Andrea Kane (8 page)

Ariana rested her cheek against Theresa’s narrow, capable shoulder, another nagging thought intruding in the wake of conflict and resignation. “The duke said the wedding would be held at Broddington. Yet from what Baxter has told me, Broddington has been deserted since …
then.”

Theresa nodded. “It has. Other than an occasional visit from the Marquis of Tyreham, the estate has been unoccupied for six years.”

Ariana sat up. “The Marquis of Tyreham?”

“Dustin Kingsley. Your
betrothed’s …
“—Theresa used the term gently, yet with enough emphasis to accustom Ariana to the notion—“younger brother.”

“I’ve heard no mention of the marquis.” Ariana ignored Theresa’s pointed reference, her interest captured by this new and unexpected development.

“Your brother is not in the habit of discussing the Kingsley family, pet,” Theresa reminded her. “The marquis is two years his brother’s junior, a kind and personable gentleman. You will enjoy his company immensely … as he will yours.”

Ariana opened her mouth to ask Theresa how she knew this, then closed it with a snap. If Theresa stated something as fact, then fact it was.

“What makes the duke believe that hundreds of guests will attend this wedding?” she asked instead. “He is despised by many, feared by most, and shunned by all. Why would anyone wish to appear at this mockery of a ceremony?”

“Many reasons, my lady.” Theresa’s shrug was matter-of-fact. “Curiosity. Gossip. Human nature is astounding; the idea of resurrecting an old scandal is an enticement few can resist. And then, of course, there are those who will attend for the
right
reasons. Respect for the Kingsley name. Regard for the late duke. Faith in the present one.”

Theresa’s implication sank deeply into Ariana’s mind.
“You
believe in him,” she said slowly, studying her maid’s unreadable expression.

“In this case, what I believe doesn’t matter.” Theresa lifted a corner of her apron to wipe tears from Ariana’s cheeks. “It is what
you
believe that counts. And only time … and your future husband … can provide you with the truth. Not I.”

Ariana stiffened abruptly. “You’ll come with me,” she pleaded, desperation in her voice. “You won’t leave me.”

Theresa’s wrinkled face creased into a smile. “Have I ever left you, my lady?”

Ariana shook her head. “But what if the duke refuses to allow it?”

“He has already agreed to my accompanying you to Broddington. My things will be sent along with yours.”

Ariana stared. “You’ve spoken with him about this?”

“Of course I have!” Theresa’s reply was brisk. “Just after I took you to your room. How else could I make my plans?”

“What did he say?”

“He said yes.”

“No, I mean what
else
did he say?” Ariana pressed.

Theresa folded her hands primly in her lap. “He was pleased I would be accompanying you. He said that it would make your new role less painful to accept.”

“Painful?” Ariana’s face drained of color. “Theresa, I retract my earlier statement: I
am
afraid.”

Now Theresa did look surprised. “He will never raise a hand to you, my lady.”

Ariana licked her lips, shaking her head emphatically. “I know that. That’s not what I meant. It just occurred to me … that is, I only just realized …”

“Ah, your wedding night.”

“My wedding night.” Ariana repeated the words slowly, stunned by the ambivalent feelings they aroused. She did have
some
idea of what to expect. Along with Winsham’s brightly colored gardens, her favorite refuge was the stables. And, having spent half her waking hours among dogs, horses, and chickens, she’d certainly seen animals mate. “Do people follow the same procedure as animals?” she blurted out, then blushed at her own outrageous question.

Theresa didn’t flinch. “More or less. With one addition: If they choose, people can mate with their hearts as well as their bodies.”

Ariana tried to imagine that sort of intimacy and her flush deepened. Could she actually do
that
with
him?

Calmly, as if they were discussing the weather, Theresa continued, counting off on her fingers. “We’ve established the fact that the duke appeals to you. Physically, that is. We’ve also concluded that he does not intend to hurt you. So what is it you fear?”

“I’m not sure. It’s just that I don’t know how to … I’ve never …”

“He does and he has.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Ariana shifted uncomfortably. “I really should be repelled by the idea or, at the very least, opposed to it,” she reasoned aloud. “Which I am, of course,” she was quick to add.

“Of course.”

Ariana was too caught up in her worry to pick up on the hint of amusement in Theresa’s tone. “But, if I am to be totally honest, I have to admit that I also feel … well, curious.”

