Chapter Seventeen
As she slid down the dragon’s back, she felt the rumble of his voice. “I have given you what you desire, Amsonia. I am taking you home. But steel yourself for what awaits! I have seen the Evil that has taken root. You will find things much changed.”
—The Dragon and the Blue Star by Analise Crewe
Dex pulled back. Ana stood there all dewy-eyed, rosy cheeked, her lips stained red, bodice askew, breasts heaving.
Cursing inwardly, he turned to face the intruders, shielding Ana from their view. “Aunt Glynis.”
Was it too late to say she’d had some dust in her eye? He’d lost control. He should have been stronger.
“Warburton.” His aunt nodded coldly. “This is Mr. Norwood. He and I have been having rather an interesting conversation about Miss Crewe. And now we find you here engaged in what can only be described as—”
“Research!” Ana interjected. “Research for my Clovercote novel. I wasn’t able to complete the scene when Falconer steals a kiss from Adora and so I asked the duke to help me fill in some details. I’m absolutely safe because he’s my guardian and would never actually importune me or—”
“I kissed her,” Dex said bluntly. There was no bending the truth or fabricating a new reality.
“No, you didn’t,” Ana insisted, desperately attempting to salvage the situation. “You weren’t really kissing me. You were pretending to be the villainous Falconer and I was pretending to be innocent Adora and it was all in the name of research.”
Aunt Glynis snorted, nostrils flaring with disapproval. “Mr. Norwood informed me that Miss Crewe was found living in a disreputable boarding house and that she is purported to have a fiancé. Is this true, Miss Crewe?”
The look on Ana’s face was nearly comical. He could see the gears whirring in that sharp mind of hers, searching for an explanation, a fantastical story to explain this infernal tangle. She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off.
“Indeed, Aunt. I rescued her from an unfortunate choice of lodgings.” He took a swift breath to gird himself for what was to come. “And she does have a fiancé. Me.”
“You?” Ana, Aunt Glynis, and Mr. Norwood spoke in unison, gawping at him.
He took Ana’s hand and addressed her tenderly. “We don’t have to maintain the charade anymore, darling. We can tell the world we’re engaged to be married.”
Ana’s jaw dropped. “Darling?”
Perhaps that had been laying it on too thick, but he wasn’t accustomed to telling lies. It was against his code. He was swimming in a dark ocean, bleeding out, and there were hungry sharks closing in all around him.
Mr. Norwood blinked rapidly. “Your Grace, do you mean to say that you are the secret fiancé of whom Miss Crewe spoke when we met in my office?”
“That’s exactly what I mean, Mr. Norwood.”
Ana was frozen, her mouth slightly open as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t find words for once in her life.
“Then why would you go through this charade of asking me to chaperone her, my boy?” asked Aunt Glynis, shaking her head so that the feathers stuck into her hair quivered indignantly. “None of this makes any sense.”
“Because I wanted to wait for an appropriate time before announcing our engagement. I wanted to introduce her to society and make my triumphant return. I didn’t want there to be any rumors of a hasty engagement.
Isn’t that right, dear?” He turned to Ana, who was looking a little green about the gills.
She searched his face, nonplussed. “I . . . suppose so.”
“When Miss Crewe visited you, Mr. Norwood, she didn’t feel at liberty to reveal our connection. I believe you promised to publish her manuscript?”
“I . . . that is, er, there were certain stipulations attached to any offer of publication. I haven’t read the manuscript as yet.”
“You have read it.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The Dragon and the Blue Star.”
“Your Grace, that is . . . Warburton.” Ana lay a hand on his arm. “Mr. Norwood wishes to publish a new Clovercote novel, not my fantastical tale.”
“Then he is gravely mistaken, for I have read excerpts from The Dragon and the Blue Star and it is a work of astounding imagination. I predict it will be a bestseller for Norwood & Pennington.”
Mr. Norwood cleared his throat. “If Miss Crewe gives me Lady Claridge’s novel outline, then I promise I won’t mention to a soul where she was living or the truly outrageous depths to which she’d fallen.”
Ana drew herself as tall as she could. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Norwood? That would be ill-advised.”
