come when he did.

He took the stairs two at a time, each stride long, silent and even. Camilla had stuck her head out of her door at the commotion earlier, but Grey told her to go back to bed—all was well. Fortunately, her daughter had been wise enough to remain in his room, anticipating that her mother would be curious.

She was in his room still—not in her own as he’d thought—clad in his dressing gown as she paced the carpet. When he raised a brow at her choice of clothing when her own was on the floor, she blushed so very becomingly and smiled. “It smells of you. Do you think me foolish for wanting to feel as though a part of you is with me?”

Foolish? Never. Dangerous, yes. She had his heart pounding so hard he thought it might break his ribs. “I think that if I didn’t have to chase down my sister I’d finish what we started earlier.”

Her breath hitched. “When will you be back?”

“I don’t know. Before dinner I expect. That will give you plenty of time to decide how to tell your mother that we are to be married. If you want we can tell her together.”

She stared at him as though he’d sprouted two heads and it was all her fault. “Surely we don’t have to take such drastic action.”

Surely the consequences of their affair couldn’t have escaped her? She had to know they had no other recourse unless she wanted to face ruin and he would not be responsible for that. “Rose, we were seen together naked and in my bed by my brother, my butler and two men who are about to become intimately acquainted with this family. We must marry.”

She frowned, delicate brow pulling in a manner that made him want to kiss it smooth and promise everything would be all right. He’d do his best to make her happy.

Yes, he would willfully lie to ease her burden.

“But, you’ve sacrificed so much for me and Mama already.” Christ, she wasn’t going to cry, was she? “It doesn’t seem fair that you be forced to marry me because I made the mistake of coming to your room.”

“Is that what it was? A mistake?” His head swam and his heart felt strangely tight. Hadn’t she told him earlier that she wanted this? Perhaps she hadn’t come right out and said it, but he had thought it was obvious.

Her eyes widened, big brown circles that stared helplessly at him. “You aren’t the least bit angry with me, are you?”

“No,” he replied. “Strangely enough I’m not angry at myself either, although I could strangle Bronte’s future father-in-law for arriving when he did.”

Rose glanced away, but not before he saw the flash of desire in her eyes as she remembered what he was about to do to her before they were interrupted. “Yes, I could strangle the poor man as well.”

Sweet God, were it not for Bronte he’d throw her on the bed right now and screw her senseless.

“When I return I will procure a special license for us to marry.”

Her gaze flew to his. “Grey—”

He could not bear to have her refuse him now. “We will be wed. And then we will continue what we began tonight—no interruptions.”

And just in case she didn’t believe him, he took her by the arms and hauled her roughly against his chest, lowering his head to bruise her lips with his own. She was his now. Or at least, she soon would be.

Till death do them part.

As he left her to rejoin the men downstairs, he found himself wishing to live to be a very old man.

“I have a confession to make.”

Rose looked at Eve as they sat together on a blanket in the stall with Heathcliff and his siblings. “That makes two of us. You first.”

A vision of English loveliness in a pale green gown, Eve leaned close and whispered dramatically, “I went back to Saint’s Row last night.”

Rose blinked. “Whatever for?” She was a little hurt that her friend snuck off without her, and also concerned that Eve had taken such a risk. Her own risk had landed her somewhere between elation and despair—a horrible place to be, one she would not wish on anyone.

“To see if Dae was there.” Eve’s gaze dropped to the puppy sleeping in her lap. “I told myself that if he was, and if he wanted me I would run away with him rather than accept Gregory’s inevitable proposal.”

Well, this was certainly a turn of events. Eve had always seemed so content with her future marital expectations. “Was he there?”

“No.” She looked so deflated. “When I encountered Madame La Rieux, she informed me that he had been called away to Japan of all places. Then she showed me a private exit from the club. Rose, my father was there!”

