Taming the Duke (10 page)

What Dalton said was true—marriage to him would solve all her problems. Her father would be delighted. Her sisters would marry well. Kimbra would be sixteen in two years, and, with proper backing, could be the toast of the London Season. Lyssa would follow in her footsteps. Her mother would be able to restore Marston Heath to its original beauty.

“Very well, Dalton. I’ll marry you.”

“Very good. There’s one more thing I must know. Please forgive me if you find this subject distressing, but I’d really like to hear your answer in your own words.”

Her eyes rounded with wariness. “Of course. What is it?”

He glanced across the moonlit gardens, now deep with shadow. “When we first met, you insinuated that I had knowledge of what my family did to you during your debut into Society…”

Her mouth firmed into a tight line.

“It was only later, when I inquired of my sister about the episode that I learned what had transpired that night—”

“And what, your grace, do you think transpired?”

He heard the pain in her voice and the knot of tension tightened in his chest. “I was told that you were found with Justin Sykes in his bedchamber, alone.”

She stiffened. “Yes. Your mother and her friends
found me there, after she had asked me to retrieve her shawl from that very room. But when I opened the door, I found that the room was not your mother’s but already occupied by Mr. Sykes, who was deep in his cups, asleep in bed. When I realized my mistake and turned to leave, your mother and her friends had already burst into the room, accusing us of all kinds of things.” Her face paled with the memory. “I had never met Mr. Sykes before in all my life.”

“Then you aren’t in love with him?”

Her eyes widened in shock. “Of course not.”

Justin Sykes was a handsome rogue, but Dalton also knew that many women were attracted to rakes like him. Dalton wanted to believe her, but maybe she was too proud to admit that she had feelings for the charming Mr. Sykes.

She studied him, and she must have guessed what he was thinking. “If I had been in love with Mr. Sykes, I would have married him. He offered for me, acting quite honorably about the matter, considering he was set up, as I was.”

Dalton raised a dark brow. “Why did you refuse to marry Sykes?”

“Because I didn’t want to marry him.”

“And your father didn’t insist?”

“Yes, but I held my ground.”

Dalton rubbed his chin. “Do you know why my mother would have arranged such a scandal?”

She gazed up at him with large brown eyes, trusting and vulnerable. “No. I’ve often wondered why she hated me so.”

He realized what a threat this lovely, innocent young woman must have been to his mother’s plans for Elizabeth to marry Drake. What better way to get rid of the competition than to ruin this lovely young girl from the start.

“My mother was sponsoring Elizabeth that season, and I heard that you were the most serious competition. It’s a terrible thing to accuse one’s own mother, but—” he smiled “—I’m very sorry you were hurt.”

She shook her head. “What’s done is done. Nothing is gained by looking back.”

“I agree.” He kissed her hand. “Wait here while I call my solicitor.” Dalton stepped onto the path and strode to the horse and carriage parked in the distance. Within a few minutes, he returned with a short, elderly man hobbling beside him.

“Come, Sir John,” Dalton said. “Let’s go inside and sign the documents you brought while we give my sister the good news.”

Alicia noticed that her hand was shaking when she accepted Dalton’s offered arm as she went with him into the small cottage where Olivia stood waiting at the front door.

If this was the answer to all her problems, then why did she feel as though she were signing a pact with the devil?

Chapter Six

O
livia put her hand to her throat. “Dalton! You must be mad!” She glanced at Alicia. “Oh, my dear, I didn’t mean that he was mad because…” Her cheeks blushed. “Oh, my dear! That’s not what I meant at all.”

Alicia carefully schooled her features to reveal none of the surprise, skepticism or fear she felt. “It’s quite a shock, I know,” Alicia said.
To discover that your esteemed brother is marrying a jaded woman…
She took a seat and fought to keep her composure.

Dalton strode back and forth in front of the fireplace, his large frame dwarfing the small sitting room. The solicitor perched on the farthest chair in the corner; the ink pot teetered inside the leather case on his lap while he scribbled notes with his pen.

“First, the wedding announcement!” Dalton waved a hand to Sir John. “Puff it off to the papers, the
Times
, the
Morning Post
and the
Gazette
.
And I’ll need to obtain a special license from the archbishop.”