Dex moved her slightly behind him. He could fight this battle for her with one hand tied behind his back. “Surely,” he said, slowly and distinctly, “you aren’t attempting to extort my fiancée, Mr. Norwood? I must not be understanding you correctly.”
“Nothing of the sort, Your Grace. You misunderstand me.” The man blanched, his face going whiter than his collar.
He sensed that he’d taken a giant step too far and was backtracking as quickly as his faculties would allow.
“It’s only that we are very selective about which authors and works we publish, naturally, and we feel that Miss Crewe’s fantastical novel wouldn’t fit within our list of titles. ”
Dex took a casual step toward the publisher and Mr. Norwood backed away, the tips of his ears turning fiery red. He smiled blandly. “I think you’ll take a chance on her book. New and different isn’t always a bad thing. Aren’t you tired of publishing the same books over and over?”
“We give the public what they clamor for,” he responded faintly.
“They don’t know what they want until you force-feed it to them. It’s time to expand your hallowed list.”
“Warburton,” Ana said urgently. “May I speak with you in private? This matter doesn’t need to be decided hastily.”
“It’s already been decided, isn’t that right, Mr. Norwood?”
“Er, of course, Your Grace. Norwood & Pennington would be delighted to publish The Dragon and the Blue Stone.”
“The Blue Star,” Dex corrected. “You’ll attend me at my house tomorrow at precisely noon to discuss the terms of the contract.”
Mr. Norwood bowed. “With pleasure, Your Grace.”
“Aunt, escort Mr. Norwood back to the ballroom.”
Aunt Glynis clicked her tongue against her teeth. “I hope you know what you’re doing, my boy.”
“What in the hell was that?” Ana asked after Lady Glynis and Mr. Norwood had left the library, closing the door behind them. She placed her hands on her hips. “You shout orders and expect everyone to do your bidding.”
“It worked, didn’t it?” he asked smugly.
“You made everything worse. Mr. Norwood will never believe that we were engaged. And you can’t bribe him to publish my novel, I want to publish it on its own merits.”
“It’s good, Ana. Truly, it is.”
“That doesn’t matter if no one wants to read it.”
“I want to read it. Will you give me the second half to read?”
“The only existing copy is at Norwood & Pennington. I thought it would be buried there forever. It’s the Clovercote novel he wants.”
“Then write it and publish them both.”
“Why don’t you write a bloody novel! You’re so good at creating fantastical fictions such as our false engagement. You can’t marry me. We’ll . . . we’ll wait a few weeks and then break it off. No harm done.”
“You’ve been out of society too long. Within the hour this story will spread the entire length and breadth of Mayfair, and then beyond to the newspapers. You are my fiancée in truth. We were caught kissing in the library. Your hair was mussed, your lips were swollen, we were in each other’s arms.”
“You don’t have to ruin your life just because they saw us kissing. If you’d only backed me up on the research explanation, we could have avoided this situation altogether.”
“We are marrying by special license within the week.”
“Don’t be silly! You can’t marry a common little hellion like me.”
“There’s nothing common about you. You’re a firebrand that burned through my life, permanently altering its landscape. You may be small of stature, but your impact is monumental.”
“You know that you were meant to choose a noble bride, raised to be a duchess, like any number of those alluring ladies back there who were dying to dance with you.”
“It doesn’t matter whom I was meant to marry. This happened, and that’s the end of it.”
“It’s not the end of anything! I refuse to believe this is our only solution. I’m not the lady you would have chosen to wed.”
“And I’m not the handsome, laughing gentleman you dreamed of in your letters to your father.”
“That was a foolish schoolgirl’s dream. And you are handsome. Too handsome, damn you, or none of this would have happened.”
“Neither here nor there. We will marry. You will bear me an heir. Then you will be free to spend your life as you will. You won’t be bothered by me.”
“Because marriage is solely about an heir for you.”
“Well . . . yes. I always knew I’d have to marry someday. I’d been putting it off, but now I must do my duty.”
“Duty, honor . . . is that all you ever talk about?”
“There is an aggrieved tone to your voice.”
“Because . . .” She lifted her shoulders and set them back down again with a huff. “No young lady likes to think that she’s merely convenient. That she’s interchangeable with any number of other women. That it’s only her womb that holds any real value in this relationship.”
“I didn’t say any of that.”
“That’s the problem. You don’t say enough.
