Chapter 4
Stupefied. Dumbstruck. Aghast.
There were so many words that could describe the emotions running through Selina at that moment. But the best, most appropriate one?
Horror.
“B-But—”
Her mind couldn’t quite catch up to what had just been said. It was impossible.
What sort of lunatic would marry a woman over a letter that he clearly hadn’t written? What sort of madman would accept responsibility for a ‘crime’ he had not committed?
“You had better not be lying to save your sorry hide, Ashbrook!” her father snarled.
His finger loosened on the trigger, the barrel sagging downward. Not that he had managed to cock the hammer anyway. Indeed, that drop of the pistol from the Duke had undoubtedly just saved his life.
“I assure you I have never been as serious in my entire life,” the Duke said, his voice steady and rich, washing over her frayed nerves like a wave of rich, decadent chocolate.
Selina shook her head.
No! You must not be swayed at this moment!
Delicate situations required one to keep a calm head on one’s shoulders. A possible duel was not the time to moon about the nuances of a man’s voice, no matter how much her ears seemed to thrill at the sound.
Besides, this gentleman was supposed to be cold and callous and not at all appropriate for a husband. She had heard it from a very reliable source.
“I mean to take Lady Selina as my lawfully wedded wife, and it would mean so much to me—to us—if you could give us your blessing.”
Oh, what good was the most wonderful voice in all the world if he was saying all the wrong things? How could he be so calm?
And surely that solemn expression was a sham. She had never seen the Duke of Ashbrook in her entire life, and she was quite certain he had never laid eyes on her before.
So, why was he looking at her like that? Like he truly treasured her?
He moved toward her, and her heart seemed to leap out of her chest with every step he took.
If this were one of her beloved books, the heroine would be swooning right now, waiting for him to take her in his arms. But this was not one of her books. This was a living nightmare, and he was trying to write a very sad ending.
You do not know me, Your Grace! What on earth are you doing?
She wanted to shout it at him, but she could not get a single word to leave her tight throat.
“Forgive me, my love, for this was not how I planned for my proposal to go,” he told her with the most contrite expression imaginable. “I had such grand and romantic ideas to show you how cherished you are, but now things have come to this point…”
Selina cast a sharp look at Lizzy. Why had she never mentioned that her brother was such an accomplished liar! Selina would have believed him, too, if she had not been cognizant of how they managed to come to this point.
“B-But—”
Once more, words seemed to fail her. Instead of the calm, logical reasoning that might have untangled this whole mess, all she could seem to manage was a rather stellar impression of a freshly landed halibut.
Hardly graceful. Hardly worth listening to. Just a limp, gasping thing who could do nothing to change her fate.
“It seems that you retain a sense of responsibility, at the very least,” her father admitted grudgingly with a snort. “Which is more than I can say for your sire.”
Selina looked fretfully at her father.
We know your disdain for the late Duke goes beyond the afterlife, but should you really be insulting the bloodline of the present Duke at his own doorstep?
What if this was just a ruse, and the Duke was merely waiting until her father had backed off before picking up the pistol again?
What if this was a soldierly tactic? What if he was mad—indeed, mad enough to actually shoot them where they stood?
After all, he was clearly not quite sane, since he proposed to her, a stranger, on the spot.
Instead, Ashbrook smiled. A simple smile with the edge of a finely honed knife.
Her heart leapt in her chest. This was it. He was going to kill them all. She was sure of it.
“The late Duke was not a well-liked fellow, was he?” he remarked placidly, as if he were merely commenting on the weather and not his recently deceased father.
Her father snorted. “There are many of us who would exhume him just for the chance to kill him again.”
Ashbrook did not deign to reply to that. Instead, he gestured toward the door. “Perhaps we should take all this inside? I have been away from society for quite some time, but I do believe that etiquette dictates that marriage should be discussed indoors.”
In our case, marriage should not have been discussed. At all.
“No need,” her father said gruffly, looking as if he would rather chew broken glass than take one step inside. “I shall have the Duchess come later to bring my daughter’s clothes and whatnot.”
“My clothes and whatnot?” Selina echoed. She turned to her father in shock. “You are leaving me here?”
