The Inheritance (4 page)

In a fit of rage one evening shortly after his crony had spoken, Lord Philip had banished his wife and son from his presence. Lady Philip Windermere, proud and hurt, had left England for America. Lord Philip had been too stubborn and too angry to call her back. Even though she never returned, he had not divorced her. Nor had he disowned his son. Thus Nicholas, bastard though he was, had become eighth Duke of Severn, Earl of Coventry, Baron Fenwick, and several other lesser titles when his two cousins had died childless.

A movement to her left caught Daisy’s attention. Her eyes widened in amazement. Standing beside the Sheraton desk was a younger version of Nicholas. Her gaze streaked from the younger man to the duke and back again. The tall youth bore a startling resemblance to the duke, but his eyes were blue rather than gray, and his features—wide-set eyes under dark brows, a straight nose, wide mouth, and firm chin—hadn’t hardened into the stone mask that Nicholas wore.

Who was the boy? Since the youth was very nearly a man, there seemed only one conclusion. Nicholas’s mother must have borne another child.

“Your brother?” she asked the duke.

“My son, Colin Calloway.” In response to her confused look, he explained, “I took my mother’s name, Calloway, in America.”

“But he
can’t
be your son! He must be at least—”

“Nineteen, ma’am.”

“But you’re only—”

“Thirty-five, ma’am.”

“When he was conceived you must have been a mere
boy
of—”

“Sixteen, ma’am.”

Daisy’s mouth dropped open. She quickly snapped it shut. She put a hand to her breast in an attempt to calm herself, since her agitation was making her gasp, a dangerous proposition in such a tightly laced corset. “You were
married
at sixteen, Your Grace?” she questioned breathlessly.

“I’ve never had a wife.”

Daisy’s heart skipped a beat. “Then the boy is—”

“A bastard,” he said coldly. “Like myself, ma’am. And my heir.”

“But … but …”

“He can’t inherit the title, of course. But the solicitor who found me in America—Phipps, I believe, is his name—assured me that neither Severn Manor nor the house in London is entailed. The properties and the funds that support them are all entirely mine, to do with as I choose, to dispose of as I will.”

Daisy gasped. She knew the entailment of property had to be confirmed legally at each point in the succession, but she hadn’t realized until now what the lack of an entailment might mean to her. She had planned to retire to the dower house when she had dealt with this boorish man. But if what the duke had said was true, he could—and probably
would—sell the dower house along with the rest of the property. She had a monetary settlement from Tony, but it was sufficient only to cover the expenses of living in the dower house. She stared, disbelieving, at the man who had the power to leave her in dire straits indeed.

“
Not
entailed?” she asked. “Are you sure?”

“
Not
entailed,” he confirmed.

“Are you implying that you might actually
sell
Severn Manor?” Daisy asked incredulously. “This house has been the home of Windermeres for generations!”

“As we’ve already established, I’m not a Windermere. Since I don’t share their precious heritage,” he said with a sneer that showed exactly how much less than precious he thought it was, “I see no reason why I shouldn’t sell.”

“No reason!” Daisy was aghast. All her worst nightmares were coming true. “What about the servants? What about the tenant farmers? What will happen to them?” Not to mention her own perilous position.

“Their plight, ma’am, is no concern of mine.”

Daisy made one last plea for reason. “What about the title, Your Grace? Surely you wouldn’t wish to see the next duke left destitute.”

“Since he’ll be no relation of mine, I can’t see how it matters to me,” he said with a shrug. “I’m an American, ma’am. I have no use for titles or the fawning behavior that goes along with them.”

“But when you marry—”

The aggravating man interrupted her yet again. His eyes, if possible, turned even colder. “I will never marry, ma’am. You can be sure of that! Now
that you’ve satisfied your curiosity—and I’ve satisfied mine,” he added with a rueful twist of his mouth, “this interview is concluded.”

“But—”

“You can go, ma’am.”

Daisy stared incredulously as the uncouth barbarian turned his back on her once more. He had interrupted her once too often. Her auburn curls bounced in indignation, and her eyes flashed with emerald fire.

“You may be done with me,
Your Grace
,” she said between gritted teeth, “but I haven’t even begun with you!”

