Chapter 2
Philip watched as his sister frowned at the insults being hurled from right outside the window.
“Why does that sound like the Duke of Barlow?” she muttered. She gathered her skirts to peer out the window and jumped back in alarm. “Why, it truly is the Duke of Barlow! What is he doing here, of all places?”
Philip’s frown deepened. Why did his sister know what the Duke of Barlow sounded like? As far as he was aware, Lizzy had never met the man. Their father had made sure that the two families never encountered one another.
“Oh, Lizzy, do get away from the windows! What if he gets violent and… and smashes one, and you are cut to ribbons by the glass!” the Dowager Duchess fretted, as melodramatic as ever.
“I am not sure about smashing windows,” Lizzy replied in a harsh whisper, “but he does appear to have a pistol with him. His son, too.”
His son?
Philip knew of Reuben Sinclair, but he would not have recognized the man by sight. How was it, then, that Lizzy did?
“They have pistols with them?!” the Dowager Duchess gasped, leaping up from the settee. “Oh, Lizzy, get away from there, right this minute! Surely they will shoot you!”
Lizzy pouted a little but mercifully stepped away to safer territory behind a curtain, though she did keep peeking.
“I hardly think he will start shooting at the windows, Grandmama,” she said. “Although he does seem rather irate. Positively apoplectic, I would say.”
“Well, what could he be furious about here? Indeed, what is he doing here, on our grounds?” the Dowager Duchess asked frantically, looking at both siblings. “That man would rather walk barefoot over live coals than approach a St. Maur.”
“And I am not such a lackwit as to tempt his ire,” Lizzy declared, as she peeked again, rather contradicting herself.
“Well, I believe we are about to find out,” Philip muttered. “Perkins?”
He turned toward the faithful butler of Ashbrook Manor, who seemed to have magically materialized in the drawing room doorway.
“Your Grace, the Duke of Barlow demands an audience with you,” the man spoke in a somber tone.
“Yes, yes, Perkins, we can see that very well.” Lizzy rolled her eyes, making no secret of who she thought the real lackwit was. “We also heard that clearly as well.”
Philip smiled sardonically. “I believe his precise words were, ‘Come out and face me, you vile blackguard.’”
“This is hardly a laughing matter, Philip!” his grandmother admonished him. “Why, the man looks just about ready to murder someone.”
“Probably. Which is why I believe I must go and meet him posthaste,” he replied, standing up and heading to the nearby side table to fetch his pistol from the drawer.
“We cannot keep the man waiting for whatever retribution he is here to claim, can we? Might make him more likely to shoot me without preamble, and we cannot have that.”
“I would very much prefer that there be no shooting at all!” the Dowager Duchess exclaimed, looking rather aghast that he was actually contemplating meeting with the man in his state. “Philip, be reasonable—”
But Philip had already walked out of the drawing room, with Perkins fretfully trailing after him.
When he had been alive, his father had made a great many enemies, but it could be considered that the present Duke of Barlow was the greatest of them all. Even in his youth, he could sense the great animosity the man held for his sire—a sentiment Philip shared all too well.
His father had not been a pleasant man, and that was putting it mildly.
Dying was the only thing worthy of note that he had ever done, Philip thought to himself grimly. A pity he had not seen fit to do it sooner and spare us all the torment of his existence.
He smiled bleakly as he readied the pistol in his hand, surprised that fate had decided to put a weapon in his grip again so soon after his return from war. Part of him had hoped he might never have to wield one again, but it seemed that was not to be.
Who was I kidding, thinking that being in this house again would mean an end to the violence in my life?
When Perkins opened the door for him, he strode out to meet perhaps the only man who had ever despised his father more than him.
Why must men resort to pistols to settle their disputes?
Selina was almost in tears when her father all but pulled her out of the carriage right after hollering at the windows of Ashbrook Manor and barking at the unfortunate footmen who had come out to see what the ruckus was all about.
She stood before the front door of Ashbrook Manor, her heart hammering in her chest. She did not even know what the Duke of Ashbrook looked like.
They did not run in the same circles, and knowing her father’s animosity toward the man’s entire lineage, her mother had taken great pains to ensure they would never be introduced to each other.
She had heard of him, though. Who had not?
The gentleman had just inherited one of the oldest and noblest titles in all of England and Scotland, as well as the tremendous wealth that came with it.
It was impossible to not hear of him when all eager debutantes and their mothers spoke of nothing else.
About as impossible as the notorious book club matching them both.
Why did it have to be him? Where is the sense in it?
She had assumed there was some scientific method to that mysterious club pairing people together, but now she was beginning to wonder if it was all just a grand game to them, toying with people.
Yes, it had had many successes, but perhaps they had tired of success and had just sought to entertain themselves by watching chaos unfold, putting the son and daughter of two nemeses together.
The scandal sheets would certainly relish this, if nothing else.
Reuben’s boots crunched on the gravel as he came to stand beside her and cast her a quick glance, worry for her shining clear in his eyes. The message was obvious.
Be on your guard.
The Duke of Ashbrook had a reputation as a man who was not to be trifled with, and they had just walked into his territory.
Had they been in London, it might have been different, for no one but the King could own the street outside their respective townhouses.
