The Way to a Duke's Heart: The Truth About the Duke (28 page)

She managed to give a tiny nod. “Yes.” She hated confessing it, but it was true. It was better to make the cut now, when she would have only happy memories of him, than to watch his understanding turn to impatience and then disgust. She had never regretted not marrying Richard Wilbur, and in time, surely, she would cease regretting this.

“Are you afraid of being a duchess, or of marrying me?”

“They are the same,” she tried to say, but he made a dismissive sound.

“No. You talk of grand parties and elegance, but nothing of love.”

Her heart jumped at the word. “It must be obvious that I love you.”

He assumed a comically astonished expression. “Obvious? You just refused to marry me.”

Tessa scowled at him. “Because it makes no sense for you to marry me, Charlie! We had . . . an affair, discreet and brief.”

“If all I wanted was an affair,” he said, “I wouldn’t have begged my aunt to call upon you when I could not. I wouldn’t have come to ask your brother’s permission, very properly, to marry you. I wouldn’t be standing here arguing with you about my fitness as a husband—”

“You’ll make a splendid husband,” she said quickly. “I—I fear I won’t make a good wife.”

He stared at her in obvious bemusement. Tessa kept her chin up. Her reasons were very logical, and he would understand eventually. That was why they would never suit, not really. Abruptly his dark eyes softened and one corner of his mouth curled up. Instinctively she backed up a step, recognizing the danger. She found it impossible to resist Charlie when he looked at her this way.

“But I need your help,” he said in a compelling, reasonable tone. Oh dear; she could steel herself against charm and even kisses, but if he intended to
reason
with her . . . “Now that I’ve got the dukedom, I’ve got to run it. Eight large estates, all over England and Scotland. Well over three hundred thousand acres. My brother Edward has done all the work for the last eight years, so I haven’t the first idea where to begin. Ah—and wait.” He held up one hand as she pursed her lips. “I forgot to mention I must give up two of the estates. My father wanted me to deed one to each of my brothers. The entail ended with me, you see; Father inherited from his great-uncle, rather unexpectedly, so the tails were not renewed. Naturally he chose two of the prettier estates for Edward and Gerard, which means I shall lose at least forty thousand acres, with nearly twenty-two thousand pounds a year income.”

“What is your income now?” asked Tessa before she could stop herself.

“After deeding those estates away, I shall have only eighty-six thousand a year.”

Her jaw dropped. William was a wealthy man, and his income barely topped eight thousand. “Only!”

He nodded somberly. “You see my difficulties. How am I ever to scrape by on such a pittance? I hoped you might advise me on investments, how to manage the remaining estates, and so on.”

“Hire an estate manager,” she said unsteadily. “It’s easier to get a new one if the first isn’t satisfactory.”

That wicked grin was back, in full force. “I’ve already got an estate manager; probably more than one. What I haven’t got is a wife, and I want you. You satisfy me very much. I want you poring over my books, telling me when the underbutler is siphoning off funds meant for coal. I want you telling me what bonds and shares to purchase, but quietly, so my brother will think I’ve become a financial genius overnight. I want you beneath me in bed at night, telling me when to ride you harder and digging your nails into my shoulders. I even want you looking at me as you’re doing now, as if I’ve lost my mind and you must be especially gentle and kind to me. Your gentle kindness makes my heart race.”

“Duchesses are supposed to be elegant and polished,” she said, ignoring the blush burning her face. “They have charitable causes and art salons and spend their evenings at the opera, dressed in silk and diamonds.”

Charlie nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t believe my mother ever went to the opera. My strongest memories of her, in fact, are of her wearing a plain linen dress with dirt on her hem, working in the gardens. She loved her gardens, and her roses. She cut dozens of stars from paper and hung them from my ceiling to cheer me when I had measles. She taught me and Edward how to swim in the pond at Lastings, with nary a diamond in sight. She set a pack of puppies loose in my father’s study when she thought he was growing too irate with a visiting gentleman.” He spread his hands. “She was the last Duchess of Durham. And I think she would be enormously fond of you.”

Tessa bit her lip. “I don’t like London much.”

He winked at her. “Perhaps you haven’t seen the right parts.”

“You’re not being sensible,” she burst out, fighting back a smile. How did he
do
that, make her smile when she really felt something else entirely? It was that damnable charm of his, always aimed at her weakest point, always worming its way into her heart and turning it inside out, stripped of logic and sense and only aware of him.

“Of course not!” He caught her in his arms and pulled her close. “I’m a man in love, trying to persuade a confounding, infuriating, beautiful, brilliant, wonderful woman that she’s bewitched me and I can’t live without her.”

She couldn’t help laughing. “Flummery.”