Perhaps he was the mad one.
“Staying with Ashbrook until the wedding is a good opportunity for you to get to know each other,” he replied.
“But—But you hate him!” she spluttered, finally able to say something she wanted to. “You would leave me with someone you hate? Someone whose family you have hated as long as I have been alive?”
Was she the one going mad?
“You should have thought of that before you dallied with my enemy and forced my hand. Staying with him can be your punishment for causing all of this, for I can barely stand to look at you.” He waved her off.
“Besides, it will provide a convenient enough explanation for the ton as to how your courtship started.”
Except there was no explanation in all the world that could so tidily rationalize a hastily arranged marriage, especially when the banns of another marriage had been read once.
Speaking of her now-former betrothed…
“We will have to inform the Marquess of this, er, development,” her father added to Reuben with a pained look.
Her brother looked as though he would relish the task as much as having his leg sawn off. “He is not going to be pleased about this.”
Of course, the Marquess was not going to be pleased about this. Not unless he was as eager as Selina herself to call off the wedding, which was about as likely as a white crow.
And Ashbrook, curse his brilliant, perfect smile, took that opportunity to move closer, gently take her hand in his and press a delicate kiss to the back of her fingers. Her ungloved fingers.
Right in front of her father and brother.
The man had not a shred of propriety in his entire massive frame. And she was doubly foolish for thrilling—thrilling—at the gesture.
Selina had never been thrilled before. Not by any gentleman she had met, or danced with, or even flirted with. Only by the one before her.
Ashbrook must be the very devil himself.
That would explain how her father could be so easily swayed as to give him her hand in marriage when he had all but waxed poetic just last week about how he had found her the perfect husband in the Marquess of Ramsbury.
Not to mention giving up the feud with so little friction.
“Thus, a new friendship is born,” Ashbrook murmured, his warm breath tickling her skin.
Goodness, how I wish you had just shot me. It would have been far less painful than this.
He was every bit as wicked as Lizzy had complained he was. And now, he had found a new target for his wickedness.
Selina tried to wriggle her fingers out of his grasp, but he held on fast.
“Friends, Your Grace? It is surely too soon for that endearment. Indeed, I daresay it shall be quite some time—eternity, perhaps—until we make the transition from enemies to friends.” She wiggled her fingers a bit more and frowned.
“If you do wish to be friendly, however, I am certain you will allow me the time to return home and pack my belongings by myself.”
She had never thought she would be desperate to return to the Mayfair townhouse before, but these were desperate times.
“I have given my command!” her father shot back.
“Yes, but I really would like to do it myself,” she insisted. “There are things that I would like to pack, to be sure they arrive. Things that the servants might miss, or—”
“What do you mean? What could they possibly miss? Is there something else I need to know about? More letters, perhaps?” Her father’s eyebrows snapped together sharply. “Do I need to reach for my pistol again?”
Good heavens, must men really solve everything with pistols? Was that the solution to everything, in their foolish minds?
Selina wanted to stomp her foot in frustration, but she caught the warning look in her friend’s eyes. Discreetly, Lizzy shook her head.
“Of course not,” Selina sighed, plastering on a smile. “It is just that it would be highly inappropriate for me to stay under the roof of a gentleman who is neither my family nor my husband. Even society would have something to say about us ‘getting to know one another.’”
“Nothing about what you have done thus far has been appropriate, daughter.”
“But surely, two wrongs do not make a right,” she argued.
She did not want to be left here, under the same roof as this devastating rake who could incinerate her insides with a flash of his smile. Walking out into a busy London road, crammed with charging carriages, would have been less dangerous for her well-being.
“Do not worry, child,” the Dowager Duchess suddenly interjected. “I shall act as chaperone until your mother arrives.”
Oh dear. Now that the Dowager Duchess had volunteered her chaperoning services, how was Selina supposed to extricate herself from this predicament?
The older woman was smiling at her as if she hung the stars and the moon in the night sky.
“In the meantime, you may borrow our dear Lizzy’s clothes,” she added with a fond smile.
Wear dear Lizzy’s clothes?
Selina heard a choking sound that might have come from her friend. No, she was certain it was Lizzy, who easily towered a head over her.