The Duke’s Bargain (Proper Romance #4)

Chapter One

Marlow

“They are calling you a hero, Marlow.” Gabriel sat at his desk, sloppily signing his name at the end of our contract.

Still in his silk banyan, he reeked of stale rum and cheap cigars from what I could only assume was another late night out.

I dared not ask. “Some sort of god for what you did for your Miss Newbury.”

I stood above him, raking an impatient hand through my hair, ignoring his rambling, as usual, and particularly so in this case.

I did not care what the ton said of me. And I certainly no longer cared about Miss Newbury’s well-being.

I needed this document signed and Grandmother’s ring in hand before I could leave Gabriel’s home and begin my search.

If I did not find a wife soon, this contract might prove more necessary than either he or I dared imagine.

“You do understand what you are signing?” I asked curtly. He’d barely glanced at the pages.

“You’ve always loved a wordy contract, haven’t you, cousin?

” Gabriel forcefully dotted an i, then closed his ink jar and flitted a bored look at me.

“My signature means that should you die without an heir, and I inherit this cursed dukedom, I vow to care for your mother, to never sell off our lands”—he collected the papers haphazardly—“to never have any fun, to die a painful death, and to leave no evidence of my existence behind whatsoever until, God-willing, one of my more competent sons comes of age.”

I let out a breath of relief and took the papers from him. No loose threads. The work was nearly finished.

“How is your health, by the way?” Gabriel asked, peering up at me. “You are looking thin. Are you exercising?”

“The doctor says I am in fine form.”

He blew out an exaggerated breath. “Thank heavens for that. We both know I am not fit for management. Or Parliament for that matter. Lectures at Oxford were enough of a chore.”

I’d pity him if I hadn’t paid for his education myself. “Grandmother’s ring?”

“Ah.” He livened up, patted his jacket down to his trousers, then rose from his seat.

“Is it true, though? The rumors? That you rode horseback and came upon the scene just in time, your coattails blowing in the wind like some winged creature of devastation, to save both your intended and her beloved?”

My jaw set as the memories quickly resurfaced.

Of Miss Newbury demanding I save that useless heap of a man from bleeding out, of her declaring her feelings for him and rejecting me—me!

—with our wedding but days away. Oh, yes, the ton had sung like canaries when her family canceled the wedding.

I was decidedly tired of hearing about it.

“Gabriel, I am in a foul mood, and I wish to go home. Do not trifle with me.”

He stood and crossed to the side table, before rummaging through the contents of a drawer. Surely, he would not keep such an important family heirloom—one worth a small fortune—in a random drawer in his study.

But of course he would. My cousin’s very nature was so at ease, so relaxed, he could fall asleep while slouched against a corner wall. Which was exactly why this contract was necessary. Some things needed to be worried over.

He called over his shoulder, “You are always in a foul mood of one sort or another. That does not make the rumors any less true. I should say, I am rather proud of you. You could have let the man die, and instead, you showed him mercy. Perhaps there is hope for you after all.”

“I should have let him die,” I muttered, even though I did not mean it. I hadn’t known at that precise moment how deeply my intended felt for the man. Like a fool, I’d given her control. I’d let her emotions affect mine, and I’d gone soft. And now, look at me.

My entire reason for marrying Miss Newbury in the first place was to recoup the final plot of land that my bachelor uncle had sold during his short control of the dukedom.

He’d made a mess of things—sullied the family name and nearly made us the laughingstock of the ton—but after his death, my father had brought it all to rights.

When Father died, I’d promised to finish his work, and I had. I’d bargained with Mr. Newbury—the land for my title. In the end, I still got what I wanted.

One way or another, I always did.

Now there was only one thing left to do: secure the family line with an heir. Had things gone according to plan, I’d likely have one already half developed. But, thanks to love and those ridiculous enough to believe in such silly notions, I was placed squarely back at the start.

In short, I needed a wife.

And I meant to impress one with the ring my grandfather had given my grandmother as an engagement present. Perhaps this time, with a priceless family heirloom on her finger, the woman I chose would last long enough to make it to the altar.

Gabriel shuffled through untidy papers and broken trinkets for another moment, and I sighed heavily, exhausted from another day’s managing. I wanted my soft leather chair and a stiff drink. Cleo at my feet, falling asleep by the crackling hearth.

“Ah. Here it is!” He held out a scrap of paper.

I drew a calming breath through my nose. “That is not Grandmother’s ring, Gabriel.”

“Yes, but see here. I shall have it returned in a fortnight.” He shrugged as though the absence of one of our grandmother’s most prized possessions—the ring that she’d worn every day of her adult life—was nothing to fret over.

“Returned?” I swiped my face with a hand.

I had asked Gabriel to do one thing while visiting the family estate in London.

One thing that he’d assured me he could do.

I never minded if my cousins wanted to stay at the house while I was away—we all had memories there to revisit, to continue living through—and I had only asked for one small, though important, favor from Gabriel.

