Chapter Two
“W hat is the meaning of this, Granville?” James Norton demanded.
Shay watched as Sophie’s almost-fiancé leaned over the Earl of Granville’s desk in his study and tapped an accusing finger on the desktop. Shay fought back the urge to toss the man into the street on his arse, where he belonged.
“I was supposed to have announced my engagement tonight to Lady Sophie,” he continued. “We should be dancing our first waltz together right now. Instead, I’ve been summoned to your study and told the engagement is off by that—that thing .”
Norton swung his arm to point at Shay as he stood in the corner of the study, as far away from the light of the fire and candles as possible, to let the shadows cover his face. Old habits died hard.
Shay flicked his gaze across the room to Sophie as she paced so her agitation wouldn’t overwhelm her. His pulse spiked at the sight of her. Apparently, some habits never died at all.
In response to Norton, Shay simply shrugged. The man was right, after all. He was little more than a thing these days. But in this meeting, he also had the upper hand.
But Sophie heard the insult and halted mid-step, her hands dropping to her sides and clenching into fists. An almost forgotten sensation of hope stirred in Shay’s chest that she just might defend him when she opened her mouth to interject—
Only to be beaten to it by her father. “He is the Duke of Malvern,” William Winter reminded Norton coldly. “He is a guest in my home, and you will show His Grace the same respect you show me.”
Norton straightened with offense. “He is attempting to steal my fiancée.”
Oh, Norton was sorely mistaken about that. Shay wasn’t stealing Sophie away. Technically, she already belonged to him. Had for five years. It had simply taken Norton’s engagement announcement to bring Shay to London to finally claim her.
“No one is stealing me,” Sophie corrected indignantly. Her pert little nose rose into the air. “I’m not some horse to be carted off by a thief.”
No, she certainly wasn’t that. What she was… breathtaking .
If an angel fell from heaven, it wouldn’t have been as ethereal as Sophie in her satin ball gown of ice blue, nor as beautiful and elegant. Even with irritation and confusion warring in equal turns at her brow, her oval face was still as delicate as he remembered, her skin fair and nearly iridescent in the candlelight. Her full lips were dark rosy pink, their color heightened by the way she bit her lip in consternation at the turn the evening had taken. It was her large cornflower blue eyes, though, that captivated him. With their specks of lavender, they were nothing short of mesmerizing, even narrowed with irritation.
Five years without a glimpse of her. In that time, she’d gone from an alluring young woman to simply stunning. The transformation was astonishing.
Oh, she’d always held the promise of great beauty, even the first time he’d laid eyes on her at Ravenscroft Manor when she had been only twelve and as shapeless as a plank. In his visits to her in London over the following years, she had changed before his eyes. The spindly legs and arms that had reminded him of a colt had given way to elegant gracefulness, and her body had begun to soften and curve. The last time he’d seen her, only three weeks before the planned wedding, he had realized just how much she had matured into a woman who captivated him with a visceral longing. The thought that she would never be his had nearly broken him.
Five years without her should have dampened those rash feelings. But they didn’t. Being near her again in the garden had reignited a low burning in his gut, despite the cold night air. Even now, standing a room apart, her nearness registered within him as if via some sixth sense, noting every move she made, no matter how subtle. Including the utterly baffled yet curious looks she cast in his direction when she thought he wasn’t watching.
She punctuated her previous comment by crossing her arms and adamantly declaring, “I will marry whomever I choose, and no one else.”
Shay’s lips twitched. Her flash of spirit warmed him. He was glad to see that London society hadn’t beaten it out of her.
“You might not have a choice,” her father told her grimly and tapped his finger on the reason they had all gathered in the study to discuss matters. It was the old marriage contract Sophie’s grandmother had hammered out with Malvern all those years ago, which until tonight had still been locked away with the most important Granville documents in a Chippendale cabinet. A contract which was still very much binding, thanks to the careless—or perhaps too careful—way the old woman had insisted on its wording.
