Four Nights With the Duke (8 page)

Mia quickly withdrew her hand. The last thing she wanted was to have these people think of her as a friend. She wasn’t. She had done a loathsome thing to Vander, for her own purposes, and she would be out of their lives very soon.

After they left, Mia turned to her husband before she could lose all courage. “Your Grace, we have much to discuss,” she said.

“The possibilities for conversation are endless,” Vander drawled. “
Lear
?
Hamlet
?” Unsurprisingly, it seemed he hadn’t enjoyed the literary conversation as much as she and Lady Xenobia had.

“I am serious,” she insisted.

“I can spare you a short time. I want to take off these clothes and get out to the stables. I have a new horse that is having trouble settling in.”

Mia decided on the spot that she was sorry for whoever ended up married to Vander.

The poor lady was going to have to steal minutes of conversation, given that horses were clearly more important than wives. Hopefully, the next duchess wouldn’t have trouble settling in, because Vander would be in the stables coddling a horse.

“Ten minutes,” she promised.

From the offices of Brandy, Bucknell & Bendal, Publishers

September 9, 1800

Dear Miss Carrington,

I eagerly await your response to mine of August 27, but in the meantime, I am including here a number of readers’ letters. I have taken the liberty of opening them, given that unpleasant business last year with the gentleman who felt at a disadvantage compared to your heroes. I wish to bring to your particular attention the letter from Mrs. Petunia Stubbs.

With deep respect,

I remain,

William Bucknell, Esq.

Brandy, Bucknell & Bendal, Publishers

M
ia walked to Vander’s study, trying to ignore the way her heart quickened due to her husband walking beside her.

The worst part of this whole affair—other than the fact she hated herself for forcing Vander to marry her—was Mia’s discovery that, even given all the despair and humiliation and the years that had passed since the poetry debacle, Vander was still able to make her feel . . . something.

It wasn’t infatuation. Of course not.

It must be animal lust. She had read about that somewhere. It was a natural constituent of being a healthy animal, which she was.

Vander was the most healthy animal—or man—she’d ever known. In fact, he appeared to be virtually bursting with life, his legs thick with muscle, his skin darkened by the sun.

Her father had been handsome in a way that Vander was not. Her husband—what an odd word—looked more like a boxer than a gentleman. He would never coax his hair into a smooth wave, the way her father used to. And his fingernails were not shaped and polished to a sheen. Instead, his fingers were callused from holding reins.

They had entered the study, and Vander was saying something to her. She looked up at him, confused. In that moment, watching his lips move without comprehending what he was saying, she understood something very important: her husband had the ability to break her.

Even though she had decided to loathe him after he mocked her poem, he had been her first love.

The weakness of a foolish girl, Mia reminded herself. The wanton side of herself, if she wanted to call a spade a spade. She was a woman now and knew a muscled stature was far less important than a kindly heart.

No one could call Vander
kind
. It took her a moment before she realized that he was waiting impatiently for a response.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “What did you say?”

“I asked when your belongings will arrive. I have an important race on the fifteenth, and I’d like to have you settled. I can send my men over to Carrington House to gather your possessions, if you haven’t already made arrangements. Oh, and I gather they should collect your nephew. My solicitor informed me yesterday afternoon that I now have a ward.”

The last was uttered in a jaundiced manner that suggested he’d also been informed that Sir Richard Magruder was likely to sue.

Mia swallowed a sigh and sat down. The time had come. “I am fairly certain that you did not read the letter summarizing my expectations for our marriage.”

“I didn’t bother,” Vander said, dropping down opposite her. “You should know, Duchess, that a man is the master of his household. If I decided that you should sleep in the attic, the butler would have a bed up there before nightfall.”

“There is no need to go to such extremes; the bed in the attic can wait for your next wife. We only need be married for six months, at which point Mr. Plummer, my solicitor, will arrange for annulment of our union.” The details tumbled through her head in perfect order, rather like one of her own plots. This was the cue for Vander to rejoice.

“What?”

“Mr. Plummer is a conservative man by nature, but he is hopeful that he will be able to end this marriage by early next year. I have asked him to pay a call on you tomorrow so he can explain the details.”

Vander leaned forward, eyes glittering. “What are
you talking about? You forced me to marry you. You corralled me as deftly as I’ve ever broken a horse.”

He’s like one of the great Norse gods, Mia thought with a literary flourish. Acting as if he might whip out a lightning bolt and cleave her in two. She wouldn’t be surprised to hear a clap of thunder in the distance.

She pulled her attention back to the subject at hand. “We needn’t turn this into a Cheltenham tragedy. We can simply go our own ways. Divorce is allowed only in cases of infidelity or abandon—”

He cut her off. “You are
planning
to be unfaithful, before we’ve been married one day?”

When Vander set his jaw, he looked like a prizefighter about to take on an opponent. His gaze seared her, but Mia didn’t let herself be intimidated by his anger. She knew instinctively that his fists might curl, but he would never be violent.

“Of course not, Vander. I thought we could request an annulment.”

“Vander?”

His voice lashed her. This was awful, just awful. She had momentarily forgotten that while she thought of him by the nickname his friends gave him, he scarcely remembered who she was.

“I apologize,” she gasped. “Would you prefer Your Grace? Of course you’d prefer Your Grace. You are a Your Grace.” She was babbling, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “My mother died years ago and I have no idea how married couples address each other in private. Not that we’re truly married. I just . . . I’m sorry.”

A moment of ominous silence followed before he shoved a hand through his hair. “It is I who should apologize. You caught me by surprise. No one addresses me by that name other than my intimate friends.”