However, marching into the Duke’s country estate, shouting right outside his windows while waving pistols…
that was a palpable threat, and no mistake.
Their father might have been too furious to care, but that did not mean they felt the same.
Selina, for one, did not relish the thought of being in Ashbrook’s line of fire.
And right now, they were very much going to be in his line of fire.
The doors swung open, and Selina felt her body temperature plummet drastically when a tall, broad-shouldered figure strode out with an angry gait.
Oh, we have gone and done it now! Why could he not have been small and much less intimidating? Or less…
Her train of thought came to a sudden and immediate halt when the man approached them, her breath leaving her lungs in an embarrassing whoosh.
Long, dark hair fell to his broad shoulders, his gray eyes blazing like a storm brewed in them. Sensual lips were pressed into a grim line. Dark eyebrows snapped together in irritation, as if they were vermin to be shooed away.
This… This is the man the book club matched me with?
Philip St. Maur, the Duke of Ashbrook, seasoned war hero.
She did not know why she’d thought he might be a more feeble fellow, considering his reputation.
Then again, the nobles who ended up going to war tended to be kept away from any actual fighting, gaining medals and accolades for just being there and briefly giving up their lives of privilege and frippery.
So to see someone who looked like an actual warrior was jarring, indeed.
Was it truly some bored lady’s idea of a jest when she paired her with him?
The man was a magnificent specimen of a male.
Like a fallen angel, cursed to torment mortal women like her.
And, oh, she could only imagine how terribly tempting it would be to sin with this man, especially if he were not as furious as he was right now.
He grew even more furious when her father threw the cursed letter at him, the crumpled ball hitting his chest and landing crookedly in the gravel.
“Explain what you’ve done to my daughter!” her father demanded.
Confusion flitted in that cold, silver gaze for a moment.
Slowly, the Duke of Ashbrook stooped to retrieve the offending letter, smoothing it out into a readable condition as he replied, “I assure you, Barlow, that I have never…” His voice trailed off as he angrily scanned the page, his eyes widening at the words written on the crumpled sheet.
Was it horror? Selina understood the sentiment all too well. She was horrified and embarrassed in equal measure, after all. If lightning could have forked from the sky and struck her down at that very moment, she would have welcomed the divine intervention.
The pause lingered in the tense atmosphere, and she once more wished she could just sink into the ground and disappear. Even more so when those stormy gray eyes swiveled over to her. And then, the corner of his lip tilted up just a trace.
Was he… smiling at her?
No, he was most definitely smirking at her, the cad! He was enjoying himself at her expense!
Selina bristled in indignation as his gaze swept over her with an easy familiarity that made her want to cover his eyes.
Or bask in it for longer than was proper.
But nothing about the man was proper. Not even the thoughts she was entertaining about him!
And that would only make her father all the more livid, if such a thing were still possible.
“You have the gall to deny it?!” her father roared. “When you are standing there, making good view of her even in my presence? Do you think me blind or foolish?”
At that point, Selina managed to clutch at her father’s sleeve. “Father, please, let us return home and—”
It had not worked before; she did not know why she thought it would work now.
“Not another word from you, girl!” he berated her without even deigning to glance her way.
“You dare to lie to my face, Ashbrook, and claim you have never met her when your foul intentions have been laid bare in this sordid letter? You wish to fool my daughter and harm her reputation! Render her unmarriageable! You are as much of a beast as your own sire!”
“Barlow, that is enough,” a firm voice called out from the doorway.
Selina’s gaze was drawn to the door, where an older woman strode out. She had a head of gray hair and made use of a finely polished cane, but her every step was sure, and her eyes gleamed with intelligence.
Trailing slightly behind her was Lady Elizabeth St. Maur, the Duke’s younger sister. She was also Selina’s dearest and secret friend.
“Your barking is the only beastly thing I can hear, and if I can hear it, so can the staff,” the Dowager Duchess remarked, her gaze flicking briefly to Selina before she turned her eyes sternly upon Selina’s father once more.
“If it is your intention to protect your daughter’s reputation, then I must inform you that you are doing a rather terrible job of it. Or do you harbor other intentions?”
The Duke of Barlow would not have been the first father to do something rash to secure a favorable match. Although the dramatic schemes usually came from the mothers.
Her father sneered, “Of course, you would say that, Duchess. You have much experience in silencing young ladies. The apple does not fall very far from the tree after all, does it?”
The Dowager Duchess blanched at his words, her hand tightening over the polished head of her cane. The Duke of Ashbrook stepped in front of her.
Silencing ladies? What does that mean?
Selina would not have dared to ask, despite her intrigue.
“You will do well to keep a civil tongue in front of my grandmother, Barlow,” the Duke warned darkly. “If you wish to retain your use of it, that is.”
Her father stiffened and turned a shade of violet. If she had not been so distraught, she would have laughed at the sight. It was so rare to find someone of enough mettle to stand up to her father.
Instead, she stole a quick look at the Duke’s sister.
Dear Lizzy, was this to be the end of their secret friendship? If her father were to know of their connection, heaven only knew how he would react.
Selina was not about to let that happen.
But how was she going to fix it when she was not even the one who had caused this mess in the first place?
Indeed, her only crime was not hiding that blasted work of licentious fiction faster.