Shay didn’t have to read it to remind himself what it said. After all, he had looked at it so often over the years before John died in futile attempts to stop the marriage that he’d memorized the damnable thing. Miss Sophie Winter was contracted to marry not John Douglass by name but the heir of the sixth duke of Malvern. Oh, the old woman surely thought she’d been so clever in that! Hedging her bet in case something happened to both heir and spare—even if a plague wiped them all out until the family tree existed only on its barest branch tips—Sophie would still become a duchess. That was all the old woman wanted. She couldn’t have cared less to which man. Lady Kelsey had written to Shay to remind him of that very fact after the deaths of John and his father. She insisted the contract was still binding, that Sophie was still obligated to marry the remaining heir…
Him.
Knowing he would make no progress with the grandmother, who wouldn’t have cared if he’d turned into Caligula himself, he instead wrote back to Sophie to bluntly announce that he had no plans to marry her, that he wanted to be left alone, and that he would burn without reading any more letters anyone in the Winter family sent him. Including Sophie.
He let her place all her blame, anger, and hatred squarely on him. He would never tell her the truth—that the last thing he would do was ruin her life by shackling her to the monster he had become. He had no plans to ever marry her. For God’s sake, with the turn his life had taken, he had no plans to marry anyone at all.
Until a few weeks ago, when he’d learned from his best friend Lucien Grenier, Duke of Crewe, that James Norton planned to wed her.
“Our party might have been ruined,” Norton announced. Even now, the house was emptying quickly of puzzled guests, who had heard not the engagement announcement they’d expected but an early farewell by Granville, thanking them for coming and wishing them a good night as the party was brought to a crashing close. He turned toward Shay. “But our engagement—and wedding—will not be delayed.” He folded his arms over his chest in what was surely his best impersonation of an immovable object, only to appear pathetic in the attempt. Shay had seen cowardly privates in the wars with more presence than that. “Lady Sophie is promised to me. Has been for weeks.”
“Actually, Lady Sophie is promised to me ,” Shay calmly countered. He shrugged a shoulder. “Has been for years .”
Norton clenched his hands into fists as he spun on his heel to face Shay. The tips of his ears reddened from fury.
“You are not helping.” Sophie leveled that admonishment at Shay before Norton could unleash a string of curses at his ancestors and before Shay could agree with every one of them.
Then she turned to Norton and affectionately put her hand on his arm. Shay’s chest squeezed with hot jealousy, in an intensity he simply hadn’t been prepared for.
“James, please go home and let us sort this out,” Sophie cajoled. “We’ll have a good laugh about it later.”
But Norton didn’t move. He stayed firmly where he was, if anything becoming even more determined to remain to the bitter end. Fine. If Shay had to embarrass the man in front of Granville and Sophie in order to put an end to their engagement, then he would do exactly that.
“We are still set to be married in a fortnight, just as planned,” Norton insisted. “Nothing has changed how we feel about each other.”
Yet. The word echoed inside Shay’s mind as loudly as a pistol report.
“Please, James.” She tossed a hesitant glance in Shay’s direction before suggesting, “Let me escort you out. Then as soon as everything is resolved, I’ll send word. We can take a nice ride through the park in the morning and discuss our final wedding plans. All right?”
“Fine.” Norton took Sophie’s hand and placed it on his sleeve. “But I’m not surrendering.” His eyes narrowed furiously on Shay. “Certainly not to someone like you. We’ve all heard from your uncle, Lord Malcolm, about what really happened, how you murdered your brother so you could inherit the title and fortune.”
Shay said nothing to defend himself. Malcolm had been spreading stories about him for years. His uncle was angry that Shay had inherited the dukedom instead of him. In fact, he’d even gone and went so far in the days immediately after the fire as to file a formal complaint with the Committee on Privileges to have him removed from the line of succession. Even now Shay trusted his uncle as far as he could spit and wouldn’t turn his back to the man lest he find a knife in it.
Besides, what could he say? God knew he’d long ago said the same things about himself.
“Stop it,” Sophie scolded Norton. “Let’s go now.”
Norton took Sophie by the elbow and pulled her toward the door.
Shay stepped forward to block their path. He’d learned from Lucien Grenier what Norton was truly like, and he wouldn’t let that bastard harm her, now or ever. That was why he was here tonight. The only reason.