You hide behind these monosyllabic responses and short, terse sentences.
I’m always searching for precisely the right words to express emotions or to describe the world as I see it.
You’re always biting back words, swallowing your feelings.
I want to know what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. ”
“I’m feeling remorse. I lost control. I never should have kissed you.”
“We kissed each other.”
“And now your reputation will be ruined if we don’t marry swiftly.”
She set her jaw. “I won’t marry you.”
“You will.”
“You’re trying to do the honorable thing, but I release you from any obligation my father placed upon you.”
“That’s not your choice.”
“You’re the most cold, unyielding, domineering, frustrating man in the world.”
“The cold, domineering man you’re going to marry. I made a promise and I never go back on my promises.”
“Stop saying that!” She massaged her temples. “Let me think.”
“There’s nothing to think about. I understand that you don’t wish to marry me, but what’s done is done. Your reputation was harmed. It’s the honorable thing.”
“And you’re so honorable that you’ll marry me even though you don’t care for me at all? My father didn’t mean for you to wed me.”
“He wouldn’t approve of this union but he would understand it because he was a military man and he understood codes of honor.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Is this really happening?”
“I know you would rather have found someone else to marry,” he said stiffly. “I know you believe in finding your true love. I’m sorry, but our actions have consequences.”
“It was only one kiss.”
“Your life will be your own. You will have all the money, prestige, and diversions you could want. You will live at Drakefell Castle. I’ll make sure you have the writing desk of your dreams with a magnificent view.”
“I must stay in London to find news of my father. I was going to begin interviewing the surviving members of his . . . of your company.”
Dex winced. “There are only two.”
“I was also going to place an advertisement in the paper, as soon as I have the funds, offering a reward for any news of his whereabouts.”
“I will help with that.”
“What if we announced our engagement and then broke it off after a month?”
“You already suggested that and I shot it down. A swift and binding marriage is the only way to save your reputation and ensure your book contract.”
“It sounds like you’re trying to help me but you’re forcing me to marry you. I’ll run away.”
“I’ll track you down.”
She knew what he was saying made sense, but it was still infuriating. “It’s war, then.”
“It’s marriage.”
“Much the same thing, in our case, Your Grace,” she huffed, spinning on her heel and forcing Dex to run after her.
He saw her safely into the carriage with a very grim and silent Aunt Glynis and then turned his steps to the Thunderbolt Club. He needed a drink in the worst way.
“Why such haste to marry?” Dalton asked Dex after he arrived at the club and told the startling news to his old friend.
“We were caught kissing in the library at Lady Chetwynd-Ellerton’s ball. And now she’s marrying a ruin of a man.” He swiped a hand in the direction of his scars.
“Don’t be so dramatic. You’re still a handsome devil, and you know it.”
“Half a handsome devil.”
“Sounds as though she was eager enough to kiss you.”
“For research purposes.”
“Come again?” Dalton asked, his brow wrinkling. “Oh, yes. I remember. Patrick told me about the novel Miss Crewe is writing. He said she’d chosen him as a model for the hero of her story. Guess she decided to go with the villain instead.”
“She’ll never be published if she doesn’t salvage her reputation by marrying me.”
“So that’s why she agreed to marry a bounder like you,” said Dalton with a smirk.
“She didn’t agree. I forced her to for her own good.”
“And what did she have to say about that?”
“A hell of a lot.”
Dalton laughed and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “I like her. She’ll lead you a merry chase.”
“She’ll be the death of me.”
“Then she’ll be a wealthy widow,” Dalton said, pouring more whiskey into his glass. “To wedding nights.”
The wedding night. It was all Dex had been thinking about since that kiss in the library. Good God. If one kiss made him lose control like that . . . he’d have to be more careful in future.
“Give me some of that.” Dex swiped for the bottle but Dalton held it out of reach.
“Not until you confess that you’re in love with the girl.”
“Love has nothing to do with it.” Dex grabbed the whiskey bottle from Dalton with one fluid movement. He swallowed a healthy amount and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
Dalton chuckled. “Miss Crewe may have more to say on that subject. She’ll make a romantic of you yet.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Dex muttered. The situation was complicated enough. At least theirs would be a marriage of convenience. A mutually beneficial partnership, and nothing more.