“Of course,” Mia said, forcing a smile. “You needn’t
apologize. And as I said, my solicitor is fairly sure that he can have the marriage dissolved in a mere six months. There’s no need for us to become intimate in any fashion at all.” She drew out a folded sheet of paper from her reticule. “I drew up another explanation once I concluded that you hadn’t read the letter I initially wrote you.”

He took the sheet from her and skimmed it. “You want to marry me for six months, after which the marriage will end. And you expect no financial support either during or after the marriage.”

“Yes, that’s it,” she said, making her tone bright. Now that he understood, he could stop being angry. His eyes would probably fill with joy.

Instead, his mouth tightened, and slowly, methodically, he ripped her letter into pieces and dropped them on the floor.

“What are you doing?” Mia gasped.

“I plan to go through that farce we endured in the chapel only once in my life.”

“Why would you—what are you talking about?”

“Marriage. A mechanism by which two people are forced to remain in proximity for a lifetime. The truth is that your proposal made me see that a love match is the last thing in the world I’d want.”

“But—”

“As we have discussed, you are not who I would have chosen for myself,” he continued, his gaze drifting from her face to her shabby dress. “But there was always the chance that I would have made my father’s mistake, and married a beautiful woman who would collect lovers the way squirrels gather nuts.”

Mia could feel her face growing hot. There was part of her, the part that wrote love stories, that wanted to believe that not every man found her unlovely. The shallow, naïve side of her.

She raised her chin a notch. “Be that as it may, I don’t wish to remain married to you. You may not dream of a loving marriage, but I do hope for that someday. Your Grace.” The last two words were spoken with a touch of asperity.

He gave a crack of laughter. “You should have thought of that before you blackmailed me into marriage, Duchess. It seems your scheme has turned against you. I believe that is often the case.”

She stared at him, trying to find words. He was serious. He meant to keep her in the marriage. “Please,” she said, beginning to feel genuinely fearful. “I can see that you’re angry at me, and I know I deserve it. But mightn’t we be reasonable about this? I will happily offer proof of adultery, leaving both of us free to forget this marriage happened.”

“My mother spent the latter part of her life jaunting around the country with another man, incidentally, your father.” He leaned forward, his words clipped and furious. “I am neither mad nor incapacitated. My wife will live under my roof. She will
never
commit adultery.”

Mia took a deep breath. “But I don’t wish to live with you,” she explained. “I don’t consider us truly married.”

A grim smile touched his lips. “The vicar who just married us would not agree.”

Her heart was beating so quickly that she thought she might faint. “You don’t even want me around you. This is supposed to be a temporary arrangement!”

“But it isn’t.”

“You can’t mean that,” she said desperately. “I’m sure that in time you will meet another woman, one whom you will love. Remember? You told me that it was likely to happen, and you’re right.”

“What difference will our marriage make?”

The cruelty in his voice lashed her again. She could hardly claim to be insulted that her new husband would take lovers, considering she’d blackmailed him into making his vows.

“Do you have a mistress now?” she whispered.

His eyes couldn’t have been colder. “That is none of your business, and it never will be. You made your way into my bed, but not into my confidence.” His lips curled, but only a fiend would call it a smile. “Four nights a year, Duchess. That’s what you got from me, in return for my father’s letter. You agreed to that. What you seem to have overlooked is the fact that those four nights will happen annually—for the rest of our lives.”

Mia could hear her blood pounding in her ears. This had all gone terribly, horribly wrong. “A marriage, a real marriage, between us would never work,” she said, her voice rasping with the shock of it.

In a flash he was standing in front of her, pulling her upright, his hands gripping her upper arms so tightly they would be bruised. “You’ve made your bed and you must lie in it four nights a year, with me. I think that’s enough to ensure we end up with an heir, don’t you? My parents didn’t bother with a spare, but in view of your brother’s demise, perhaps we should keep trying after our first child. Heroically, you know. For the good of the name.”

She told herself not to panic. “You can’t mean—”

He cut her off again. “You are my
wife
. My only wife, Mia. You may have married me on a six-month lease, but I married you for life.”

“We’re in a marriage of convenience!”

“No, we’re not. It’s inconvenient, for both of us.”

A wave of horror crashed over her. She
couldn’t
be married to Vander. Not forever. Not . . . not living in the same house.

No.

He must have sensed what she was thinking. “You will live here, at Rutherford Park. Your nephew will also live with me. And”—he leaned forward and there was a distinct flare in his eyes—“you will sleep with no one but me.”

“You don’t understand!”

“Oh, but I do understand. I understand madness all too well, and I suspect you have more than a touch of it. I’d say that we have even odds on whether our children will be as cracked as a broken egg. Another reason we ought to have spares: the eldest might have to be put away before he reaches majority.”

The sob that she had held in check broke and she tried to twist free. “Let me go!” He released her immediately and she dashed sideways, putting a heavy chair between them.

“You really thought I wouldn’t mind having a temporary duchess?” Vander asked incredulously.

“I imagined that we would live separately for the few months that we would be married,” she said, rubbing her arms where she could still feel the pressure of his fingers. “I planned—
plan—
to travel to Bavaria with Charlie.”

“I gather you didn’t picture yourself fulfilling your wifely duties. Presumably you would lure some unwary Bavarian into giving you evidence of adultery if annulment didn’t work?”

“No! I’m sure I could bribe someone. With my own money. I would be writing,” she explained. “You can’t know it, but I—”

“If you
ever
write another one of those deplorable poems that could be construed in any way to address me or a body part of mine,” Vander said flatly, “I cannot be responsible for the consequences.”

Anger flashed up Mia’s spine and she drew herself
as tall as she could be. “My poem was not deplorable,” she retorted. “If you think that I would write a line about
you
again, you are sadly mistaken.” She added, “Besides, I don’t write poetry anymore.”

With a violent shove, Vander pushed aside the chair that stood between them and took a step toward her.