Chapter Ten
D eclan arrived on Miss Richards’ doorstep in a surprisingly unsettled mood. He was known in public as an even-tempered man. His reputation in the family, of course, was as a violent, ungoverned child prone to temper tantrums. That had been true when he was a boy, but thanks to the care of the gamekeeper’s wife, not to mention the constant reprimands from his mother, he believed he’d outgrown such things.
It still required constant vigilance.
God knew, he had no desire to horrify Miss Richards with an intemperate display. So this disquiet as he approached her home bore some examination lest it lead to becoming overly emotional.
He had decided on a clear, logical list of facts.
Item One—this morning he had awoken in clear disarray. One minute he’d eagerly anticipated this visit, and then the next he’d dreaded it akin to attending a funeral. Such mood swings hadn’t happened to him since adolescence. This fact was labelled troublesome.
Item Two—since leaving Grace yesterday he had ruminated on the story of a Chinese pirate queen. He had hung on her words even as he’d doubted them, and now he eagerly anticipated their next moments together and equally wanted to discard the whole discussion as poppycock.
The Irish tale of Granuaile was just as fanciful, but he knew of several who believed it. Perhaps many cultures created tales of pirate queens exactly because they were so much fun to imagine. Of course, an abandoned girl child would seize upon tales of a powerful woman as a means of giving herself hope. Therefore he would not discredit her belief until he found proof that it was false.
This fact he labelled acceptable . She believed the tale, and whether it was true or not made no difference. She admired the pirate’s strength and independence. These were qualities he also admired. Therefore, the matter was settled in his mind.
Item Three—last night he had thought about the shape of Grace’s body as she moved, the way her breasts shaped the modest gown she’d worn, and how he’d looked at her mouth and visualised things he’d never wanted to do with other society ladies. Lust had slammed through him, desire mixed with a need so strong that he had given in to the fantasy while in his own bed. He’d shamelessly pleasured himself while dreaming of her. And when was the last time he’d done that? Not since he was a randy boy, discovering women for the first time.
He wanted Miss Grace Richards—that much was clear. And damned if that want wasn’t coursing through his blood now, even as he mounted the steps towards her door.
This item he labelled as distressing because his mother was right. The girl was unsuitable for marriage to his cousin or to himself.
It wasn’t simple snobbishness. His duchess would have to understand polite society and would need to help him politically. She must make good connections and soothe ruffled feathers. And she absolutely must be able to face down the spiteful, vicious women in society, of which his mother and aunt were only moderate examples.
Miss Richards might be able to swing from the ratlines in a storm, but she had no understanding of the cruelty that could be inflicted upon a woman in society. He had seen strong women destroyed by daily attacks. At its worst, it drove some women mad. At best, it drove the unschooled away. They often found their own society, while hidden somewhere in the countryside.
But his wife could not run away. His political life was in London, where he enjoyed a robust discussion of the direction of this country. He meant to lead it in this new century, not wait on the sidelines as men too old or too stupid tried to keep everything the same. As if change was a dirty word.
Therefore he refused to marry a woman only to have her disappear to the country. He wanted children, and he wanted to know them. That wouldn’t happen if whomever he married lived elsewhere.
Which meant that, even though Miss Richards stirred his loins, she was not the wife for him. And yet he longed to be with her, to hear the tales of her life, to understand more of the world beyond England’s shores. How much further could one go than China?
She fascinated him, and yet he could not have her. Which, naturally, left him in a far darker place than he liked. Logic and reason had left him with one measly ‘acceptable’ against very powerful ‘troublesome’ and ‘distressing’. He did not like that. Not at all.
Which meant that by the time he’d climbed the steps to her house he was holding on to his placid expression of polite interest by the tiniest thread. And yet he would not miss this outing for the world.
He was greeted at the door by Lord Wenshire himself. ‘Your Grace, please do come in. I’m afraid we haven’t been in London long enough to get a proper butler.’
Declan’s brows went up. Hadn’t they been in London for weeks now? ‘Do you need assistance with that? I’m sure my housekeeper could help you find someone appropriate.’
The man sighed. ‘I would be very grateful. Our last three have not...’ He shook his head. ‘The candidates have not lasted long.’
Declan frowned. Good servants were hard to find, but surely there was someone who could meet their needs. ‘I shall have my housekeeper contact you immediately.’
‘If she could be with Grace, that would be most helpful. I have been trying to teach her how to manage a household, including hiring the servants, but it seems I haven’t the knowledge either. Not much call for a butler when travelling the way I have been.’
‘No, I suppose not.’
By all accounts Lord Wenshire had wandered the world with little more than a knife and his wallet. Though Declan supposed that was an exaggeration. The man had worked for the East India Company and made his fortune there. Surely that company had given him more than a knife?
‘I should love to hear about your adventures,’ he said.
‘I should enjoy speaking about them with you, though they are not as exciting as you might imagine.’
