Chapter 2
“Don’t go,” Dominic Longfield, Duke of Roseford, urged, determined to make the lady standing before him stay.
Dominic Longfield had come to England with a plan. That plan had fallen apart fast, and he had quickly felt lost and alone. Two things he was accustomed to, but out of control? That he was not familiar with.
As a matter of fact, just about everywhere he had been, he had felt in charge and had known exactly what to do with the people surrounding him.
Except perhaps his own father.
Just like his mother, who had tried so hard to help him, realized she could not…and then had died in any case. The way she had cared about his father, then about her son? It had destroyed her in the end.
He shook the painful thought aside, turning to the matter at hand.
Oh, he was surrounded by people in England, but every single one of them was a sycophant who wanted something from him, preferably for him to marry one of their daughters.
Every one of them but her. This woman before him, who had dared to have an honest conversation with him.
The amount of mothers he had met in the last week alone would have terrified any of the men he had known while growing up in the New World.
The young woman standing before him, who had just tossed back two fingers worth of brandy, had asked him a rather frustrating question that somehow managed to eradicate almost all his exasperation with the ton.
She might have been interested in him, but she was not gushing over him.
No, she was challenging him every step of the way.
The ton, so far, had treated him as if he was a new exhibit in the Royal Menagerie at the Tower of London.
Frankly, he felt as if he was an animal in a traveling menagerie, taken from his habitat, separated from his kind, and left entirely alone to make his way in the world.
Since coming to England, people tended to think that he was some sort of rebel, and the truth was that he was some sort of rebel. He had lived a life most people could never even comprehend, let alone imagine.
He’d lived the life of an exile. An outsider. Someone who never quite fit, despite knowing how to act in almost any situation. Someone who looked and looked for a place to belong, got quite close…and then never found it.
Alone. He’d been alone, yet desperate not to be.
But ultimately, always, never finding a home.
His mother had left him, abandoning him for the heavens.
And he could never quite find his place, not even with the father who had loved him so well, but who had fought his own demons for decades and lost.
He swallowed back the bitter pain that thought began to sow, and he focused on the woman before him, her pert face, her wise eyes, and her lips that promised pleasure and witty banter.
She had treated him as if he was simply a regular person with regular problems, something that most people did not do. And he relished it.
But she was a curiosity too. There was no question about it.
And suddenly, he wondered if she was the anchor that he was looking for to get him through this terrible and unfamiliar situation.
And for a long moment, he found himself quite disappointed that she was not a mistress.
If she was, he would have seduced her immediately, not necessarily for the comfort that a mistress might provide, though that would have been lovely, considering her looks and spirit.
No. She looked as if she would be quite the remarkable guide through the hellscape that was the English ton.
London itself was remarkable. The aristocratic people in it that he was forced to be with were not.
They were the largest group of arrogant, self-aggrandizing, self-important people he’d ever met.
And yet somehow this group of people managed to control the vast majority of the world… And he had come here to change them.
The laughter that threatened at this realization was near hysteria. What a ludicrous plan! The uphill battle he faced was so intense that he was tempted to turn tail, head to Plymouth, and take the first ship to anywhere.
But now, standing in front of this woman, he found himself hesitating in the desire to retreat.
“Who the bloody hell are you really?” he asked.
This question seemed to take her aback, and she sucked in a soft breath. But she also did not depart. “Someone who can help you, because you are clearly in need of it.”
He blinked. “Can you read minds?”
“No, but I certainly read every emotion that traveled across your face just now, and, of course, I’ve heard of you. Everyone has.”
He let out a beleaguered breath. “Have they, by God? Do I need another drink?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Can you only survive this world numbed with alcohol?”
He choked back a laugh. “No. No. I am not like that,” he said, “though I know quite a few gentlemen who are.”
One of those gentlemen had been his father.
She nodded sympathetically. “I know quite a few gentlemen and ladies like that too.” She frowned, clearly dismayed. “Laudanum is also popular now. Too many people like laudanum.” She arched a brow. “You don’t like laudanum, do you?”
“Good God, no,” he said, thinking of all the old soldiers who had fought wars, lost limbs. Then lost their minds to the medication given to them by doctors to manage that pain. Many of them had met grim ends. “That’s the way to madness.”
“I concur,” she said. It was her turn to trail a gaze slowly up and down him, assessing him. “Perhaps it would be wiser of me to leave you to face the ton alone, but there’s something about you which suggests that would be a very terrible idea.”
He frowned. In all his life, he had never been seen to be such a victim before. “Do I seem so incapable?”
“Oh, no,” she exclaimed. “Please do not take offense. It’s a good thing that I want to help you. It means you must be a decent person.”
He choked. “I beg your pardon.”
“Well, I wouldn’t help just anyone, you know.”
He couldn’t stop his smile then. “I see. You think well of me, do you?”
She folded her arms just beneath her breasts, plumping them against her bodice. An action he couldn’t ignore. Her breasts were exceptionally beautiful, framed by the simple cut of her silk gown.
She didn’t seem to notice his admiration of her form as she continued, “Well, you’re interesting and nuanced, which is definitely more than I can say for most of the people in that ballroom.”
He laughed. Again. How could he help himself? “You clearly agree with me about that lot. You do, don’t you?”
“That is a much better question than the one you asked before about my not being married.”
“Forgive me,” he agreed. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were foolish for choosing to be a spinster. It’s more that I’m trying to understand your position in London. As far as I can tell, spinsters are quite frowned upon here.”
“They are,” she allowed, though it clearly frustrated her.
