The Duke of Norhaven's Rejected Mate

Chapter 1

Cynthia

Saturday

Engaged.

Betrothed.

An understanding.

Only, as I sit there, hands in my lap, prim and proper as I can be, I find I understand nothing.

Engaged.

To a man I know nothing about.

To a Viscount who just seems satisfied with a wife. Any wife. Whoever will marry him.

Not the Duke whom I’ve pined after these few years. Not the man whose punishing hand can make my soul sing and my body quake. Not the deviant who turns my head with a mere word.

No. Not him.

At this point now, never him.

I blink up at the gray-blue eyes peering at me, no true expression in their depths. David Richardson, Viscount of Henhaven. A man I’ve never met. A man I’m certainly fine never getting to know.

With a deep breath, I look over at my mother. She sits there all haughty, with her back ramrod, as if she’s done something miraculous. Father, on the other hand, looks tired and haggard.

“The banns are set to be read this coming Sunday,” he grumbles, rubbing a hand over his weathered face. “From there, you will have two more Sundays to get to know each other. I suggest you use them wisely.”

Sunday. Tomorrow. I will have to sit in the church with friends and family alike and hear the announcement cried out for all to hear. There will be no hiding it then, no undoing it. Married in such a short time to a stranger.

My insides cramp as I grip my dress, unable to fully process everything. It’s overwhelming. It’s a maelstrom of emotions I’m not sure I can fully keep at bay. Unfortunately, the one man I’d go to in such a time is now off limits to me.

Closing my eyes, I resist the mournful groan that threatens to flit from my lips. How I would beg for his hand against my backside as I spill my transgressions to him. Why not him? Why could he not be the one to ask?

My mother clears her throat next to me and digs her fingers into my arm. “Say something to your betrothed, dear. Or else he might think you to be a mute.”

“Unseasonably cold weather we’re having,” I manage to mumble. “Do you suppose London will see snow well before Martinmas?”

His throaty laugh grates on what little nerves I retain as he leans forward, gracing me with a tight smile that never fully reaches his eyes. “Why, I do believe that is a possibility. It’s certainly not unheard of. In fact, my home in Henhaven certainly sees its fair share.”

The weather. That’s what our conversation is reduced to. But then, it’s not as if I can ask him questions like, how does your member compare to the mighty staff I once saw betwixt Norhaven’s thighs. Does your knot swell with such magnificent girth that to ponder it might make me swoon?

No. We speak of snow like polite members of the Ton, and nothing more. Turning to the side, I drum my fingers onto my thigh, doing my best to come up with something else to say.

“Might I inquire,” he slides in, filling the awkward gap. “Are you fond of the pianoforte?”

“Not particularly,” I reply, keeping my tone as neutral as possible.

“Why, Cynthia,” my mother cries out, a false laugh on her lips. “Do not tell such a fib. Regale your guest with how beautifully you play.”

“How can I, Mother, when you have instructed me from birth not to tell a lie?” The air grows still, stifling, and quite uncomfortable as we sit there in the uneasy silence.

“But don’t you wish to impress your intended with your other numerous talents?” she insists, digging her nails into me even harder until I’m sure blood might well up.

“I fear there is no need to impress him. Is that right, my lord? I am already bound to you. So there is no need to put on such theatrics or airs.”

“Cynthia,” Mother nearly shouts.

“Pay her no mind,” my father cuts in, ever the diplomat. “I’m sure the news has overwrought her nerves. You know. Females.”

Henhaven has the audacity to smile and shake his head as if Father has told some grand lark.

“Don’t I know it,” he replies, laughter soft on his lips.

“I am well acquainted with females and their moods.” Both parents look at each other and then back at him, their eyes round with shock.

“Sisters,” he amends quickly. “One learns many things when living with sisters.”

They both let out a sigh and settle back into their chairs.

My mother sits back up and smiles, but of course it’s a false tilting of her lips.

“We’ve only had the one. I’m afraid Cynthia has no other siblings.