He might have said more, but at that moment the two ladies appeared, and Declan lost all track of anything but their appearance. Or, more specifically, Grace’s.
Who the hell had put her in that awful pastel gown?
In his mind, Grace burned the way she had appeared on the boat, when she’d guided him up to the crow’s nest. Her skin had caught the light differently from any way he’d ever seen before, shown smooth with a golden tan. Her cheeks had been flushed from exertion, and she’d listened to his words about London as if memorising every word. And then she’d turned to him, her eyes alight and her mouth so sweet. Her hair had been tangled and she’d worn a sailor’s garb, but she’d been beautiful.
He saw the same slope to her cheeks now, and the same curve to her delectable mouth, but this time her casually short hair had been pulled back into a ruthless bun. There were tendrils of hair about her face that were meant to curl and bounce by her cheeks. That was the style that all the girls wore, but on Grace it looked appalling. Her hair dragged like tattered strings, out of place and clearly annoying her, given how she kept trying to tuck the strands behind her ears.
And that was nothing compared to the pale, washed-out puce of her gown. She was ten times more vibrant than that awful colour, and yet it seemed the dress was wearing her rather than the other way around. Especially with the horrendously large bow at the front, which appeared larger than her breasts.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Richards,’ he said as he bowed over her hand. ‘I’m so pleased to see you again,’ he said honestly.
Then he turned to her sister and did the same.
At least the younger sister had a decent gown. Less fashionable, less decorated, it fell in simple lines without décor, and that made it less of an atrocity.
He would have to tell his housekeeper to help with the girls’ wardrobe too, if possible.
Meanwhile, Lord Wenshire spoke up. ‘I thought to invite Lucy to join us. It’s a fine day and she has been cooped up inside for so long.’
‘Of course—’ he began, but was cut off at a firm bang of the knocker.
‘Goodness, who could that be?’ Lord Wenshire asked.
The moment the door opened to show Cedric standing there Declan knew he should have expected it. Of course his cousin wouldn’t allow Declan to escort Grace alone. He would force himself in if only to establish his ownership of the girl. Or rather her dowry.
It was Declan’s fault for making the invitation at that thrice-blasted tea.
‘Lord Domac! What a surprise!’ exclaimed Lord Wenshire. ‘Have we forgotten an appointment?’
‘Not at all, but I couldn’t allow His Grace to have all the fun.’ He stepped past Lord Wenshire to bow over the ladies’ hands. ‘Miss Richards,’ he said to the younger daughter, as he clearly caressed the girl’s hand. ‘Grace,’ he murmured as he bowed again. ‘You look ravishing.’
Had there been extra warmth in his greeting to the younger girl? Declan couldn’t be sure, but the question was in his mind. Meanwhile, Grace was blushing prettily at Cedric’s compliment.
‘Lord Domac, welcome to our home,’ she said, clearly a little flustered.
‘He forgets his manners,’ Declan interrupted. ‘He is to address you as Miss Richards. A gentleman does not use a lady’s first name unless the pair are engaged. Which you are not.’
His voice was cold, his attitude worse.
What the devil was wrong with him? He knew a thousand better ways to correct his cousin than calling the man out in public. But seeing his cousin fawning over Miss Richards had set his teeth on edge. The man was playing her false, and that heated Declan’s blood to a dangerous degree.
He needed to control himself, but Cedric had always known how to irritate his ‘older and more boring’ cousin. As children, it had caused the man untold delight to needle Declan, until he lost control and punched back physically. Then Declan would be punished, and Cedric given special treats. It had been infuriating, but it had been the byplay of children—boys in particular—and Declan refused to give in to it now.
And yet despite his determination Declan felt his temper rise. And, damn it, Cedric knew, because his face shifted into a mischievous grin.
‘Oh, goodness, I’m forgetting myself,’ Cedric drawled.
Damn, the man could be charming.
‘It was Miss Richards’ beauty that overtook my wits.’
It was the size of her dowry that had overcome him, and the joy he had at tweaking Declan—but, again, that could not be spoken of out loud.
‘Well, we must be off,’ Declan declared. ‘So sorry, cousin, but my carriage will only take four. I’m afraid you’ll have to make your own way to Hyde Park.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. You and I have squeezed in together in carriages before. We can handle it for the short ride to Hyde Park.’
Of course they could. But if he knew anything about his cousin, the man would ‘squeeze in’ next to Grace—probably between both ladies.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Lord Wenshire said, his voice calm. ‘I can follow on foot. It’s not that far, and I’ve been aching for a little exercise. The city is so confining, and I’m used to a more active life.’
Good God, did the man know nothing about randy young men?
‘Please, Lord Wenshire,’ he said quickly, ‘you take my carriage with your beautiful daughters. My cousin and I will meet you there.’
And on the way he would have some choice words with the man.
His hard tone left no room for argument, and the logistics were quickly managed. And then, as soon as the carriage had rumbled away, he rounded on Cedric with a tone that was a good deal frostier than he’d ever used before in his life.