Olivia eyed her brother doubtfully. “Dalton, you’ll have to go to London to meet with the minister—”

“We’ll not be wed in London. The chapel at Havencrest will do. Alicia and I can’t leave Bashshar yet. The wedding will take place in two weeks.”

“Two weeks!” Olivia laughed. “Impossible, brother. Six months would not be long enough to—”

“Nonsense,” he snapped. “What needs to be done?”

Olivia took a deep breath. “Alicia must go to Paris and be fitted for her gown, trousseau, plus a complete wardrobe—”

“Send to Paris for the modistes to come here. Alicia needs to remain at Havencrest because of Bashshar’s training.”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “There still won’t be time to make her gown. Plus the flowers, the invitations, the food—”

“That’s what servants are for. Hire another hundred seamstresses, cooks, butlers, grooms, whatever you need.” He smiled as though enjoying himself. “Now what’s left?”

Olivia closed her eyes and laughed. “Oh, Dalton, you’ll never understand.”

He stopped and leaned against the mantel. “What don’t I understand?”

Olivia shot a knowing glance to Alicia. “It will
take weeks to interview new help and to train them—”

“Send for the staff we already have at our estate in Scotland. Bring the servants from the London town house, the Irish castle and the lake country estate.” Dalton smiled, his face beaming with smug self-satisfaction. “What else needs to be done?”

Alicia squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Surely you have not forgotten, your grace,” she said in a soft voice. “I am not of legal age, but only ten and nine. You must ask my father for my hand.” The very idea that her father would refuse a duke as a bridegroom was ludicrous, yet she felt slighted and embarrassed that Dalton would fail to even consider the ritual.

The error was not lost on Olivia. She dropped her gaze to her lap and sat in an uncomfortable silence. Sir John’s hand stilled. The lengthening quiet accentuated Alicia’s feeling of flustered awkwardness.

Dalton’s smile faded. “Of course. Forgive me, Alicia. I’ll leave at sunup for Marston Heath to ask your father for his permission.” His gaze locked with hers. “And I’ll ask your parents and sisters to join us immediately.” He waved a hand to the solicitor, whose right hand scratched furiously across the parchment.

“Your family will remain here until the wedding,” Dalton added, glancing at the ceiling as he spoke. “We’ll outfit the entire family—”

“But—” Alicia interrupted. She could no longer
sit idly by and watch what was happening. “I don’t want a large wedding.”

“Of course you want a large wedding,” Dalton returned. “Every bride wants a large wedding.” He glanced at his sister as though asking for affirmation.

“Olivia, find something suitable for Alicia to wear to the ball this weekend. Something white to go with Grandmother’s diamond-and-ruby necklace.”

“Please, I don’t like to wear jewels,” Alicia pleaded. “It’s so…so ostentatious.”

Dalton’s jaw dropped. “Of course diamonds and rubies are ostentatious. You’re going to be a duchess.”

If Olivia was surprised, she didn’t show it. “Dalton, it’s almost three o’clock in the morning. If we don’t get some sleep, we’ll be too tired to plan the wedding.”

Dalton turned to Olivia and Alicia. “I’m sorry, please forgive me. But it’s not every night that a man becomes betrothed.” He smiled. “Come, Olivia. I’ll drive you back to the manor.”

Olivia rose and drew her wrap around herself. Turning to Alicia, she bent down and brushed her cheek. “Best wishes, my dear. May I be the first to welcome you into the family.”

Alicia’s knees felt like jelly when she rose and made her way to the doorway to watch them leave. She didn’t want a large wedding. If she was honest, she didn’t want a wedding at all, especially to a powerful man like Dalton. She would be considered
a toad eater, the term used for a poor female in a great family. She’d be subjected to putting up with indignities, as distasteful as if she were swallowing toads.

But she couldn’t be selfish. She had to go through with this charade for her family. Her parents were getting older, her sisters would never marry well unless they had a successful coming out. She would never have another opportunity to marry so well. She had to marry the duke of Wexton and there was very little she had to say about it.

She watched Dalton help Olivia into the carriage. Above the thick grove of chestnut trees, the golden glow from the manor house could still be seen. By week’s end, Alicia would be at the ball with Dalton, facing the dowager duchess.

Alicia’s heart pounded with dread. Heaven help her!

