Chapter 7
Rakehell! Scoundrel!
Alarm bells rang in her head, louder than all the voices that threatened to drive her to insanity.
He was getting closer and closer. Much too close than what was proper, even for her betrothed.
“A book,” she finally managed to say. “I thought you might be in possession of a book that Lizzy might not have known about.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and she felt it. Felt its undeniable pull. Like he was the sun that her world suddenly revolved around.
“If I had a book in my possession that should not be read by any young lady such as my impressionable sister, I would not give it to you.” He tapped her nose. “And I certainly have none here that might lead to a duel, if that is the kind you mean—inspiration for that intriguing letter.”
His low chuckle seemed to roll out of his chest and skitter down to her spine.
Does he find all of this… amusing?
Or did he find her amusing?
Selina had never been so confused by a man in her entire life. He was nothing at all like her father had warned her he was. Nothing like even Lizzy had warned her he was.
She lifted her chin in bold defiance. If he thought he could charm her into submission, then she would show him just how gravely mistaken he was.
“Bold of you to assume that there is a book you can keep me from reading, Your Grace,” she told him.
“Is that a threat, My Lady?”
“If it is, then I assure you it is not a baseless one.” She folded her arms over her chest and regarded him with a raised eyebrow.
His smile widened, stirring something warm deep within her. “How much trouble are you willing to get into for a book, My Lady?”
Selina frowned at him. “I do not like it when you call me that.”
“Is that not the proper way to address the daughter of a duke?”
He was right, curse him. It was the proper way to address her. How he said it, however, was where the problem lay. There was simply something dark and sinful about it, like indulging in an extra slice of cake right after breakfast.
She eyed him, taking in the hard line of his shoulders. The solid chest that was barely hidden by the lawn of his shirt. That satisfied smirk on his lips that she would dearly love to wipe off.
He had to be the most aggravatingly handsome man alive.
“Perhaps I should choose another form of address, seeing as you are now my intended,” he continued. “How about ‘little troublemaker’?”
She glared at him.
He chuckled and tipped her chin. “It suits you well enough, but I think there is something more appropriate.”
“I doubt you can come up with anything appropriate. At all.”
“How about…” He paused, eyeing her. “My love.”
Selina stiffened.
“I think we should stick to that,” he continued. “After all, that is what your father read in the letter. It might confound him terribly if we changed it.”
“Fine. Keep it,” she muttered through gritted teeth.
“Not much originality there, but alas, we must play the cards we have been dealt.” He grinned slyly at her and added, “My love.”
Oh, what a vexing man he truly is!
Lizzy had failed to mention this particular detail of his character. Selina made an effort to remind herself to have a very long, very serious talk with her best friend later.
Preferably before she had any more interactions with Ashbrook.
“Why, though?” she asked, her wayward thoughts intruded upon by something altogether more confounding. “Why did you do it?”
He swept up a loose lock of her hair and started twirling it around his finger. “Do what?”
“You know what,” she huffed. Only, it came out as little more than a gasp. “Why did you just accept my father’s demands? He does not like you one bit, and you clearly do not care for him.”
Indeed, he could have shot her father right there if he had insisted on a duel. She was quite sure he possessed the skill and the ruthlessness to achieve it.
Was it because he meant to protect her friendship with Lizzy? Ashbrook was neither blind nor stupid—he should already have grasped everything.
She peered up into his eyes, hoping to see something. Anything. But the teasing glint in them had flickered out, replaced by a shuttered look. A cold distance that stretched between them.
“You should head back to your rooms and ready yourself for dinner,” he said in a low voice edged with warning. “You will be the Duchess of Ashbrook in a fortnight. It would be best for you to get accustomed to our ways as soon as possible.”
Selina stiffened. “Very well,” she replied in the coldest, politest tone she could manage. “I shall do as you say.”
For now, she added silently as she whirled on her feet and walked out of the study.
Her mother would have been appalled at her rudeness, but Selina did not care. Ashbrook had to be the most vexing man she had ever encountered.
For a moment, she believed she had finally found him likeable. But in the end, he was just like any other man who would summarily dismiss her, as if she were incapable of intelligent thought.
Well, if he thought that he was marrying a pliant, biddable wife who depended on him at every turn, he was soon going to find out how gravely mistaken he was!
“I do hope that dinner is to your liking, my dear. We do not keep country hours here at Ashbrook Manor, I’m afraid. Do not hesitate to call the servants if you need to have some refreshments before dinner.”
“Oh, no, Your Grace. This is just perfect, thank you.”