‘What the devil are you about, Cedric?’
‘At last,’ his cousin drawled. ‘I have your attention.’
‘Of course you have my attention. What bloody good does that do you? I’m furious, and you’re gloating about God only knows what.’
Cedric snorted. ‘I’m gloating? Good God, you are in your dotage. Let me make this clear.’
‘About time!’
His cousin continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. ‘Miss Richards is to be my wife, and you are trying to take her away merely because you can.’
Of all the idiot complaints!
‘Cedric,’ he said, with as much patience as he could muster. ‘I’m doing nothing of the sort. Damn it, we aren’t children. She isn’t a toy to fight over. Haven’t you outgrown this by now?’
Cedric threw up his hands in disgust. ‘I’m not playing. I am warning you, cousin, do not stand in my way.’
Declan gaped at his cousin, seeing a hardness he’d never witnessed before. Far from being the irritating little boy Declan remembered, Cedric had matured into a man with dark intent.
‘Cedric, what has happened? We used to be friends.’
When the boy hadn’t been torturing him.
‘Friends? We rubbed along well enough when we were at school. You with your stuffy old chums and I with the fun ones.’
Declan tried not to roll his eyes at that. Stuffy. Irresponsible. These were insults they’d thrown at each other as they’d passed in the school halls. Hadn’t they grown past these things?
‘But then you disappeared,’ Cedric all but spat.
‘I was on my Grand Tour.’
And what a long disaster that had been, though he realised now he’d never told his cousin the fullness of what had happened to him during that awful time.
‘And what about afterwards?’
Declan frowned. ‘What about afterwards?’
‘When my father gambled away our money? When he lost my sisters’ dowries on some bizarre investment. Where were you then, when I needed help stopping him?’
He had no idea.
‘How was I supposed to stop your father? I couldn’t control my own.’
‘I came to you. I begged you for help.’
‘You came to the House of Lords during a vote! I couldn’t drop everything to see you.’
‘You sent me away. You wouldn’t hear a thing.’
‘We met later. We had dinner and some very fine brandy.’
‘You laughed at my ideas.’
Oh, good God, they were back to this! ‘You hadn’t done any research. You had no idea if the investments would work.’
‘I did research it!’
‘Not enough. Damn it—’
‘My sisters have no dowries!’
Declan folded his arms across his chest. It was one of the ways he made sure he appeared stern when inside he was holding back a scream. Or a punch.
‘You should be discussing this with your father.’
‘He’s back in the duns again and you know it.’
He did. The Dukedom had long since cut off any support to his uncle. The man was nothing but an endless pit of gambling losses.
Cedric lifted his chin. ‘I need to get my sisters something for their dowries.’
‘Then bring them to me. We’ll all sit down and discuss plans. The Dukedom will provide for their dowries. It will not cover your blackmail.’
Cedric shook his head. ‘Miss Richards is my plan.’
‘Miss Richards is your blackmail. It’s cruel, Cedric, and it’s beneath you. You and I both know she’s not up to the task of being your countess. The haut ton would crucify her.’
Cedric tilted his head and stared at him. There was a darkness in the man’s eyes that made Declan step back. Something he had never seen in the younger man’s eyes and hoped never to see again. And yet as they stood there the blackness only worsened.
‘Cedric,’ Declan said softly. ‘We will find a way to get you a boat. You need not marry—’
‘Will it come with a navigator like her? Will it come with her father’s money? Do you know how much Lord Wenshire made in the East India Company?’
No. Declan had made discreet enquiries, of course, but even those who had worked with the man knew nothing about his income.
‘I do not,’ he said softly. ‘And neither do you.’
Cedric lifted his chin. ‘I know enough. He is wealthy and he loves his daughters.’
‘You are taking advantage—’
‘I am marrying a woman whom I will treat well. I will let her be a navigator on a boat she loves. I will let her travel back to her home, and she will make me a dragon’s hoard of wealth. Then you will come to me for money, you will beg my forgiveness, and you will take your supercilious nose and stick it—’
‘You are not engaged to her yet!’ Rage filled Declan’s tone. He felt it burn as hot and dark as Cedric’s hatred. And it dripped from his words like acid. ‘You don’t love her, and don’t want to marry her. You are using her to blackmail the family.’
‘Is it working?’
‘Of course not!’
Cedric laughed, and the sound was not pleasant. ‘I think it is.’
And then he had the infuriating gall to start walking towards the park with a jaunty step and a merry whistle.
Declan stared at his cousin, lava in his veins as his rage burned darker and colder, settling into lines he scarce knew were forming. This was something he had never felt before, something that overwhelmed him, darkened him, and then hardened into feelings that were deep and ugly.
His cousin would not have Grace. He would not abuse a girl too na?ve about English customs to know what she was doing. And if Cedric tried anything that ended up damaging Grace, he would know such pain as only a duke could inflict.