His back remained turned to her. “There’s nothing more to be said. My mind is made up.”

“Pa, maybe you ought to hear what she has to say.”

Daisy’s glance shot to the youth, who hadn’t moved from his stand by the desk. Colin’s voice sounded peculiar to her ears, the accent broad, an exaggeration of the same drawl his father possessed that was so different from the clipped British speech to which she was accustomed.

Daisy caught herself glaring at Colin and realized she was directing her anger toward the wrong person. She immediately moderated her expression and was rewarded by a smile from the young man who, she was ready to concede, wasn’t nearly so boorish as his father.

Daisy took advantage of the opening Colin had given her to say, “There are issues you might be unaware of, Your Grace, that might affect your decision. After all, you’ve been at Severn Manor less
than a day. That’s hardly enough time to evaluate the situation.”

He turned to face her, but she wasn’t encouraged by that small allowance. His mouth had flattened to a forbidding line, and his eyes were narrowed in suspicion. “All right, ma’am. You have my attention. Speak up! What is it you think I should know that will change my mind about selling Severn Manor?”

“In the first place, Your Grace—”

“My name is Calloway. Nicholas Calloway.”

Daisy was brought up short by the interruption. “Of course, Your Grace, but—”

“Nicholas.”

Daisy pursed her lips. She wasn’t the least bit happy about the forced familiarity, but she was willing to try anything that would ameliorate her relationship with the man. After all, he was the one in control. “Of course, Nicholas, if you prefer to be called so, I will abide by your wishes, but—”

“And I’ll call you Daisy.”

“Hold on one moment, Your Grace—”

“Nicholas,” he insisted.

Daisy flushed, appalled at her body’s mortifying response to his charming, and quite disarming, grin. She felt the blood rush through her veins, felt her heart pound in an excited tattoo. The man was impossible!

She bit her tongue on the sharp retort that sought voice. She didn’t want to lose the boy’s goodwill, and she surely would if he listened while she took the father to task for his barbarous behavior.

“Could we discuss this alone?” she asked as politely as she could through clenched teeth.

“I don’t have any secrets from my son.”

“I’m sure you don’t want his youthful ears burned by what I have to say,” Daisy retorted.

His grin broadened. “By all means, ma’am. If you’re going to tear a strip off my hide, it’s best done in private. Colin, will you excuse us?”

“Sure, Pa. I’d like a chance to check on my horse. Send someone to the stable if you want me.”

A moment later the door closed with a
thunk
behind him.

Daisy had a moment to regret her impetuous behavior. It was bending propriety to be alone with the duke. It was tempting fate to beard the lion in his den. Only the knowledge that the servants and tenants who depended on Severn for their livelihoods had no other spokesman but herself kept her from bolting.

However, she put as much distance as she could between herself and the duke. She marched over to a settee near the marble-faced fireplace and settled herself imperiously on the brocade seat. “Is there anything I can say to convince you that Severn Manor should not be sold?” she began.

To her dismay, the duke didn’t remain where he was. Hands behind his back, he strolled toward her until he was standing directly in front of her. If she sat forward at all, her skirt would brush his knees. She had to crane her neck to see his face. It was set in ominous lines.

“I had one purpose in coming to England, and that was to liquidate the holdings of Severn and take the proceeds back to America with me.”

“But you can’t do that!” Daisy was on her feet before she could stop herself. Which was when she realized the duke had left her very little room in
which to stand. They couldn’t have been more than an inch apart. Even standing, it was necessary to lift her chin to meet his eyes. She was close enough to note the flecks of black that surrounded the gray. And to feel his heat. And to smell the scents of horse and leather and man.

She tried to take a step backward and sideways and nearly tripped on the settee. His hand caught her elbow to steady her.

“Don’t you dare touch me!” she said breathlessly, jerking herself free. She lurched against the settee and completely lost her balance. Her eyes flashed to his. She was going to fall. She was on her way down. If he didn’t catch her …

He raised a brow as if to ask whether she wanted his help, but she set her lips in a mulish line.

He shrugged and let her fall.

She landed on the floor with an undignified “Ooompf.”

