Chapter Two #2
How dearly I wished I had dressed properly this morning, taken time to have my hair done up, merely washed my face or dabbed on rose water before being seen in this state.
I used to have airs, a presence in a room.
Not anymore. For now, I’d have to pretend.
Luckily, I’d been reading enough Ann Radcliffe the past several months to have a trick or two up my sleeve.
“Brother,” I said, gliding toward small, doe-eyed Amelia who was sitting stalwart in her spot on the settee, her hand resting on her bulging stomach—the best and only thing about her I truly liked. I wondered if this duke reminded her of her late stepfather.
“We have the pleasure of welcoming His Grace, the Duke of Marlow into our home,” Peter said.
I rounded them, and looked up.
Heavens, he was young.
Severe, to be sure. But not much older than my brother.
His ice-blue eyes pierced into mine like lightning, but I did not look away.
The Duke of Marlow. Had I not read his name in the papers recently?
Something about a broken engagement. I tried to piece together everything I knew about him but only came up with foul-tempered and unsociable.
I held his gaze as I curtseyed, and Peter cleared his throat.
“Your Grace, may I introduce my sister, Miss Georgiana Wood.”
The duke blinked. “Miss Wood,” he said in a commanding voice that made my collecting nerves shudder.
His face read like the beginning of a mystery—hard lines, brooding lips pressed firmly together, not an ounce of warmth in his cheeks.
This was a man with secrets. “You have something that belongs to me.”
I had something of his? What on earth was he talking about?
I tilted my head, not willing to reveal my ignorance, as stoic as Sister Agnes until the end, despite the sudden tightening in my chest. I smiled falsely and took my seat.
The motion distracted him long enough for me to glance at Peter, retaking his own seat beside me, who only shrugged and shook his head.
I found the duke’s attention on my hands, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
If my name had not been slandered in the scandal sheets more times than I could count, I would be consumed with mortification to be seen in such disarray, and by a duke no less.
I still was, but I had learned that when circumstances could not be controlled, one had to adapt.
Anytime I felt my insecurities rising, I let pride take over.
That pride, whatever was left of it, would have to carry me now.
I waited until the duke’s gaze flicked to mine. “I cannot imagine I have anything that Your Grace would desire but do elaborate. You have my full attention.”
“That ring,” he clipped, nodding toward my hand. “It belongs to me.”
I raised my brows, idly thumbing the band. Was it true? “My brother won this ring gambling in London, as I’m certain he’s told you. It was given to me as a gift.”
The duke scoffed under his breath but did not so much as move his neck as he spoke with cold clarity. “It’s repossession was a mistake for which I am happy to compensate you.”
Ah. He hadn’t meant to gamble it away. Perhaps this beauty was meant for a lover, after all. I thumbed the jewels. “I assume you knew the risk when you sat at the gaming table.”
His jaw set. “I do not gamble. My cousin made this mistake.”
Spoken as though he himself never erred. Typical of a man. One of many reasons I was not in a hurry to marry one. Not that any of them would have me. “I see.”
“Name your price, then.”
I looked to Peter, whose eyes grew wide. Amelia watched me with curiosity.
I—Georgiana Wood—in my lowly and fallen state, finally had the attention of a duke.
There was a time in my life I would have been eager, even ecstatic, to make the connection.
But now? I knew once he left, he would not think twice about me.
I pressed my lips together. I would have to take him for all he was worth.
As large a sum as I could squeeze out of him.
How much would I need to buy myself a little cottage?
To have a modest living for the next ten years until everyone forgot who I was and what I’d done?
If only I could buy back the favor of the ton.
This ring must be worth quite a lot for him to come so quickly to retrieve it. Either that, or he was incredibly sentimental. The latter was too endearing to consider. I needed more information to unriddle him. Perhaps if I prodded just a bit more . . .
“I am afraid I have grown rather fond of this ring, Your Grace. I cannot think of a price that would tempt me. Surely there are other rings—”
“Mr. Wood. Perhaps you might intercede?” The duke’s attention, his very position in his seat, shifted wholly to my brother, and my mouth hung open like a fish.
The audacity of this man to disregard me so fully!
So quickly! I had not forgotten how cruel the ton could be, but still it stung.
