My Dark Duke (15 page)

‘Your Grace, please, I mean you no offence. Please, believe me.' Her soft voice was pleading.

He froze just for a moment in the act of viciously tugging on his boot. He wanted to curse, rail at her, tell her that he was offended. And hurt. But he could do none of those things without exposing his feelings and he would die rather than see the pity in her eyes. So he continued pulling on his boots, then gathered what items of clothing he could see, uncaring that he was without stockings, cravat, coat or hat. He walked to the door and gave her a curt bow, deliberately avoiding her eyes.

The moment he stepped out of the room, Ashbourne pounced on him like a feline lying in wait for a hapless mouse. Alethea's brother did not bother with pleasantries. ‘Tell me you are on your way back to London to ask my father for Alethea's hand in marriage.'

Trent looked at the man who would have been his brother by marriage if things had gone as he had expected. He gave a mocking laugh. ‘And what would be the point of that, seeing as your sister has refused my offer?'

The younger man's mouth opened, but nothing emerged.

‘I wouldn't have thought you'd be surprised. After all, this is what, the eighth offer of marriage she has declined?' Trent knew his cutting tone was unfair. It was hardly her brother's fault. But damn it, it smarted. Even with the shadow hanging over his past, he was still one of the most eligible peers in the realm. Who was she? A woman who should be thankful he had offered for her when she should have had no hope for marriage, much less to someone in his position. He was aware of the bitterness of his thoughts, but was in no mood to change them.

Ashbourne's voice brought him back into the present. ‘Alethea will be accepting your offer. Return to London, Trent. I will inform my father to expect you in two days' time.'

Trent was silent, the urge to stop the marquess from changing Alethea's mind warring with his desire to make her his. He finally inclined his head slightly. ‘Very well.' And with that, he left.

Alethea heard the door open behind her and tensed, maintaining her gaze on the blurry image of the countryside outside the thick glass window.

‘You refused Trent?' As expected, Marcus spared no time.

‘I . . . Yes.'

‘Why?'

‘It's none of your concern. I don't wish to marry him, that's all.'

She heard his footsteps approach, and then he was next to her. ‘You have no say in the matter. You will be marrying him.' His tone was implacable.

That statement made her turn around. ‘What? No, I am not marrying Trent, Marcus, and that is the end of it.'

Her brother's eyes flashed with anger. ‘Oh no, this is just the beginning of it, Alethea. You were right earlier, I was blinded as to who was at fault; it was you. If you had not been so headstrong and so damned reckless, none of this would have happened. Trent would have courted you and, when the time arrived, made an offer which you would have graciously accepted. But you had to ignore social conventions. Well, now you must accept the consequences of your actions.'

‘I don't care that my reputation will be ruined. I am not going to be forced into a loveless marriage, Marcus. Is that what you really want for me?' she asked pleadingly. She asked the question, even though she already knew what the outcome of this conversation would be from the implacable expression on his face. Her brother had a will of iron, and when he chose to wield it, no-one could gainsay him. Not even a beloved sister.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘I'm afraid it does not matter what you or I want. The marriage will come to pass whether you consent or not.'

She crossed her arms, feeling chilled to the bone despite the fact that she was standing in a bright stream of sunlight. ‘I don't think that you or Papa will be dragging me down the aisle of St. George's, especially if you are trying to avoid a scandal,' she retorted bravely, even though she felt nothing of the sort.

Marcus's eyes narrowed. ‘You know as well as I do what Father is going to say. And Alethea, believe me when I tell you that he will not be so indulgent this time. Our family's name is at stake. What you have done will be a grave disappointment to him. Even he cannot shield you from this.' His voice deepened. ‘How, Alethea,
how
in God's name could you do something so foolish?!'

Alethea tried to hold back a sob as pain blossomed in her chest. The image of the disappointment she could picture in her beloved father's eyes, coupled with her brother's obvious anger, melted away her defiance. She had not allowed herself to think about the pain she would cause her parent. Marcus was right. It was all her fault. She could not let her family pay for her mistake. ‘I . . . I don't know. Foolishness. I'm sorry Marcus. Y-you are right. And I was wrong. I will . . .' She took a shuddering breath. ‘I will accept Trent's offer.'