“Say your goodbyes now,” Shay ordered quietly. “Then, Norton, you can show yourself out. Lady Sophie is needed here.”
Norton let go of Sophie’s arm, but instead of stepping away from her, he placed a kiss to her forehead. The small gesture of affection pierced Shay like a blade. “I’ll come for you at ten in the morning to take you driving, my dear.”
“She won’t be here,” Shay told him.
Norton wheeled on Shay and demanded, “Why not?”
“Because she’ll be with me at St George’s saying our wedding vows.”
Shay didn’t look away from Norton, but from the corner of his eye, he could see Sophie blanch.
“Her father and I will settle the contract tonight, and we’ll be married by special license in the morning. By ten, Lady Sophie will be the Duchess of Malvern, and we’ll be on our way north to my estate.”
“The hell you will,” Norton ground out through clenched teeth. “I have a claim to her. I don’t give a damn what your contract says, and neither will the Church nor the courts.”
“But you will when you discover there’s no dowry.”
Norton froze but was unable to hide the surprised flare of his eyes. “Of course there’s a dowry,” he countered, but his voice lacked the bravado of moments before. “Her grandmother’s fortune ensured it. That contract even mentions it. Ten thousand pounds and another thousand per annum.”
So…the man had been speaking with Malcolm about Sophie, just as Lucien suspected. It was the only way he would know about the contract and her grandmother’s fortune. But of course, Malcolm had played Norton for a fool by purposefully forgetting to tell him the rest.
“That was before her grandmother and uncle passed away,” Shay explained, “and before her father inherited.” Shay didn’t move but slid a look toward the earl, who remained seated behind his desk. Her father wasn’t being rude by not being on his feet while Sophie was on hers; he was simply too ill to stand for that long. “Isn’t that right, Granville?”
“Yes,” the earl reluctantly admitted. “When Lady Kelsey died, her fortune was left to Sophie, but since she was still a minor, it fell to her guardian to oversee it. I put it toward the estate.”
Norton’s mouth fell open. “You did what ?”
Granville’s face darkened with shame. “I didn’t steal it away from—”
“John Douglass had died by then, you see,” Sophie interjected, attempting to explain and save her father’s pride. “We were certain my engagement contract had been severed upon his death and that the money wouldn’t be needed. So I insisted we use it to pay my uncle’s debts so we could save the estate and not have to sell any of the unentailed properties or force any of the tenants off their lands.” Her cheeks reddened with embarrassment at having to admit the family’s precarious financial situation. “Saving the earldom was more important at the time than having a dowry for a future wedding that might never happen. I always thought the money could be recouped in time, but…”
She trailed off before she could utter the rest of what Shay knew to be true…that the estate hadn’t done as well as expected, that her father’s illness had also cost them in physicians’ fees and trips to the seaside in hopes that taking the waters would improve his health. That her grandmother’s fortune had saved the earldom but that her dowry had never been replenished. Many peers had seen their bank accounts decrease or even disappear completely since the end of the wars; her father was no exception. Worse, the previous earl had mortgaged properties to the hilt, racked up huge debts, then died and left the whole mess to her father, his younger brother, to sort out.
So Shay finished for her, “Now her dowry comprises barely five hundred pounds, and the annual allowance you’ll receive from Granville is only four hundred. Not nearly what you expected, I’m certain.”
Norton wheeled on Sophie. “What is he talking about? Don’t you have a dowry?”
“I have a dowry,” she countered, the slap to her pride raising her indignation. “Five hundred pounds is still a great deal of money and far more than most misses bring to a marriage. And with your income now, another four hundred a year will allow us to live quite well.”
But Norton wasn’t swayed, just as Shay knew he wouldn’t be. “Why didn’t you tell me this before now?”
“Because you never asked.” Her face fell, and she added softly, “Because I thought you already knew…and didn’t care.”
“No, I didn’t bloody well know.” He turned toward her father. “You hid this from me, Granville.” His voice lowered to a menacing threat. “One way or another, I will have the money I’m owed when I marry your daughter.” He slitted a glance at Shay. “ Nothing has changed. We’re still to be wed as planned.”