“No, it makes perfect sense.” He tucked her against his chest, his forehead against hers. “First, I need someone to keep my indolent ways in check; you have had greater success than my father and all my tutors combined, so you are my best hope. Second, you need someone to make you laugh even when the accounts are off by a shilling and fourpence, and as you assured me, I have far too much humor for one person, so I am the best choice for you. Third, we both take great pleasure in each other’s company, even when reading rotting marriage registers or discussing the dullest canal project known to mankind. Fourth, when we argue—which I have no doubt will happen—I plan to end the argument by taking you to bed until we forget why we argued, which both of us will find highly satisfactory in all ways. Fifth, I love you to distraction, far more than I could ever care for someone polished and elegant who would never go visit a canal works herself because she might lose her diamonds in the dirt.” He paused. “Do I need more reasons?”

Tessa took a deep breath and surrendered. “No.”

“And you’ll marry me, in spite of all the trials it will entail?”

She blushed. “If you’ll have me, despite all my inadequacies.”

“They are my favorite parts of you,” he said, making her laugh.

“As long as you know what you want.”

His arms tightened around her. “I know exactly what I want. My brother once told me a man never appreciates something unless he has to work for it. He meant Durham, but you mean more to me than any rolling hills and old manor houses.” His mouth curled again. “And Lord knows it was far more exciting, pursuing you, than it was Durham.”

She smiled. “Yes, I agree.” She leaned into him, resting her cheek against his chest and listening to the thump of his heart. Even dressed in the latest London fashions, looking every inch the duke he was, inside he was still her irrepressible Charlie, silver-tongued scoundrel, wickedly magnificent lover, and thoroughly decent man. She was an idiot to think she could give him up, she realized. All her resolve to refuse him and live out her days like a tragic heroine were no match for the pull he exerted on her heart and mind. No matter what she had to learn to be a good duchess, he was worth it. “I love you,” she whispered, leaning back to look at him.

“I knew it,” he said with a laugh lurking in his voice. “I knew you would have no tolerance for me if your deepest feelings weren’t engaged.”

She smiled. “The very deepest. But you must stop belittling yourself, or I shall have to tell everyone how determined and insightful you are. How brilliant and clever and daring and kind.”

“No one would believe you.”

“They will.” She grinned. “Everyone knows I am brutally truthful.”

“Then know this for brutal truth.” He touched her chin, his dark gaze serious. “I love you. Passionately, tenderly, eternally. I love you as you are, not as some mythical duchess you imagine you must become.”

“Then I shall try to overlook any sign of pompous ducal behavior you exhibit,” she said, and he laughed.

“I knew we were well suited to each other.”

“I never would have thought it,” she allowed, though with a wide smile, “but we are.”

Charlie grinned and closed his arms around her once more—for always. “Inarguably, my darling.”

Epilogue

Two years later

H
e was born to be beloved.

Charlie stood over the cradle and watched his infant son sleep. Dark whorls of hair had escaped the baby’s linen cap, giving him the look of a newly tonsured monk, and his tiny mouth puckered up and made sucking motions before opening wide in a yawn. He had gotten one little fist out of his blankets and seemed to be trying to free his other arm.

“He’s more active asleep than most people are awake,” he said, still mesmerized by his child. “We’ll have to hire three nursemaids to keep up with him.”

“I knew it,” said Tessa, coming up beside him. “I knew it was unusual for a child to move so often.”

Charlie put his arm around her. Even though the baby was almost two weeks old, he still hadn’t gotten used to the newly slender figure of his wife. He’d forgotten how his arm could fit all the way around her waist. “Aren’t you tired?”

“Yes, but I still want to see him.” Her voice softened as she bent over the cradle. “He’s beautiful, Charlie. Even all wrinkled and red.”

“He’s quite the handsomest child I’ve ever seen,” he agreed. “Even Gerard would have to agree that my son is far handsomer than his daughter.”

“Only if you beat it out of him,” she replied. “The very last thing Gerard wants to admit is that you have surpassed him in any way.”

“He needs a name still.” Charlie had begun to worry about this issue, which they still hadn’t resolved. “He’s to be christened today, you know. We must tell the curate something.”

“He’s Gresham,” she said. “I have very fond memories of that name.”

“He needs a proper name.”

Tessa sighed. “We could call him Charles.”

“No, not Charles,” he argued, as usual. “It’s pompous. Charles is always the villain, the prosy bore no one wants to be seated next to, the jilted, unlamented, unwanted suitor.”

“I shall ban Eugenie from the house if she continues to bring those novels.” She spoiled her stern words by grinning. Charlie winked back. Eugenie had come to stay with them during Tessa’s confinement, bringing with her a large stock of novels. He had begun reading them aloud as entertainment since Tessa couldn’t do much else in the evenings. It wasn’t very ducal, perhaps, to act out certain scenes, nor to embellish his voice to suit the characters and action, but it made her laugh until she cried. Even after two years of marriage, he loved to make her laugh. “I like the name Charlie.”