She is quite the spoiled one, having both of our attentions whenever she demands it.

I apologize in advance for any extra tutelage you might have to undertake. ”

My head throbs as I soak in my mother’s words. Spoiled? I would attribute so many other descriptors to my name, but spoiled? For a moment, I nearly forget myself and laugh, but find my throat clogged with far more unpleasant emotions.

Henhaven rises and nods, casting me another soft smile. “I must be off,” he says as the rest of us stand with him. “I so look forward to getting to know you, Miss Campbell. I would like to call upon you early next week to continue our conversations. That is, if I don’t see you at Hyde Park first.”

“Sounds delightful,” I lie as I give him a small curtsy.

As he leaves, I sit back down into the chair, shaking as the enormity crashes down on me. Sunday. Banns. Engaged. What can I do? What can I say? How in the world can I get out of this? There has to be something I can do.

“We did not raise you to be so rude and ill-tempered,” my mother shouts as she hovers over me, finger jutted into my face. “What if you had driven him away?”

“The engagement is set,” I grind out between gritted teeth. “Wouldn’t he suffer scandal if he broke it off now?”

She plants her hands on her hips. “The banns have not been read yet, girl. No one else knows besides the four of us. If he were to break it because of your lack of manners, you would be without a husband.” She turns to level a glare at my father.

“It’s your fault. You’ve spoiled her something wretched. ”

At that, I leap up, standing toe-to-toe with my mother. “I have never wanted for anything, but I would not call my actions spoiled. No warning? Not even a hint at what my future is to become? Viscountess Henhaven without so much as a word?”

My father sighs and inches over to me, his face looking extremely old in that moment. “We did what we thought was right. You are nearing the end of your second season. No husband? No prospects? You would be a spinster.”

Again, I turn to my mother. “And so you both choose for me?”

“He’s a respectable man,” she cajoles. “No scandal to his name. In need of a wife. You should be grateful. He wanted a special license to sweep you away within a matter of days. Your father told him this marriage will only go forward if he gives you the full time. All three banns. It will give you a chance to know each other. He is rather handsome, though. You cannot deny that.”

Closing my eyes, I rub my brow. He’s an Alpha. All Alphas tend to have a certain look about them. Though in my heart, my very soul, I cannot find him even half as pleasing to the eyes than Norhaven.

“Looks do not mean much when there is strife between a man and woman.”

“What strife?” she asks. “Any friction between the two of you is because of your reticence. Give him a chance. He will make a fine husband for you.”

Words lie stuttered on my lips with no way to speak them. Too many voices cry out in my head for me to be able to lay them down in a neat row in presentation to my mother. “You don’t know that. Suppose he beats me? Suppose he is cruel and merely hides it from others?”

Heat creeps up my face as I recall the many times Norhaven took me in hand. But then, I don’t truly regard his actions as neither beating nor cruel. Not when he followed them up with such exquisite pleasure that it put all other sensations in the past.

“Enough with the theatrics,” my father booms. “The matter is done. Unless he is found to be unworthy in a way that counts to the Ton, you will be married after three weeks. There will be no more discussion in the matter.”

Tears prick my eyes as our footman strides into the room, ending the conversation. He slides a small note off the tray and hands it to me, bowing before he steps back out.

“Secret notes,” my mother sneers. “Is that why you are so reluctant to take a husband?”

I turn the note to her, showing the seal. “It is from the Barringtons. The triplets, no doubt.” My fingers shake as I open the letter and study it under the scrutiny of my mother. Please. Please let it be from my friends and nothing scandalous.

My dearest Cynthia,

We are now fully settled in London and have been denied the pleasure of your company.

Truly, things are rather dull here with just our mother and Charles to keep us company.

We long to have you visit us so that we may talk again.

Besides, The Season is not all that fun without you.

We shall send the carriage for you around seven so that you may dine with us.

Our hearts nearly leap for joy at being able to see your face once more.