Rose took her friend’s hand. Thank God her friend hadn’t been found out. “I’m very grateful to Madame La Rieux for coming to your aid, but I am sorry you didn’t get to see your gentleman again. Would you truly have jilted Mr. Gregory for him?”

“In an instant.” Eve met her gaze with a confused one of her own. “Gregory was with my father. They were there with women I didn’t know. Young women.”

Two disappointments—or three if one wanted to split hairs—in one night. Poor Eve. Rose gave her a hug. “I’m so sorry, dearest.”

Eve shrugged then, gently pulled out of Rose’s embrace. It was obvious her friend did not want comfort—no doubt because she was trying so terribly hard to keep from falling apart. “I shan’t expire from it. What is your confession?”

“Last night Grey and I were caught together and now he insists we marry.”

Eve’s eyes were huge blue saucers. “Define ‘caught.’”

Rose stroked Heathcliff’s silky ears. “Naked and in bed—that sort of caught.”

Her friend looked positively scandalized—and gleeful. “No! Who caught you?”

“His brother Archer and a servant.” She purposefully did not mention anything about Bronte’s situation. As much as she trusted Eve, she could not be certain that none of the grooms wouldn’t overhear. And since most of the household probably knew about her and Grey by dawn, it didn’t seem so important to keep her own council in that regard.

“I have no doubt that your maid is getting every sordid detail—and possibly embellishment—below-stairs as we speak.”

Eve frowned. “Do you think Ryeton’s servants would be so cruel as to discuss you openly?”

She rolled her eyes. “They would never in a million years do anything to intentionally hurt me or Grey, but there’s bound to be talk. It’s that affection for both of us that makes their lips loose. I swear one of the footmen grinned at me this morning as I took breakfast.”

Her friend chuckled sweetly, laughing even harder as one of the pups came up on its hind legs to lick her chin. “At least you will have dedicated servants, if not indiscreet ones.”

Rose had to smile—it was that or burst into sobs. “At least.”

But Eve was too observant. “I thought you would be happy to be marrying Grey. You’ve had feelings for him for years.”

“I have.” It was easy to admit it. She’d never tried to conceal her feelings from anyone but Grey himself. “But he’s marrying me because we were caught, not because he loves me.”

“Do you love him?”

She hesitated. Did she care if anyone overheard what she was about to say? No. “I do, and, no, I haven’t told him how I feel. I couldn’t bear his reaction.”

Eve’s face was a study in pity. “But perhaps he does love you and is just afraid to tell you.”

Rose laughed aloud at that. “The only thing Greyden Kane is afraid of is facing his past. No, if he loved me he’d tell me. At least he would if he recognized the emotion.”

“You are very harsh on a man you claim to love.”

She shrugged—there was no real censure in her friend’s tone. “I know him, Eve. And that includes knowing his faults yet loving him anyway.” And that was why it hurt because she did know him, and she knew that given a choice, he would not marry her.

Despite this knowledge, she loved the idiot regardless. All she could do was hope that one day he could love her in return, that the desire and friendship he felt for her would grow and mature.

But she was terribly afraid that just the opposite would happen, that he would resent her for trapping him into marriage—one more mess of her family’s making that he had to fix.

“If you love him then you should trust that he will not disappoint you.”

Sage advice indeed. “It’s not him disappointing me that I’m worried about.”

“Oh, my dear friend.”

Rose lifted her chin resolutely. “Let us speak of it no more. It is done and I will make the best of it. What are you going to do now that your gentleman is gone?”

Eve reached over to pat Maz. The old girl’s tongue lolled in gratitude as long fingers combed through her thick fur. “I fully expect Gregory to propose before the end of the Season. He’ll want our wedding to happen just before everyone retires for the country—the social event of the year, you know.”

She sounded so resigned. Rose had never understood how her friend could be happy having her future planned out for her. Now she realized that Eve wasn’t happy, she merely accepted her fate. It was a good match, even though Mr. Gregory wasn’t titled. A match to which she could offer up no opposition except that she did not love her future groom.