He chuckled. “He needs his own name, darling.”

The baby stirred some more, wrestling his second arm free of his wrappings. His face wrinkled and he let out a fretful whimper. Crooning softly, Tessa picked up her son and cradled him against her shoulder. She rested her cheek against the baby’s soft head, and his little hand groped blindly, then clasped onto a fold of her dressing gown. With a sigh, the baby’s squirming ceased and he snuggled under her chin.

Charlie knew how his son felt. He, too, was more at peace with Tessa in his arm. It still caught him off guard at times, how strong an effect she had on him. Far from being a disaster as a duchess, he thought she’d done better by her role than he’d done by his. As expected, she had taken him at his word and learned how to run the dukedom from the ground up—and even more surprisingly, she had taught him much of it as well. What first began as a simple desire to be with her had grown into a partnership. He was the one who signed his name to documents and gave orders to the stewards and bankers, but it was after frank discussion with her. For the first time in his life, Charlie thought he might actually have fulfilled his destiny and lived up to his father’s expectations.

There was a timid knock on the door. “Come in,” called Tessa.

Eugenie Bates peered cautiously around the door. “Oh, my dears, I don’t wish to intrude! Tessa dear, should you be out of bed?”

“Come in,” Charlie urged her. “As you can see, she is perfectly well, and woe to the man who says otherwise.”

Tessa scowled at him. She had handled her pregnancy very well, while Charlie had been on constant edge, urging her to sit down, or rest her feet, or eat something every hour. That all changed when her labor began. The first scream she uttered seemed to shake him into a state of steadiness while she lost all grip on reason and raved madly at him for being so calm.

Eugenie came into the room, a small wrapped package in her hand. “I just had a trifling gift for young Lord Gresham. Of course he’ll wear the Durham christening gown, but I wanted to add some
small
thing from the Marchmont side of the family.”

“How very kind of you,” exclaimed Tessa. “I’m sure it’s not trifling at all.” She made to place the baby back in the cradle, but Charlie put out his arms. The baby yawned and puckered up his face again, until Charlie began a soft patting on his back.

“How beautiful,” said Tessa, holding up the delicate tatted cap she had unwrapped. “Eugenie, it’s lovely. Thank you.”

Eugenie’s cheeks flushed pink with pride. “Thank you, dear. I did try to make it masculine, with the Durham crest worked in . . .”

“It’s exquisite,” Charlie told her. “You’re too kind to take such trouble.” She flushed brighter pink and beamed at him. “Perhaps you can help us choose a name,” he said on impulse. “Tessa and I cannot agree.”

“I suggested Charles, for his father,” Tessa said, pursing her lips at him.

“Oh, very good,” said Eugenie warmly. “I feel certain he’ll grow up to be a great man, just like his father.”

“No,” said Charlie at once. Not that. No boy deserved that burden, that expectation. The dukedom would be weighty enough. His son would be a boy who caused trouble and got into scrapes and vexed his parents, but who always knew he was loved. He would make mistakes like any man, and Charlie told himself he would be understanding when it happened, and never try to impose his will without explanation. He hoped his son would be a great man, but not because it was imposed upon him from birth.

He hoped all boys everywhere were so beloved.

“Alexander,” he said, gazing into his tiny son’s face. His father’s eyes had been the same dark blue, and even though everyone assured him the color would change, somehow Charlie knew it wouldn’t. “His name will be Alexander Francis Charles.”

“A marvelous name!” cried Eugenie Bates, clasping her hands together. “So strong, so bold, so masculine.”

Charlie looked at his wife. “Do you agree, my dear?”

She slid her arm around his waist. “It’s everything Eugenie said. And it suits him.” She looked down at their son. “Alex,” she cooed, and the baby blinked his eyes at her. Gently, Charlie laid him back in the cradle.

“He’ll need a brother. Perhaps two.” He winked at Tessa. “Every boy needs a brother.”

“Or a sister,” she said tartly. “My brother would have been lost without his sisters.”

“Oh, if we can give him a sister, so much the better for him,” said Charlie at once. “Especially if she’s like her mother.”

Tessa smiled and laid her cheek against his shoulder. “Managing and opinionated, headstrong and outspoken . . .”

“With superior intelligence, wit, and devotion,” he finished, tipping up her chin to kiss her softly on the mouth. “And so breathtakingly beautiful it makes my eyes burn.” He kissed her again, until both quite forgot they were standing over the baby’s cradle, with Eugenie watching.

“I take it back,” Charlie murmured to his wife. “He might need a sister and a brother.”