The soft, feminine voices drifted to Philip’s ears as he strode into the dining room at a quarter past seven. He had sent word through Perkins that he intended to finish some business before heading down, but the truth was that he found himself trying to settle down before he even dared appear.
In the end, he had even summoned his valet to make sure he appeared… less daunting.
As it turned out, his presence was not so sorely missed after all, for the ladies were happily entertaining themselves in the candlelight when he finally came to the table.
“Philip, we were just talking about you!”
He eyed his grandmother pointedly. No, you were just happily asking Lady Selina if she liked dinner.
“I certainly hope you did not, or Lady Selina would be running out the door by now,” he remarked. “If you were being truthful, at least.”
“Oh, dear me, no. I would never do that,” his grandmother laughed. “But since you are here, I think that we should set about planning the ball. Two weeks is hardly enough time, but not entirely impossible.”
He noted how Selina’s cutlery hovered briefly over the roast beef before she sweetly countered, “A ball might be a little too much, Your Grace. Perhaps a more intimate gathering of acquaintances would be more appropriate?”
“Nonsense!” His grandmother looked aghast at the suggestion. “The Duke of Ashbrook will be marrying the daughter of the Duke of Barlow. It is not a simple announcement to be made over dinner.”
“Grandmama has been waiting for this moment for years,” Lizzy interjected from across the table.
“Not to mention that old harridan insinuated I would only be met with failure this Season!”
Selina looked a little confused. “Old harridan?”
“The Dowager Countess of Connington,” Lizzy explained. “She and Grandmama had been at odds for ages. Earlier this Season, Lady Connington declared that her grandson is in search of a wife.”
“And she dared to claim that he would be the catch of the Season. Ha! Not when his shirt points are barely holding up his weak chin!”
Selina choked on a mouthful of meat, and Philip quickly handed her a glass of water.
He had no interest in the affairs of the ladies of the ton. He was far more interested in the soft glow on his betrothed’s skin in the candlelight. How her dark hair seemed to turn a deep, burnished gold at certain angles. How her rosy lips closed around a mouthful of beef.
He shook his head. What soft glow, burnished gold, and rosy lips? If he was not careful, he would be spouting poetry and ruining everyone’s dinner.
“Also, it is of utmost importance that every single person in the ton be made aware that both Ashbrook and Barlow are pleased with this match,” his grandmother announced. “We cannot have anyone casting doubts on this.”
Selina glanced at him. “I suppose that is correct.”
“It is the best course of action,” Philip agreed. “If we announce our betrothal in a smaller gathering, there is bound to be talk about it, and we cannot have that.”
Not when the point was to not cause a scandal and ruin Selina’s reputation in the first place.
Selina shook her head. “I just do not understand how our families came to hate each other so much.”
“Well, our father was just as quick to anger when he was alive,” Lizzy pointed out. “Once his mind was set, there was no changing it. I suppose it must have been quite difficult to reach a resolution when both adversaries did not wish for a reconciliation.”
Would that it were the only blight upon his character.
Unfortunately, Philip knew the man. He had grown up doing everything in his power to please him.
He must have truly been so blinded in his youth to think that was possible.
“Well, it is of little consequence to speak of the past,” he heard his grandmother say cheerfully. A little too cheerfully, perhaps. “And should we really be talking about such gloomy things over such a fine dinner?”
The two younger ladies burst into laughter, and for a moment, it seemed to dispel the gloom that hung over the table. As they talked about the ball—the flowers, the food, and the music—the servants removed the plates and began to serve dessert.
The lemon syllabub provided a welcome tartness on Philip’s tongue. It also helped to remind him that his father distinctly hated the dish. His mother, however, loved it, and so Philip himself developed an appreciation for it.
It was of little use to hang on to the past, but there were just some ghosts that refused to leave. Ghosts that insisted on haunting the living.
“Philip?”
He looked up from his half-finished syllabub. “Yes, Grandmother?”
“I was just remarking on what a lovely moon we have tonight. Why don’t you show dear Selina around in the gardens?”
In the dark? His grandmother had to be jesting. Not only would they be stumbling over their feet, but it would also test the bounds of propriety, even if they were now considered betrothed.
“Is that true?” Philip asked wryly, his gaze fixed on Selina. “Was my grandmother waxing lyrical about the moon?”
His betrothed blushed and lowered her gaze, taking a moment to dab at her lips with a napkin. “I would… very much like to see it.”
Covering for my grandmother? Naughty of you.
He considered remarking that she ought to stand by the window, but the dining room had grown rather dull, and she was now looking at him with shining eyes.
How was he supposed to refuse that?
He smiled. “Very well. Shall we, My Lady?”