My price, should I ever relent to sell, had officially doubled.
Peter only chuckled, raking a hand through his hair. His gaze flicked to mine, then back to the duke. “I am afraid I do not control my sister, Your Grace. She is quite independent. The ring is now in her possession, and so it is her you must bargain with. I offer my condolences.”
Wait a moment—did I have bargaining power here?
Peter tilted his head as though to urge me on, but I did not like the thunderous look the duke gave him.
The last thing I wanted was to hurt Peter’s reputation, though he had never cared overmuch about the ton.
He favored our father, and I favored our mother in that regard.
I would not push too hard. But perhaps, I could ease the duke into an idea that might suit me more than money .
. . for surely he had nearly as much power as English royalty.
Could he simply snap his fingers and grant my wish?
He reluctantly returned his attention to me. “If not money, another ring? Diamonds?”
Diamonds? Good heavens! What sort of rare, irreplaceable jewel was on my finger? I picked at the gold casing around it, and the duke stiffened.
“Stop that. You will damage the jewel.” He again looked to Peter as though he wondered why my brother did not have me in better form.
What, exactly, could I ask for? He’d offered money, now diamonds.
Was there a line? How far could I push it?
My mind raced through ideas. What did I truly need above all from someone like a duke?
Not money, though that was always nice. Not anything of substance, for Peter saw to all my needs.
I truly did not need a cottage for living; I could live in the dower house on our estate if I wanted solitude.
What I wanted most—what I lacked—was . . . friends.
Society.
I remembered it perfectly. During my first Season, I’d made acquaintances, listened in circles, and learned, but I hadn’t felt the need to spend time securing friends when I had Peter, and Peter had Sir Ronald. Of all the regrets, that one I felt keenly.
The duke shook his head in frustration. “I can offer you three hundred pounds. Would that suffice?”
My mind went utterly blank.
Three. Hundred. Pounds?
I leaned back, watching as the duke stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders, trying to relax his evidently building tension. Tension that was worth three hundred pounds. More, even, since I suspected he was likely paying low for his first offer.
Amelia’s eyes were popping out of their sockets. She mouthed something like Yes, but Peter was very clearly trying to urge me further with a stare that I knew meant, Keep going.
I offered the duke a smile. “Perhaps we could work out an exchange. Though, of late, I have little need of money.”
We stared each other down our respective noses. I knew I should be frightened of him. Instinct told me he could be very dangerous. And, yet, I had lost so much and fallen so far, what could this man, duke or not, possibly do to hurt me?
“Let us not play coy. Everyone has a weakness, Miss Wood.” He enunciated my name as though it were dirt beneath his boots. “Indeed, I have read about yours in the papers.”
Peter stood abruptly. “I shall have to beg your pardon,” he ground out, all humor drained from him. “You will not speak to my sister with such a tone in our home.”
My confident shoulders sank. Not afraid of hurting my feelings, was he? We might as well speak plainly, then.
“Peter,” I said, my gaze still firmly locked with the duke’s. “Amelia looks as though she could use a breath of fresh air.” I nodded to Amelia, who struggled to stand before taking Peter’s arm. She whispered something near his shoulder, and though his eyes were fiery daggers, he relented.
He swallowed hard. “We will wait just outside the door.”
“Very well.” I flicked my hand to hurry him off.
The duke and I listened as their footsteps pattered upon the carpets and through the sitting room door, neither of us so much as breathing.
Then, alone, the room so quiet one could hear a pin drop, I said, “I’m not the only one whose name has been in the papers. I recognize yours.”
“Do you?” He lifted his nose. Narrowed his eyes.
“Tell me, have you read anything particularly fallible? Abhorrent? Scandalous?” He waited for the space of three breaths to prove some point before continuing, “No. You have not, and that is the difference between you and me. One word from me, and you might find your name filling more than one page in next week’s papers. ”
Well, then. The true Duke of Marlow had finally joined the conversation. “Is that a threat?”
He shrugged, sitting back. His long legs stretched out between us. “It does not have to be. This negotiation can be as simple as you wish it. Simply sell me back my ring. I shall pay you handsomely. You could”—his gaze washed over me—“buy yourself a new dress.”