“And that surprises you?” Theresa’s eyes twinkled. “The duke is a very handsome, compelling man. He is obviously drawn to you as you are to him. The rest will come naturally.”

“You make it sound so simple.” Ariana sighed. “But what if he really is dangerous?”

“As I’ve said before, I’ve never known your instincts to betray you. Heed them well, my lady.”

Ariana squeezed her eyes shut, picturing the bitter, enigmatic man who would soon be her husband. “God help me if my instincts are wrong,” she whispered.

Baxter tossed off the last of his drink and lowered the empty glass to his desk with a triumphant thud. So Kingsley thought he had won, did he? He would soon learn otherwise.

Reflecting on the countless times in the last fourteen years Trenton Kingsley had bested him, Baxter’s mouth twisted sardonically. Their long and disagreeable history had started in 1859, when they were both still in their teens. Baxter’s parents had just died, leaving him guardian of his sisters and overseer of Winsham, while Richard Kingsley’s deteriorating health had forced Trenton to assume the running of the Kingsley estates and numerous family businesses.

They met in London through a mutual business associate and, though never friends, they had, at first, felt a grudging respect for each other.

The respect had rapidly dissipated.

Their first business clash should have served as an omen to Baxter of what lay ahead, the defeats he would suffer at Kingsley’s hands. Outbidding Baxter for a minor ownership stake in Bryant’s and May’s small manufacturing firm in Tooley Street, Trenton saw his investment multiply tenfold in value when the company, utilizing Kingsley funds, developed an award-winning line of revolutionary safety matches.

Trenton prospered and Baxter seethed.

After that, it seemed their paths crossed constantly; every venture Baxter pursued found Trenton one step ahead, every bloody wager they placed Trenton won, every woman Baxter coveted preferred Trenton’s bed.

The bastard’s luck never seemed to run out.

Even with Vanessa.

Baxter lowered his head, determined to submerge memories long since buried away. What was done was done. Vanessa was gone, and no amount of vengeance could bring her back. All thanks to Trenton Kingsley. He’d robbed Baxter of everything: his dignity, his money, his sister.

All but Ariana.

And now he thought to strip Baxter of her as well, to emerge the victor once again?

Not this time.

Baxter pressed his clenched fists to the desk, evaluating the implications of the day’s startling event. A royal edict commanding Ariana to become the Duchess of Broddington. He still couldn’t get over that interesting twist of fate. He had planned to use Ariana’s beauty to attract a husband, one whose wealth would be sufficient to recoup his losses. At the same time, he had yearned to punish Kingsley for his final ruinous act: severing Baxter’s betrothal to Suzanne Covington and leaving the Caldwells destitute. And here fate had presented Baxter with the perfect opportunity to combine both his fondest wishes into one ultimate revenge.

Ariana might become Trenton’s by law, but, ceremony or not, she would always be a Caldwell. Baxter could count on that. Yes, he would have his money … and Trenton Kingsley would be the one to restore it to him.

A fitting finale for a vehement enmity.

Baxter’s thoughts were interrupted by a quiet knock.

“Yes?”

Ariana opened the door and entered. “Baxter … we need to talk.”

A slice of guilt cut through him at the sight of her wet, spiky lashes and flushed cheeks. He forced the feeling away. “Of course, sprite. Come in.”

Ariana crossed the room and stood before her brother, raising her chin to see his face, mincing no words. “Tell me again about Vanessa’s death.”

A dark cloud crossed Baxter’s face and, abruptly, he turned away.

“Please, Baxter … I need to know.”

“You already know everything,” he replied, his head down. “I’ve recounted that hateful day dozens of times. There is nothing left to say on the subject.”

“I’m being forced to marry the man you believe killed our sister!” Ariana burst out. “Of course there is more to say!”

Baxter kept his back to her. “There was no proof of Kingsley’s guilt,” he said evenly, staring intently at the oriental rug. “Besides, Vanessa’s … accident happened six years ago. It has nothing to do with your marriage. You’re quite safe, sprite, believe me.”

Ariana crushed the folds of her gown between trembling fingers. “Is there truly nothing you can do to prevent this marriage? Or merely nothing you
wish
to do?”