“No and no,” Shay commented as casually as if they were discussing something as innocuous as the weather. “No, Lady Sophie will not marry you, and no, you will not receive a penny. You haven’t negotiated a settlement, and with no formal announcement made tonight—”
“Because you interrupted the party tonight before it was made.”
Just in the nick of time. “You have no grounds to sue for reparation to your damaged character because the engagement was never made public, and you have no grounds for breach of contract because you never settled one,” Shay stated bluntly. “So the next time you decide to wed, be certain to iron out the contract before you set the wedding date.”
“You bastard.” Hatred blazed in his eyes. “Go to hell!” He swept his gaze between all of them, including Sophie. “Every one of you.”
Then he flung out a curse so fierce it would have made Lucifer blush and spun on his heel to march out the door. He paused in the hall to cast one final glance back at Shay, his lips curling with disgust. “Go ahead, Sophie, and marry that monster. You’re getting exactly what you deserve.”
Then he was gone.
Sophie stared after him, her hand extended in a futile attempt to stop him. For one long, terrible moment, she was too stunned to react at all, except for a dark mortification that marred her beautiful face.
Then she wheeled around with clenched fists, shaking with anger like a tree in the wind, and demanded of Shay, “Why are you doing this?”
To save you… “To honor the marriage contract your grandmother made with my father.”
She stared at him blankly as if she simply couldn’t understand his words, her lips parted in an expression somewhere between complete bafflement and abhorrence. “No,” she challenged his answer, her eyes glowing as they searched his face. “ Why are you doing this?”
“I took my brother’s life,” he said coldly. “Why shouldn’t I also take his fiancée?”
She gaped at him, stricken. She pressed her hand against her belly as if she fought to keep from casting up her accounts.
“I won’t marry you,” she rasped out in a hoarse whisper. “I’m promised to James. I don’t care what that contract says. Neither does my father. He’ll never make me marry you instead.”
“Granville can’t break the contract,” Shay told her, keeping his face carefully inscrutable. Or at least, the half of it that still showed any emotion. “The penalty is forfeiture of twenty thousand pounds, and your family simply doesn’t have it. It would bankrupt you. Your grandmother and Malvern both knew that when they included that provision. They wanted a poison pill to keep you from behaving exactly like our mothers and running away.”
Her watery eyes sought out her father’s. “Is that true?”
Granville gave a curt nod, then turned his face away. The man was too ashamed to meet his daughter’s gaze.
“You have no choice but to marry me.” Shay announced the ultimatum as softly as the shadows lurking at the edges of the room. “Or I’ll send both you and your father to the poorhouse.”
She stared at him, her head cocked slightly to the side as if desperate to understand something she simply could not fathom. As if desperate to see past the surface and into his soul to find the answers he refused to give.
But she was wasting her time. There was nothing to see beneath his surface. He had long ago lost his soul to the fires.
“I…I truly have no choice?” she whispered, barely louder than a breath. Tears glistened in her eyes and turned the pale blue of summer skies in their depths into savage storm-tossed seas.
He answered in the same low whisper, “No.”
With that single word, he knew he had become nothing more to her than a beast. The monster they all knew him to be. He looked like one, after all. Might as well behave like one.
Reflexively, he shrugged as if he couldn’t give a damn, once again donning the impenetrable armor he’d used so many times before to survive the past five years. No, for even longer than that.
“So go upstairs and pack,” he ordered quietly. “I’ll stay here and work out the settlement with your father. I’ll return for you at nine in the morning to escort you to the church, and we’ll leave for Ravenscroft immediately after the ceremony.”
She didn’t move, resembling one of those Greek statues whose marble skin was alabaster white, hard, cold. A single tear escaped down her cheek, leaving a glistening trail over her pale face. This time, she couldn’t find the strength to even breathe out a whisper and instead could only mouth, “I hate you.”
“Then we’re sure to have a typical society marriage,” he told her.
After all, they had that much in common. I hate myself, too.