‘That is a wise decision.' His expression softened and he reached out and took her ice-cold hand in his warm one. ‘Do not despair. I am certain that given time, Trent will come to care for you as you do for him. How could he not?'

Alethea tried to smile back at her brother's attempt to comfort her, but she failed. ‘How could he not?' Marcus had asked. Too easily, she feared. Especially after her rejection of him. It wouldn't matter that she would eventually accept him; he would not quickly forget her reaction to his offer. Even worse, Trent's offer wasn't because he wanted to marry her. It wasn't even because he needed her to be his wife. No, it was by her own folly that he had been forced to make a proposal.

It was not a promising start to a happy marriage.

We Meet our Hero's Aunts

Five days later, Alethea was sitting at the seat in the window of the small salon overlooking the garden when there was a knock at the door. It was Thompson.

‘My lady, your father asks that you come to the study.'

She stood and followed the butler from the room. Schooling her face into a polite mask, she took a deep breath and walked into the study.

‘Alethea.' Charles Sinclair looked up from his seated position at the desk at the far end of the room. Standing, he placed the quill down on the desk and came around towards her. ‘Trent and I have just completed our discussions regarding the settlements,' he informed her as he took her hand.

At that statement, her gaze was drawn reluctantly to the tall figure standing by the full-length window, looking out towards the main street. She watched as he slowly turned around, seemingly just as reluctant to face her. He regarded her dispassionately and Alethea felt anew a pang at the situation they now faced. She felt her father squeeze her hand before releasing it.

‘Your Grace.' Alethea curtsied, lowering her eyes as she did so.

The duke bowed.

Their gazes met and she felt her heart sink at his refusal to utter her name.

Alethea's father spoke. ‘We've settled on the fifth of May for the wedding. Trent has spoken to the Archbishop and your mother tells me that your trousseau will be completed by then.'

‘Yes, Papa.' Alethea finally dragged her eyes away from the duke's and focused on her father, conscious of Trent's unblinking gaze on her. ‘I'm to be measured for the gowns as soon as possible.' Discussing the practicalities of her trousseau, she could almost pretend this was the usual course of a wedding.

Almost.

The Duke of Alton continued, ‘We will be hosting a dinner in a fortnight's time. Trent, I presume your man of business will forward a list of your guests.'

Trent inclined his head. ‘The list is short. It will be only my three aunts, my brother and me. I have already summoned my brother back from Scotland where he has been attending to business on my behalf.' It was the first time Alethea had heard his voice since the day at the inn. She looked almost unwillingly back at him, and her breath stuttered at the stone-like set of his jaw. The light from the window behind him made it impossible to see the expression in his eyes, but his voice was cold, lacking its usual inflection of warmth, which she had not appreciated before today. The thought made her despair. How were they to embark on a new life together with what had happened between them?

A silence descended, which soon became uncomfortable. Alethea knew not what to say, and it seemed that Trent felt no inclination to add anything further to his previous statement.

She breathed a sigh of relief at her father's voice. ‘I have told Trent that we will be available to attend the dinner he will host. When did you say it would be? Ten days' time?'

‘Yes, on the Thursday of that week. That will allow time for my aunts to arrive from the north.'

‘Good, good.' Alethea's father walked towards the door to the drawing room, drawing Alethea's suddenly anxious gaze. Where was he going? ‘I shall go and inform the duchess that we have completed our discussion. I will return shortly.'

‘Papa, please —' she blurted out, but he was already gone. Biting her lip, it took all her courage to turn around to face her betrothed. As she feared, the duke regarded her impassively.
Say something
, she told herself. ‘Your Grace . . .' Her voice trailed off and she gazed uncertainly at him. What could she say that would improve the situation between them? Was that even possible after she'd rejected his offer? Even if he felt nothing for her, his pride would have been injured. A man's pride was second only to his honour. And as a duke, Trent would have more pride than most men. ‘I . . . That morning, at the inn . . . I didn't mean . . .' Gads, she had never stammered so much in her life.