The next morning, a leaden sky and a fine mist greeted Alicia as she led Bashshar from the stable along the secluded path toward the pavilion. The isolated area surrounded by trees was the perfect place to train the animal since Dalton had agreed to allow her free rein with the stallion.

Bashshar whinnied and tossed back his head in stubborn challenge, tugging on his lead as though warning her that he was eagerly ready to test her patience this morning. Instead of her usual soothing words, Alicia ignored the horse as she walked beside him, her mind deep in thought.

The gloomy weather matched her mood. For the
past half hour, try as she might, she couldn’t think of anything except the horror of what she would face at the ball this weekend.

The horse seemed to sense her mood. He watched her warily as she led him into the ring, unhooked his lead, then took her place in the center of the circle.

Bashshar pawed the ground as she picked up the long knotted scarf that she used to keep him at bay. The same scarf her grandfather had used to train colts.

She swallowed back a lump of tears. To restore Marston Heath, her mother’s childhood estate, to the splendor it was when her parents had married was a wish Alicia had never dared dream. For the last twenty-one years of his marriage, her father’s drinking and gambling had drained all profit from Marston Heath, the estate he had received as his wife’s dowry. Besides the loss of income, he had made no repairs or improvements on the property, with the exception of the gardens that the women and small staff tended.

Her eyes brimmed with tears as her heart filled with hope. She could restore her mother’s childhood estate to the grandeur it was when her grandfather built it. Yes, the dream would become possible when she married Wexton.

She glanced at Bashshar, who suspiciously eyed her from the far side of the ring. He whinnied and tossed his massive black head, as though trying to gain her attention.

She ignored him, lowering her head and breathing
in the refreshing cool mist. She shut her eyes, giving in to the unbidden image that clouded her mind. Dalton, the duke of Wexton. One of the most handsome, wealthiest men in Europe. He could marry royalty if he chose. But he chose her. She still couldn’t quite believe it.

He was arrogant, pompous, superior, certainly, yet Dalton possessed another side that was strangely confusing. Despite his wild, willful nature, he displayed a gentleness with Bashshar, and he genuinely seemed to care for his sister, Olivia.

Bashshar whinnied, forcing her mind back to the business at hand. She flicked the scarf on the ground, watching the stallion’s reaction. The horse lifted his head, his eyes never leaving hers.

But there was a dark side to Dalton. What sort of man would marry a social outcast just to irritate his mother? She swore under her breath. It was no use. She couldn’t concentrate.

Raindrops began to pound her face and Alicia lowered her head, her palms outward. “What sort of man is this master of yours, Bashshar? You trust your master. You obey this man. One moment Dalton is the most disdainful of men, and the next, he can be so caring and tender it nearly breaks my heart. What manner of beast behaves so peculiarly?”

Hot tears mingled with the cool rain upon her face as the droplets fell from the heavens in earnest. No, Dalton didn’t want her as a wife. He wanted a disgrace, an example of such loathsome disgust
that she would forever be the wedge between his mother and himself.

Her stomach rolled with the knowledge. Yet she couldn’t afford to throw his offer back in his face, no matter how much she longed to. Dear God, this was worse than her original shame, of which she had been an innocent party. Now, she had accepted the duke without a second thought. For this disgrace, she had no one to blame but herself.

Alicia stood for the longest time, head bent, eyes closed, enveloped in the unrelenting rain. Suddenly, she felt a soft, bristly touch in her right palm. She opened her eyes to see Bashshar, standing beside her. She froze, unable to believe that the horse had willingly come to her.

Bashshar’s glorious black nose nuzzled her fingers again. His tail whisked back and forth and his ears pointed toward her. Tears of happiness welled in her eyes and streamed down her cheeks.

“Bashshar, you darling,” she murmured, reaching to caress his massive head. With gentle strokes, she crooned softly as she rubbed the wet, satiny hair along his neck. She felt his skin quiver beneath her touch. He stood still, sensing her misery, as if trying to comfort her. She buried her head into his strong, muscled neck.

“You sensed my heartache, and you willingly put aside your fear to comfort me.” She blinked back fresh tears. With her arms wrapped around his strong neck, she let the tears flow, and for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to feel the deep unhappiness within her heart.