Bring back Grandmother’s ring. Save me a trip to London.

I should have known better. I should have, as usual, simply gone myself.

“What have you done?” My tone was patronizing, but honestly, how could he be so daft?

So irresponsible? He was two-and-twenty years of age!

Tension tightened my shoulders, and heat rose up my neck.

I had enough of my grandfather’s temper to frighten anyone who irked me.

But I had learned from my father how to control it.

Deep, controlled breaths. I took several through my nose.

“That ring is worth more than this cottage!”

“I made an error in judgment—”

“A mistake,” I corrected him. Something my family was markedly good at.

“I drank too much at White’s. We were playing cards.”

My temper surged as the pieces fell into place. Devil take him. “You gambled away our grandmother’s ring?”

Gabriel did not flinch. He shrugged. “I was foxed, Marlow, if you can possibly understand what it is to go out and chum about. And I had a dashed good hand. It was a sound play.”

Clearly not! I’d have to move fast. Swoop in before the new owner discovered what that ring was worth. Play to his weakness, whatever it was.

“Who has my ring, Gabriel?”

He hiccupped. “Don’t know him. I wrote his information on this paper, and I’ll write him today and have the ring returned. I hear he’s a reasonable man, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

I snatched the strip of paper from Gabriel’s outstretched hand, anger and frustration burning in my chest.

His brows furrowed, and with that subtle change in his demeanor, I remembered with acute clarity the eight-year-old boy who’d followed me around the estate whenever his mother visited my father.

Those big brown eyes that had watched me shoot my first deer, then he’d hugged me tight around the neck and told everyone he knew how his older cousin, the future Duke of Marlow, had made a perfect shot from fifty meters away. He was still that boy in many ways.

I was not.

“I am sorry, Marlow,” he said. “I made a mistake, but I shall see it made right.”

“I will set it right.” I rubbed my temples, feeling annoyed and guilty that I felt that way toward Gabriel, who never truly meant any harm.

Gabriel had strength in ways I did not. Indeed, I often envied how unaffected he always seemed to be.

Then again, he did not understand the weight of a dukedom.

The success of one was the success of an entire generation, as were the failures.

I held that burden. I did it, so he did not have to. “I shall see myself out.”

“Oh, me? I am well enough, thank you.” Gabriel pretended to straighten his crooked cravat. “So kind of you to ask.”

“You need a long bath,” I said, glancing at the strip of paper I’d confiscated.

Milton House, Northwest Hampshire.

“This is it? How the devil am I supposed to find this man? You don’t even know his name?”

Gabriel shrugged again. “My butler seemed to think it possible.”

“You have a butler? For this small of a house? Am I paying for him?”

He frowned, looking around the room in thought. “Why, yes, I believe so. Thank you for that.”

“He’s fired,” I enunciated. “You can have a man-of-all-work and a valet.”

Gabriel’s eyes went wide. “Then who would get the door?”

I folded the paper strip in half and tucked it away in an inner coat pocket. All I had was the man’s address. But, in truth, it mattered little who he was. I’d learned in the past four years of truly stepping into my father’s shoes that everyone and everything had a price.

At least the journey would not be too far, and perhaps I could leave for London straightaway after. I hadn’t planned to stay for the whole Season. Just long enough to show face in Parliament, vote on the important matters, and find a wife.

So . . . a fortnight at most.

I could make a few quick return trips if duty required.

I turned from the room, calling over my shoulder, “Will I see you in London?”

“As soon as my new racehorse is settled.” Gabriel followed me, and I could hear the grin in his voice. “After that fellow—what was his name?—left, I sobered up. Won a few hands. I may never ascend to the dukedom, but I am quite good at cards.”

“Deuces, how are we even related?” I muttered, eyeing the overlarge portrait Gabriel had commissioned of himself now hanging proudly in his sitting room.

“I shall look forward to meeting your new intended, whoever she may be. You ought to secure a private license this time around. Make it so she must marry you straightaway, no time to fall in love with her mysterious neighbor like the last one.”

That wasn’t his worst idea, actually.

At the door, he patted my back like a nursemaid. “Let us get fast to work on making that heir of yours! No time like the present, eh, cousin?”

No, indeed. A man should feel excited by the prospect. Eager. But I’d been eager once before, and look how that had ended.

This time I would be thoughtful but not overzealous. There were certain things I would look for in a wife: Loyalty. Intelligence. An ability to see reason and act accordingly. Not one to be overtaken by emotion.

Respect, certainly. Friendship, hopefully. Romance? Unnecessary.

I would bait my wife as any man did during the Season—by parading my wealth and status.

I’d buy her a roomful of flowers because that was what a courting man did. Then, after signing a concise yet thorough contract of marriage, I’d seal the deal with Grandmother’s ring.

But first, to Hampshire to get it back.