‘Lady Alethea.' She started at the unexpected sound of his voice. Trent stepped away from the window and drew close to her. She stood motionless at his approach, unable to even blink as he stopped before her. His gaze was unforgiving. ‘I think we both know you meant what you said. However, in the interests of making our marital life tolerable, it would be best if we went along with the pretence that our time at the inn never occurred. Even if rumours regarding that night surface, it will not matter. Everyone is aware that I have shown my interest in you so my offer will not be unexpected. We will be married in a month's time. Do I have your agreement?'

Alethea was speechless, her thoughts in a whirl. He wanted to pretend that theirs had been a normal courtship? That the fateful night had never happened? She wasn't sure if it was even possible. But did this also mean that he was willing to put aside the fact that she had rejected his offer? That she had rejected him? She didn't know if he could ever forgive her, but she wanted so desperately to start over. To see again the warmth in his gaze and the smiles he was unable to suppress when she was being particularly mischievous. ‘Y-yes, of course.'

He looked at her for a long moment. ‘Good.' Silence reigned anew.

Anxiety and fear gnawed at her. She had to say something. ‘Your Grace, I wish you to know that I will do everything in my power to make our lives together more than merely tolerable. If you allow me, perhaps we could even be content. I realise you do not believe what I am saying now, but I mean every word. I am truly sorry if my previous rejection of your offer offended you in any way. I . . . I hope you will forgive me. If not immediately, then I pray you will do so in the near future.'

His expression was still grim, but she thought the chill in his eyes had lessened. ‘You have no need for my forgiveness. You spoke your mind and I cannot blame you for doing so.'

Alethea knew that he held the rejection against her; how could he not? But she couldn't challenge him without risking a disagreement. She would just have to persuade him somehow. God knew that she would have a lifetime to do so. ‘That is very kind of you, Your Grace. Thank you.'

He looked at her with a frown. ‘I am not a kind man, my lady. You should be aware of that.'

She drew in a breath at the disturbed expression in his eyes. ‘I still thank you, in any case.' She stared at him, her heart quickening. For some reason she sensed that they were standing at a fork in the road. ‘There is something I must tell you. When I rejected your offer, it wasn't because of you. Well, not in the way you must think,' she rushed to correct herself.

Trent's frown deepened. ‘I don't understand. You did not refuse my offer because you objected to me?'

‘No, I refused your offer because I am an impractical female filled with silly, fanciful notions.' She forced a smile at him when puzzlement remained on his face. ‘I didn't want you to be forced to make an offer for me. I wanted you to do so because you wanted me. Because you wished to be with me.'

His eyes darkened. ‘Alethea, I —'

She had barely registered the fact that he had just addressed her intimately, using her first name, when her mother burst into the room, causing her to take an involuntary step back.

‘Darling!' The duchess hurried over to the couple, a beaming smile on her countenance. ‘Your father just told me. What wonderful news!' she exclaimed, kissing Alethea on both cheeks. She looked over at Trent. ‘Congratulations, Your Grace. Sinclair and I are exceedingly pleased to welcome you into our family.'

‘Thank you.'

Alethea tensed as her mother spoke again. ‘I must apologise for Alethea's reckless behaviour during your outing to Wells. I have tried my best to raise her to always do the right thing, but she still persists in doing what she wishes. It is all her father's fault, really, indulging her every whim.'

‘
Mother!
' Alethea was mortified at her parent's indiscretion. The duke might be betrothed to her, but this was not something he needed to know now. Or indeed ever.

‘What is past is past,' said the duke. ‘We will proceed on the basis that our engagement was to be expected. It would be pleasing if that were so.' Trent's tone was mild, but the underlying command was unmistakable.

It did not pass unnoticed by the duchess. ‘If that is your wish, then of course it shall be so.' She turned to her daughter. ‘Alethea, as the wedding is only four weeks away, Madame Blanche has asked that you be measured and fitted for your garments immediately. Go and fetch your hat now, the coach is waiting at the door.' She looked back at the duke. ‘I apologise, Your Grace, but you do understand the urgency, do you not?'

Trent inclined his head. ‘Completely.'

Alethea's mother walked towards the door of the drawing room, then paused when she realised her daughter had not followed her. ‘Alethea?'

‘I will be there shortly, Mother.'

After a brief moment, her mother nodded, then left.

