To Marry The Duke (8 page)

Sophia sat in silence, staring. The duke despised his mother? “I’m sure he has his reasons,” she said uneasily. “We should not presume to judge him without knowing all the facts, nor should we believe everything we hear.” She wasn’t sure why she was defending him, when all her instincts were telling her that the rumors could very well be true.

“You’re right, dear. Of course, we should never judge a man’s motivations. Who knows what secrets live in that vast country castle of his? I would wager quite a few.” She reached for a biscuit and lightened her tone. “Oh, heavens, listen to me, spreading foolish gossip. It’s probably all a bunch of silly stories anyway. Would you believe I once heard that his castle is haunted? That at night, you can hear the ghosts howling? Imagine that!”

Beatrice and Florence laughed for a moment, then began to discuss lighter matters, but Sophia could barely hear them above the roar of her blood like a beast in her ears. It was all she could do to sit still in her chair, sipping her tea and thinking about everything Florence had said, and wait uneasily for the duke’s arrival.

Chapter 5

The Wentworth coach—polished shiny black, with liveried footmen and postilions—arrived with distinguished, clattering grandeur at Hyde Park, shortly after three o’clock in the afternoon. The horses whinnied and tossed their heads, while onlookers gaped in fascination at James, who stepped elegantly out of the coach, then turned to hold out his gloved hand to the Americans.

“Lovely day, Your Grace,” the stout, little Mrs. Wilson said, struggling to sound British as she stepped onto the sidewalk.

“Ah, madam.” He kissed her gloved hand. “It is all the more lovely by virtue of your delightful company this afternoon.”

The small woman blushed at the flattery. He helped the countess down, then Mrs. Wilson’s lovely daughter stepped out. He sensed all the gazes in the park converging upon her. People were quiet for a moment, then the whispering resumed.

The coach moved on, and James walked leisurely beside Miss Wilson. Today, she wore a cheerful, blue-and-white-striped walking dress with delicate chiffon ruffles. She carried a parasol and reticule, and upon her head, a straw hat had been pinned to her coiffure at a daring, forward angle. Just when he thought she could not possibly be more beautiful, she would appear in some new gown of the highest fashion and knock him to his knees.

He noted, however, that she was quieter than usual today.

They strolled down the park walk, along the water, and past numerous small gatherings of whispering ladies and gentlemen. He and Sophia conversed about art and books and the current opera that was playing at the Royal Opera House at Covent Garden. Miss Wilson was polite and civil to him, but not nearly as bright as she had been the other evening.

“When we spoke the other night at the assembly,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to ensure that their chaperones were enough of a distance behind them to be out of hearing range, “I may have been too forward in my invitation to go walking today.”

They strolled into the cool shade of towering oaks. The leafy branches stretched over the path like a canopy. James breathed in the fresh scent of damp earth and grass, and Miss Wilson lowered her parasol.

“Not at all, Your Grace. I hope I didn’t give the impression that I did not wish you to ask.”

“Of course not, but I must admit to being surprised to hear that you were out walking with Lord Whitby yesterday. And that Lord Manderlin paid you an important call this morning.”

She gazed up at him with shock and horror.

“The English grapevine,” he explained. “It’s very active.”

For a moment, she walked without saying anything, so he was forced to prod. He wanted to know why she was so quiet. “I heard that Lord Manderlin proposed. May I ask, what was your reply?”

She smiled up at him and at last gave a little laugh. “What do you think it was?”

He breathed a sigh of relief at the alleviating tension. “I would guess you refused, but very gently.”

“I tried to be gentle, but I don’t think it even mattered to him. I wouldn’t talk about it if I felt there were any hurt feelings involved, but heavens, I think he thought I was a piece of commercial stock to be purchased.”

James laughed, and was glad to fall into a more relaxed conversation. “He’s not such a bad fellow. He just lacks social finesse.”

“A lack of finesse I could live with. But not a lack of romance. I believe a man and a woman ought to marry for love. I’m afraid I cannot be moved on that point, even though my darling mother does her best to try.”

Marry for love? A title-seeking heiress?

“But how do you define love, Miss Wilson? Is it passion you are looking for? Or simply sensible companionship?”

She thought about it. “Both. I want both.”

“You are ambitious.”

“I always thought it was my mother who was the ambitious one.”

“Ah, but you are reaching for something much more difficult to attain than social position. I believe you are the most ambitious woman I have ever met.”

She raised a delicate, arched brow. “You think love is difficult to attain, Your Grace?”

James stopped again on the promenade, stalling while he searched his mind for an answer. “What I mean to say is that true love is rare, and cannot be forced. ‘Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.’ And please, call me James.”

“Shakespeare. That’s very romantic, James.” She put emphasis on his name. “Do you read much of Shakespeare’s work?”

Thank the Lord she was changing the subject. “I read everything.”