It took Daisy a moment to realize what had happened. She was sitting in the middle of the library floor, her skirt askew, her ankles exposed, her dignity gone. She knew she shouldn’t look at him, knew what she would find if she did, but she couldn’t help herself.

She glanced up and, sure enough, found him smirking down at her. “Why, you … you …” She couldn’t think of a word bad enough to call him and settled for the one that seemed to fit him best. “You barbarian!”

She tried getting to her feet, but her corset was so tightly laced it was impossible to bend at the waist. “Help me up, you dolt!” she hissed.

“Shouldn’t that be ‘Help me up,
Your Grace
’?”

Daisy was still glowering at him when he set his hands at her waist and lifted her onto her feet. Unfortunately, he didn’t let go.

“You can unhand me now,” she said, embarrassingly aware of the way she was trembling in his grasp. She wasn’t afraid of him, she assured herself, just discomposed by the awkwardness of her situation.

“I must say my cousin had good taste in women,” he murmured.

His hooded gray eyes were fixed on her face, and she felt mesmerized, unable to look away. His fingertips tightened at her waist, and it was as though he had touched her in other places, places his hands had no business being.

When Daisy looked down, she was mortified to discover her body had responded to the mere possibility of his touch. She looked up at him again, her eyes glaring daggers. “Let me go,” she said in a surprisingly steady voice.

“I don’t think I will. Not yet.”

There was a moment she could have escaped. He paused as he lowered his head, not long, but long enough so that if she had wanted to turn her face away, she could.

But she didn’t turn away. The fires of hell would freeze over before she let him intimidate her. He wouldn’t dare kiss her, she thought. He wouldn’t dare—

His mouth was warm and damp, and his tongue teased along the seam of her lips seeking entrance. She opened her mouth to protest, and his tongue stroked inside. Her whole body tensed. Tony had never … She had never …

Daisy was lost in a world of sensation she had never known existed. The duke’s hands slid up to cup her breasts and his thumb caught a nipple and made it peak. Of their own accord, her hands inched up the front of his linen shirt and behind his head to tunnel into his too-long hair. It was thick and silky to the touch. She felt his mouth at her throat and leaned her head back with a sensual moan of pleasure.

Somewhere in the back of her brain a warning voice was shouting at her.

What do you think you’re doing, Daisy Windermere?!

I’m kissing the duke.

The barbarian duke?

Uh-huh.

The duke who’s going to sell Severn Manor?
the voice inquired.

Uh-huh.

Are you out of your mind, Daisy?

Daisy jerked herself free and gazed up into the contemptuous gray eyes that stared back at her. “Oh! You … you …”

“Barbarian?” the duke supplied helpfully.

“How could you do something so … so …”

“Uncivilized?” he said.

“To take advantage of a woman in such circumstances, it’s … it’s …”

“Crass? Crude? Common?”

“You’re no gentleman,” she accused.

“I never said I was,” he replied. “But from what I’ve seen so far, you’re no lady, either.”

Daisy flushed painfully. Her hands flew to her cheeks. She had kissed the duke, a complete
stranger, like a common trollop, like a harlot from the streets. His accusation stung, but she couldn’t deny her behavior had been unladylike. She had probably lost whatever chance she might have had to convince him to keep Severn Manor. But under the circumstances, she had nothing to lose by pleading her case.

Her hands dropped to the folds of her skirt where they curled into white-knuckled fists. Her chin rose so high her neck hurt, and her eyes flashed with the indignation she felt at the situation in which she found herself.

“I came in here this morning to convince you that Severn Manor should not be sold. There are people dependent on the manor for their livelihoods. I had hoped to appeal to your sense of equity, of justice, of right and wrong. I can see now that would have been a waste of time.”

His brow arched, and his lip curled cynically.

She ignored the second rush of warmth in her face. “However, I will make the appeal anyway. Is there anything I can say or do that would encourage you to maintain Severn Manor as it has been for generations past?”

He looked her right in the eye, his blunt features implacable. “No, ma’am, there is not. I plan to sell Severn Manor and dispose of everything I can find that has anything to do with the Windermeres.” He paused and his curling lip completed the sneer. “You see, it will give me great pleasure to destroy whatever is left of my father’s—Lord Philip’s—heritage. And now, ma’am, this interview is concluded.”