Alethea looked at the duke. ‘Will I see you before the dinner?'

Her heart sank when he shook his head. ‘I fear not. I have business that I need to attend to in my estate in Wales before the wedding. If you require anything, send a note to my town house. My housekeeper will make sure that it gets to me.'

‘All right.' She was careful to mask her disappointment. She had hoped that they could start repairing their relationship.

His eyes were intent on hers. ‘Alethea, now that we are betrothed, perhaps you would consider calling me James.'

She hesitated. ‘James.' Calling him by his Christian name felt almost
too
intimate. Yet she couldn't help feeling a little thrill that she had the right to do so now.

The corner of his mouth lifted. ‘I very much like the sound of your voice uttering my name.'

She smiled, suddenly feeling unaccountably shy. ‘I should go. Mother is waiting. Your Grace.' She curtsied and Trent, no, James bowed.

As she turned to leave she heard him speak. ‘My lady, if I could ask a small favour?'

Surprised at his request, she gave him an inquiring look as she replied, ‘Of course.' There was something in his eyes which she couldn't quite decipher.

His next words were completely unexpected. ‘The nightgown you will be attired in for our wedding night. Tell Madame Blanche no buttons, if you please.'

Alethea's mouth parted and she felt her face grow hot as she finally recognised the devilish look in his eyes.

‘I think we've had enough buttons to last us a lifetime, don't you think?' he said in an undertone, despite there being no-one else in the room.

She nodded slowly. The sound of her mother's voice calling for her woke her from the enthralment in which he held her. She asked him the first thing that came to mind. ‘Will . . . will ribbons be acceptable, then?'

At that, the duke smiled faintly. ‘Ribbons would be perfectly acceptable. But no more than three.'

‘Alethea!' called the duchess again impatiently.

‘Three ribbons. I will be sure to inform Madame Blanche.' Her reply was breathless as a result of the emerging heat in his dark eyes. ‘I must go. Safe travels, Your . . . James.'

He inclined his head. ‘Till we meet again, Alethea.'

A moment later she hurried out the door, cheeks warm and the back of her hand tingling from the brief touch of his lips upon her skin.

Ten days. How was she to bear his absence for that length of time?

The morning of the day on which the Duke of Trent was to host the dinner in honour of their betrothal found Alethea in Madame Blanche's well-appointed shop, the sole focus of three women. They were not the seamstresses belonging to the establishment. Instead, they were three ladies who, if she had properly understood James's mention of them in her father's study, were very important in her betrothed's eyes.

Lady Prudence, Lady Charity and Lady Faith. James's paternal aunts. Alethea eyed them with no small measure of nerves as they circled her like feral dogs surrounding their prey. Madame Blanche was not given the opportunity to prevent the older ladies from entering the fitting room, her employees in the front of the shop apparently having been overwhelmed by the strong-willed women. Lady Prudence and Lady Charity appeared to be in their sixties and were tall and thin, with grey hair and long, thin noses which they held high. Their black bombazine gowns rustled as they held their spectacles to their faces and peered closely at her form, clad in nothing more than a short, thin shift.

Swallowing hard, Alethea crossed her arms over her chest defensively, full of dread. The expression on their haughty countenances did not bode well. In fact, they looked no different from when they had entered the room several minutes ago and informed her of their identities. For once she wished her mother was with her. What were the older women thinking? She didn't have to wonder for long.

Lady Prudence halted before her. ‘She is very thin.' Her dark eyes, so much like James's, raked Alethea's form.

‘And her hips are not made for childbearing. And her age! Really, what is Trent thinking?' added Lady Charity, rather uncharitably, thought Alethea. The older woman cast a censuring stare before coming to stand by her sister. ‘This does not bode well for any future heirs.'

‘I would not have been surprised if he had been blinded by her beauty, but I do not think she is particularly handsome. Her complexion is fair, and her hair I suppose is tolerable, but that does not explain why our nephew has, without any notice or consultation, decided to make an offer for her.' The ladies continued to disparage her figure, appearance and fitness to be James's duchess as if Alethea was not present. She could feel herself withdrawing, her heart sinking at the impersonal onslaught. Did the duke think of her this way? Would he, once his aunts began listing her deficiencies to him?