He recalled something else he had read by Plato— that love was a grave mental disease. Naturally, James refrained from quoting that one.

“So you’ve refused Lord Manderlin. But what about Whitby? He hasn’t paid you any calls like that, has he? I try to keep abreast of these things, but—”

“I assure you, James, Whitby and I are acquaintances only.”

“I see.”

“He did send me flowers, though,” she added, gazing mischievously up at the oak branches above them.

She was taunting him! He couldn’t help but play along.

“What kind of flowers? And how many? I must know.”

Miss Wilson laughed, albeit somewhat stiffly. “Red roses, and I would guess there were about three dozen of them.”

James drew his hand to his chest and staggered sideways. “Oh, I’ve been bested already. Three dozen, and red, you say? How will I ever match that?”

She laughed again, a little more easily this time, and grabbed hold of his arm to pull him back onto the promenade. “You charm me, James, when you’re not… puzzling me.”

“Puzzling you?”

She glanced uneasily over her shoulder at their chaperones, then her eyes narrowed on him. “Yes. I may be a foreigner, but I do stumble upon good old-fashioned English gossip myself every once in a while, and there’s no point dancing around that fact. From what I hear you have a scandalous reputation. It is said, among other things, that you are a womanizer.”

She was certainly blunt. It was one of those American traits he couldn’t help but admire. “I see.” Squeezing his walking stick, he said nothing for a moment. “You told me once that you had a mind of your own, that you didn’t believe every bit of idle chatter that came your way.”

“Which is exactly why I am asking you about it myself.”

James sighed deeply. She was commendably logical. “May I guess where you heard this gossip? It wasn’t the countess, was it?”

Miss Wilson raised her parasol. “It was.”

“She tried to warn you off me, no doubt.”

“The countess is a very good friend to Mother and me. I won’t have you insult her, if that’s what you’re about to do.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “I have no intentions of insulting anyone. It’s just that the countess and I… well, we met under rather awkward circumstances.”

“What kind of circumstances?”

He squinted in the other direction. “We met at a ball, I danced with her, and I believe she wanted to become my duchess. At least, that’s what the gossips said.”

Sophia dropped her parasol to her side. “Florence? And
you
?”

“Yes, though nothing came of it, I assure you. I merely danced with her a few times, sensed what she was after, then avoided society until someone else proposed, which I knew was sure to happen. She agreed to become Lord Lansdowne’s bride.”

“She said nothing to me about that.”

“I wouldn’t expect her to. She is happily married to the earl now.” He looked directly into the heiress’s eyes and spoke with conviction. “I am not a womanizer, Miss Wilson. I promise you.”

I
am many things, but not that
. James had learned a long time ago how to identify women who wanted what he wanted—brief, superficial affairs. He never played games with the hearts of innocent, vulnerable women. Which was why, until now, he’d always avoided debutantes.

They walked on in silence, then Sophia began to recount another bit of drawing room gossip. Obviously, he’d been discussed in some detail. “She also told me that your father and grandfather both took their own lives.”

God, he hated this, but he had to get through it. “That is somewhat true. My grandfather, yes, but that was a long time ago, and I never knew the man. My father, on the other hand, lived a life of debauchery which eventually led to his demise. Whether it was intentional or not, I’ll never know. I’m not proud of the way he lived, Miss Wilson, you can be sure of that. I’ve done everything in my power to avoid becoming like him, and so far, I have succeeded. So please, do not judge me by his deeds.”

It was true, all of it.

Sophia regarded him warmly, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’ve always believed,” she said, “that a man should be judged for himself and the person he is inside, not according to his past, or his class, or what others think or say. Rest assured, James, I will form my own opinion of you, based on our acquaintance. As I said before, I have a mind of my own.”

He gazed at her with surprise and admiration, feeling an odd contentment from being with her. Part of him wanted to do anything to have her—for his body was presently reacting with blazing fervor—while something else in the deeper realms of his conscience wanted to warn her away. To tell her that the black truths of his existence were far worse than all the rumors, for the rumors were only stories.

Then he reminded himself that he shouldn’t be concerned about those things. Miss Wilson was here in London to “purchase” a title, and he was in possession of a very good one and in need of what she offered in exchange. This was a business arrangement. She knew it. He knew it. He should not forget that.

Yet, his attraction to her was mounting at a shockingly brisk pace.

“Is that all?” he asked, steeling himself for more personal questions. Questions he was not accustomed to answering. Most people didn’t dare.

Miss Wilson smiled. “Well, there was one other thing, and this is perhaps the most frightening of them all. I’m not even sure I should mention it.”

He felt the muscles in his back stiffen.

Miss Wilson gave him a naughty little smirk. “I’m afraid there is a rumor that your castle is haunted, and that the ghosts howl all through the night. Please, James, you must assure me that this is not true.”

He laughed out loud.