Baxter swerved to face her, his brows arched in surprise. “You’ve changed, little one. You never used to be so outspoken.”

“My future was never at stake.”

He nodded. “All right, then. Both. There is truly nothing I can do and also nothing I wish to do. The Queen has always been partial to the Kingsley family. Lord alone knows why.”

Ariana drew in a sharp breath. “Her edict is binding. But so is marriage, Baxter. So why is there nothing you wish to do?”

Reaching out, he fingered one of her tousled curls. “You will have everything you could ever want, sprite. Everything I can no longer give you.” He saw the look in her eyes and hastily added, “Aside from your romantic notion of love, that is. And as much as you believe otherwise, I hold not a shred of hope that true love actually exists. Therefore, this marriage affords you more than any other I could have arranged.”

“And what exactly does it
afford me?”
she demanded in a choked voice. “Our family’s most loathsome enemy, possibly a murderer, as my husband?”

Baxter’s jaw set. “He won’t lay a hand on you. I guarantee it. He wouldn’t dare … not after what happened with Vanessa. Remember, Ariana, all of England knew the questionable circumstances surrounding our sister’s death. Rampant whispers circulated throughout the
ton
labeling Kingsley a murderer. A scandal of that magnitude may lie dormant, but it is never truly forgotten. Should Kingsley do
anything
to further defame his character, it would totally decimate his beloved family name… something he would rather die than risk.”

Ariana searched his face. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation.

She nodded, resigned and, in some small way, relieved. “Thank you for that. At least I know you would only compromise my happiness for money. Not my life.”

“Good Lord, Ariana!” Baxter’s fingers bit into her arms, willing her to understand. “What kind of an ogre do you think I am?”

She smiled faintly. “I don’t think you’re an ogre, Baxter. In fact, perhaps I understand you better than you understand yourself.” She extricated herself from his grasp, walking slowly away. “I shall begin plans for my wedding.” Closing the door behind her, Ariana leaned back against the wall, loneliness clogging her throat. With a wave of intuition, she wondered where she mattered less: here, or at Broddington.

“A wife? Christ, Trenton, when did this happen?”

Dustin Kingsley bolted to his feet, gaping at his older brother who lounged casually in one of Tyreham’s deeply tufted library chairs, a library the two brothers had designed.

Trenton shrugged. “Today.”

“Today,” Dustin repeated inanely. In a customary gesture of agitation, he smoothed his thumb and forefinger over the tapered curve of his mustache, all the while studying Trenton’s face. “All right, Brother. Now tell me the rest of the story.”

“The rest of the story?” Trenton’s expression was the picture of innocence.

Dustin’s midnight-blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. “This is
me
you’re talking to, Trent.
No one
knows you better than I. You’ve stayed away from Sussex for six years. Suddenly, during my last visit to Spraystone, you announced that you would be returning for the sole purpose of severing Baxter Caldwell’s betrothal. Which you did. You never mentioned a betrothal of your own. Now, like a bolt from the blue, you’re to be wed? Who is she, and why are you marrying her?”

Trenton chuckled, crossing one impeccably tailored leg over the other. “So much for subtlety, I see. Very well.” He leaned back, deceptively nonchalant. “Her name is Ariana, and I’m marrying her because she’s Baxter Caldwell’s little sister.”

Dustin’s jaw dropped. “Have you lost your bloody mind?”

“Years ago.”

“Trent, what the hell are you doing?” Dustin demanded.

“Satisfying a debt to our father.”

“By marrying Caldwell’s sister? Didn’t you learn
anything
from what happened with Vanessa?”

Fury deepened the lines around Trenton’s eyes, lines that hadn’t been there before Vanessa. “Too much, Dustin. Far too much.”

“And yet you’re still going through with this.” Dustin began to pace, shaking his head. “What makes you think the Caldwells will abide by your plan?”

“Oh, they’ll abide by it, all right. Queen Victoria has seen to that.”

Dustin came to an abrupt halt. “You’d better explain.”

Succinctly and without pause, Trenton relayed the events of the past few days to his brother.

“So you’re forcing this young girl to marry you.”

“She’ll be amply compensated.” Hostility glinted in Trenton’s eyes. “She’ll have everything Vanessa coveted and never managed to acquire: wealth, position, even an exalted title. Remember, I was a mere marquis when Father was alive.”