But then she brightened, as if determined to see the positive side of life.
“It’s true, but my wealth makes it quite possible for me to be and do anything that I want.
And, of course, there’s the fact that I’m a Briarwood.
Miss Celia Briarwood. You’ve heard of us, of course. ”
“No,” he replied easily, unable to tear his gaze away from her and the brightness of her eyes.
She choked. “You haven’t heard of the Briarwoods?”
He shook his head. “No, should I have?”
She gasped at him and then a beautiful bell-like peel of laughter tumbled out of her. “Oh my,” she said. “You really are in trouble, you know,” she said through her laughter before wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.
How he loved that mirth. Despite his own pain, and the loneliness of his life, he’d tried to choose mirth. So, instead of taking offense, he grinned at her.
“Look,” he said, “if that makes you laugh, this will make you writhe with amusement. I’m new here. I have plans. None of it is working out as I thought, and that lot in there would like to see me at the church in a week with a bride.”
“Will you be at the church in a week?” she asked as she tried to catch her breath.
“Not if I can help it,” he said. “I do know that I need a duchess, but I’m not going to get one immediately, because picking the wrong wife would be the worst thing I have ever done.”
Her laughter dimmed, and she studied him with growing surprise and admiration. “My goodness, a gentleman with a handsome face and very good sense.”
“You look as if you think the two things don’t go together.”
She licked her lips. “Well, in my family they do, but as far as I can tell, quite often they don’t. Usually it’s one or the other, sadly,” she said. “And often in England, it’s neither.”
It was his turn to choke on laughter. “You are brutally honest,” he said.
“It is the only way to live,” she returned. “But, of course, it means that a lot of people don’t like me.”
“Well, I like you,” he said.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she returned, smoothing her hands down the front of her gown. “You don’t know me at all.”
He shook his head, refusing to be dissuaded. “Well, you’re the first person I’ve liked so far.”
She let out a note of genuine sympathy. “I’m so very sorry for you. What a terrible experience you must be having.”
“England is a strange place,” he replied without hesitation, “where everyone says things they don’t mean.”
She let out a wearied sigh. “That is certainly true.” She blinked. “Why did you come here if not to revel in wealth and power, as I assumed?”
“Oh, I came for that,” he assured. “I need those two things to accomplish what I wish to. But as to my motivation? I thought we weren’t revealing everything about ourselves.”
“Fair point,” she said. “But that leaves us with very little to talk about. Still, I suppose I can provide you with one or two introductions to make certain that you don’t drown before you even have a chance.”
“Very good of you,” he said softly. “But what if I told you one thing about me? You did tell me about being a spinster. And then you could tell me another thing about you, and then I—”
“Why would I do that?” she cut in.
“Because you could have sat in the dark and said nothing and allowed me to have my rant, drink a brandy, and then leave the room. You wanted to talk to me.”
She arched a brow. “You are terribly arrogant.”
“I’m right though, aren’t I? I know how people are, you see.”
“Not English people,” she replied swiftly. “At least, that’s what you’ve led me to believe.”
“Am I wrong?” he challenged softly, his gaze ablaze with a heat that suggested he found her both interesting and desirable.
She hesitated, her eyes searching his face. “I didn’t wish you to feel spied upon is all. I thought it would be rude to sit in the dark.”
He leaned towards her slightly. “And you didn’t want to know me at all?”
She looked away for a moment, as if wrestling with something, before she looked back and acceded. “All right, I found you to be intriguing.”
“And I find you to be intriguing,” he said, his sensual lips parting ever so slightly.
“Oh look, we’re both intrigued by each other. How boring,” she declared, contradicting her heart, which was skipping beats at his nature.
He frowned. “How is that boring?”
“Because,” she said, waving her hand, “that is the start to every romance there is.”
“Romance?” he queried, rather liking the sound of that.
She raised her hand. “No. Do not think it. I apologize. I didn’t mean—”
“Madam,” he cut in, bemused, “you are something else.”
She grinned. “I am indeed,” she said before she relented. “Go on then. Tell me one thing.”
“You asked me why I’m here.”
She nodded.
“You truly wish to know?”
She nodded again.
He tensed, hardly daring to believe he was going to tell her the truth. But something about her made him long to finally speak.
“My father? He died trying to change the world. He died believing the world was a better place than it is, and it was that belief that drove him into an early grave. His heart could not take it, you see, how people actually are.”
“And how are people?” she asked softly.
“They are cruel, they are selfish, they’re intemperate, and they don’t actually care about others,” he said without hesitation. “At least, that is how most people are.”
She sucked in a soft gasp. “Then I am very sorry for you, and I think I would’ve liked your father a great deal. He sounds like a good man.”
“And I?” he drawled. “Do I sound like such a terrible man?”
“I don’t think you are, but oh dear,” she said. “I really should leave you now, if that’s what you think about the world.”
“And what is it that you think about the world?” he returned, wondering if it had been a terrible idea to tell her the source of his motivations.
“I think the world is full of hope,” she said without hesitation. “I think the world is full of promise. I think the world is absolutely brutal,” she said.
“But if we all choose to believe as you do, nothing will change,” he said.
She shook her head. “What are you talking about?”
“If you continue to be led by such sentiment,” he said, “nothing will change. You should be like me instead.”
“Ruthless?” she demanded, stunned.
“Ruthless,” he growled softly. “I shall never ever let myself care like my father did. And my mother too, in her way. It killed the both of them and changed nothing. Ruthless? That is a very good word. And because I shall be ruthless, perhaps things will actually change.”