That simply wasn’t a good enough reason not to marry amongst the aristocracy.

“You do not have to marry him, Eve.”

Pale blue eyes locked with hers with a ferocity that startled Rose. “Yes, I do. He could very well be prime minister someday—and he has chosen me to stand beside him. I may not love him, but I doubt I shall ever find a man who holds me in as high regard as Bramford Gregory. I would be a fool not to marry him. Just as you would be a fool to turn down the man you love.”

When Eve decided to make a point, she did a fine job of it. “You have a wonderful knack for putting things in perspective, my dear. You make me feel quite intellectually inferior.”

The blonde girl grinned. “You see? I’m already learning to become a politician’s wife.”

They shared a chuckle and then set the puppies closer to their mother. It was almost luncheon, and time to return to the house. They brushed the straw from their skirts and gathered up the blanket, laying it over the side of the stall for the next time Rose visited Heathcliff.

Rose blinked as they walked out of the stables. Inside had been somewhat dark, but outside the day was bright and cheerfully sunny—the kind of day it should be when a woman realized she was going to marry the man she adored.

Honestly, if Eve asked her why she loved Grey, she wasn’t certain she would be able to answer. There were so many things she liked about him—and probably just as many things that she did not. But when it came right down to it, he was her favorite man in the whole of her life. Not even dear Kellan had ever come close to holding so much of her regard.

Kellan. Oh, dear. He hadn’t proposed, but he had paid enough particular attention to her that people had noticed. She hoped he wouldn’t be too angry with her. Hoped that he wouldn’t be hurt by her engagement to Grey. She had come to think of him as something of a friend and she would hate to lose that.

As they walked toward the house—standing so stately and elegant in the afternoon sun—the dark green grass pulled gently at the hem of her gown, swished against the sides of her boots. The breeze carried the scent of flowers, a lingering dampness from the rain the night before, and the sounds of carriage wheels and hooves from the street beyond—the only reminder that they were in town and not the country.

Rose tipped her head back, so that the brim of her bonnet could no longer keep the sun from her face. It truly was a beautiful day.

“You’ll be mistress of all of this soon,” Eve remarked, breaking their companionable silence. “This and all of Ryeton’s other properties. Rose, you are going to be a duchess!”

Her friend’s excitement was contagious—and terrifying. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she admitted with a wry grin. “Imagine that. Do you suppose people will try to curry my favor?”

“Undoubtedly. Your slightly scandalous past will only add to your popularity.”

Slightly scandalous.
That was a nice way to word it. Although she had no doubt that Eve referred only to her relationship with Grey and not her father, the truth about whom she’d shared with her friend earlier. Of course Eve hadn’t passed judgment. She’d simply listened, sympathized, and offered a strong shoulder, everything a true friend could.

“I think a good duchess always courts a bit of scandal,” she quipped. “All the interesting ones certainly did, historically speaking.”

Eve agreed. “Have you told your mother yet?” she asked after a small pause.

“Good grief, no!” Rose chuckled hoarsely. “Grey said he’d tell her with me and I plan to hold him to it.”

“You’re acting like a wife already.”

“Yes,” she allowed as the reality of the situation suddenly seemed to come crashing down upon her. “I suppose I am.”

Grey had asked—no. Grey had
told
her that she was going to marry him. And he wasn’t angry about it. In fact, he seemed eager to have the union performed as quickly as possible. Perhaps that was to avoid as much scandal as possible, or perhaps it was because he genuinely wanted to marry her.

Lord knew, she was anxious to have her wedding night arrive. To think that they would no longer meet in secret. There would be no more need for masks or skulking about. She could spend the night in his arms without worrying about leaving the next morning. She wouldn’t have to worry about being seen.

They would be husband and wife. Forever joined for better or for worse. Surely it would be for the better.

God, please don’t let it be for worse.