I swear we shall perish if you tell us no.

Ever yours in friendship,

Penelope

P.S. Sophia and Georgiana send their regards as well. They hover about my ears, chittering and chattering even as I write this, insisting you know that they long to see you. I, for one, thought that to be understood. Prepare to be accosted the moment you enter the doors.

P.P.S. They insist on making sure you’re aware that they are your friends as well, and it is NOT just between us. But you know that. I’m just the one penning for us all so that you do not become overwhelmed with a plethora of letters upon our arrival.

P.P.P.S. I have heard it rumored that the other dukes and their wives (those we are friends with.

Not just all dukes in the Ton, for that would be ridiculous) are to gather at either Charles’s or Lewis’s estate for Midsummer.

Do make plans in case you are summoned there as well.

We need you in attendance so there is someone to confide in and enjoy.

My lips tilt up, all thoughts of Henhaven and his perfectly ordinary face gone for the moment. Mother, however, seems unhappy with the joy I feel at the warm note. Her fingers curl around the edges as she snatches the missive from my hands.

“That is mine,” I cry out as I go to pull it back.

She huffs and turns, putting her back to me so she can read it without my interference.

“Such a sour disposition with Henhaven, then lo-and-behold, a smile when you read this little note. If I find one bit of scandal…” Her voice trails off as she reads it, then turns back to me. “Why, it’s only from Lady Penelope.”

“Yes, Mother. Do you truly think I entertain gentlemen with you unaware? If that were so, I feel as though I’d be engaged to someone else by now.”

She stares at me, mouth agape. “Well, yes,” she sputters. “You sulk about here as a wraith. You have an air of secrets that follow you like a cloud.”

A heavy sigh drifts from my lips at her half-formed accusations. If she knew what transpired between Norhaven and me, we would have already been married.

“If you need nothing more from me, then I will retire to my room until time to leave. I have much to ponder and would love to do so without the exacting gaze of my mother.”

“I never gave you permission to take your leave,” she hisses. “What if I say you are not allowed to go?”

“And refuse the summons of a sister to a duke? You worry enough about scandal that you wouldn’t dare refuse them.” I don’t even give her a moment to refute me. With a light pluck of my fingers, I take the note from her and head to my room.

Tears prick my eyes as I close my door and wander over to the bed. Penelope, Sophia, and Georgiana. They will most certainly be a balm to my weary soul. But then, do I actually tell them about Henhaven?

My heart pounds in my chest as I tuck the note away with the others I’ve received. None of them, thankfully, from Norhaven. Though I’m still not so sure why that actually causes my heart to pound so painfully in my chest. It’s not as if his actions can be declared to the world.

Dropping to my knees, I run my fingers over the small floorboard and grab the edge, pulling it up. There, my sketches lie in a small bundle along with other treasures that make my heart happy. My clit pulses as I drag the drawings to my chest and kneel there, tears silently running down my cheeks.

I run my fingers over the crude images. Though they are nowhere near as precise as Teresa’s, they’re mine. They’re the few things I have from that first night I saw Norhaven in all his glory. What was it, last Twelfth Night? The one before?

How muddled things have become since then. Each day, I think he will choose me, that he will stop in the middle of touching me so intimately and declare his intentions for me. But he doesn’t. He simply punishes me, pleasures me, and sends me on my way.

A soft sigh drifts from my lips as I tuck the drawings back into the hollow space and wedge the wood back in. Though I should worry my mother will find it, that would take extra effort on her part. Shaking my head, I lean against the bed and curl into myself as sobs wrack my body.

Perhaps I should cry off and refuse dinner. Though I long to see my friends, I worry it will be far more unpleasant. And that’s not fair to them, not when they try so desperately to make me happy.

Besides, if Norhaven is there, I don’t know how I’ll make it through the night without throwing myself at him and begging him to take me in hand, to make all of this disappear, to have him tell me he loves me above all and will find a way to work this out.

But he hasn’t yet. Why would tonight be any different?