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‘...began seeing him at home, visiting Papa. They had similar scientific interests, Papa said when I asked him. It wasn’t until some months later that I learned just what those “interests” truly were. By that time, the Duke’s wife had died. To my astonishment, he proposed to me. I politely refused, telling him that my heart and hand had already been pledged to another. He...laughed. And told me that he was certain I would change my mind after I carefully measured the advantages of becoming his Duchess against marrying a young man of no title who was still dependent upon his father.’
Though they walked side by side, Alastair noticed Diana seemed increasingly detached, as if, transported to some other place and time, she was no longer even conscious of his presence. ‘He returned a week later, asked me again, and received the same answer. In fact, I urged him to look elsewhere for a bride, as, though I was fully aware of the honour of his offer, it did not and would never interest me. He said that was regrettable, but he had chosen me for his wife, and marry him I would.’
Alastair had to laugh at that fantastic statement. ‘Are you truly trying to persuade me that he “gave you no choice”? That horse won’t run! This isn’t the Middle Ages—a girl can’t be forced into marriage.’
She nodded, still not looking at him. ‘So I thought. But I was wrong. You see, those “visits” to Papa hadn’t just been spent in scientific discourse. They’d also been gaming together—a pleasant match among friends, Papa later called it when I taxed him about it. But the Duke was a very skilful player, and Papa was not. When I refused again to marry him, he produced vouchers Papa had signed—vouchers worth thousands of pounds. Unless I married him, he said, he would call them in. Of course, there was no possible way Papa could have repaid such a sum. He would be sent to debtors’ prison, the Duke said. How long did I think, with his delicate health, he would last in Newgate? At first, I was certain the Duke was joking. He soon convinced me he was not. He warned that if I said a word about this to my father, he would have him clapped in prison, regardless of what I did. I didn’t dare call his bluff.’
Scarcely about to credit anyone capable of perpetrating such a Byzantine scheme, Alastair retorted, ‘Why did you not come to me, then? True, I’d not yet inherited, but I could have persuaded my father to advance me a sum, and borrowed more on my expectations.’
‘He threatened to ruin you, too, if I gave you even a hint of what he intended.’
‘Ruin me? How?’ Alastair replied derisively. ‘I was never a gamester, and though I was certainly no saint at university, I’d done nothing serious enough to dishonour my name, no matter how the facts might be distorted.’
She paused a moment, as if to say more, then shook her head. ‘This would have.’
‘No, it’s all preposterous!’ Alastair burst out. ‘Graveston did have a sinister presence about him, but I can’t believe he convinced you he would do what he threatened.’
She turned to give him a sad smile. ‘Do you remember my little spaniel, Ribbons?’
‘The black-and-white one with the ears that trailed in the wind?’
‘Like ribbons, yes. After the Duke revealed his intentions, he gave me a day to think it over. When he returned the next day, he asked me how my dog was. I’d not seen Ribbons that morning, and when I looked, I found him—dead. The Duke merely smiled, and told me as his Duchess, I could have as many dogs as I liked.’
Despite himself, Alastair felt the implication of those words like a blow to the stomach.
She continued, ‘As you know, we were a small household—just Cook and two maids and a man-of-all-work, all of whom had been with us for years. I questioned each one, and they all swore they’d seen—or done—nothing unusual. I realised then, if the Duke could bribe one of my own household to harm an innocent dog, or infiltrate someone who would, he was perfectly capable of forcing Papa into prison and ruining you. That the only thing to prevent him extracting retribution upon the people I loved would be for me to marry him. His final requirement in leaving you both unharmed was to never tell either of you the truth. You must both believe I married him of my own free will.’
Struggling to decide whether to accept the story she’d just told, Alastair shook his head. ‘It’s...it’s unthinkable that someone would act in such a fashion.’
‘Very true. Another reason why the Duke didn’t worry about my confiding in anyone but you or Papa. Who would believe such a story?’
‘Well, I don’t,’ Alastair retorted, making up his mind. Feeling both betrayed and disgusted that she would try to fob off on him such a Banbury tale, he said, ‘Besides, do you really think your apology now makes any difference to me? Frankly, I would respect you more if you just admitted the truth—that the lure of a duchess’s coronet outweighed whatever I could offer you.’
She turned to him, for a long moment silently studying his face. ‘I have told you the truth. I cannot make you believe it, of course. But I did want you to know that it was not for any lack in you that I wed another man.’
‘I never thought it was.’
‘I don’t expect your respect. I’m rather certain you despise me, and I can’t blame you. Nor is there anything I could ever do to make up to you for the embarrassment and humiliation of the Coddingford ball.’
The words exited his lips before he was even aware he meant to speak. ‘Well, since I’m currently between mistresses, you could fulfil that role until I tire of you.’
Aghast, he waited for her to gasp with outrage or slap his face. To his astonishment, after staring at him for another moment, she said, ‘Very well. Make the arrangements and send me word. Fifteen Laura Place.’
Before Alastair could respond, two small boys pelted up from behind them, one grabbing his hand. ‘Can we go for cakes now, Uncle Alastair?’ Robbie asked. ‘James and I are powerful hungry.’
‘Yes, Mama, may I go today?’ Diana’s son asked her.
‘Today you may go,’ his mother responded. While the two boys whooped and slapped each other’s backs, without another glance at Alastair, Diana turned and walked away.
Stunned, incredulous—and incredibly tempted—Alastair gazed after her until the turn in the pathway took her from view.
Chapter Three
After admonishing the boys that the hoydenish behaviour allowed in the park would not be tolerated in an establishment that served cakes, Alastair shepherded his young charges and Lord James Mannington’s nursemaid across Pulteney Bridge, down High Street, around the Abbey and into the bakery off North Parade that served the famous buns. In a mechanical daze, he ordered cakes for the boys and the blushing maid, dismissing with a distracted wave her protest that he need not include her in the treat.
It was good that both boys had learned their manners well—or that the presence of the nursemaid restrained them. For with his mind whirling like a child’s top, he could not afterwards recall a single thing they’d said or done at the shop.
Melted butter congealing on the bun set before him, Alastair went over again and again in his mind the exchange between himself and Diana—particularly the last bit, when he, incredibly, had offered her carte blanche and she, even more incredibly, had accepted.
If he’d had more time after that fraught final exchange, he probably would have retracted the hasty words, perhaps covering the naked need they’d revealed by delivering the stinging response that he’d only been joking, for Diana did not meet the minimum standards for beauty, wit and charm that he required of a mistress.
Instead, he’d done nothing, standing mute as a statue while she walked away.
Regardless of how he felt over her former treatment, he should be ashamed of himself for tendering such an insulting offer. To a dowager duchess, no less, who now outranked him on the social scale by several large leaps! As soon as he arrived back at his room at the Crescent, he should write her a note of apology, recanting the offer.
And yet... For the first time, he admitted to himself what meeting Diana again had made only too painfully clear. Despite the bold assertion to the contrary he’d given his sister, he had never really got over losing her. Every woman he’d met since had been measured against her and found lacking; every mistress he’d bedded had been physically reminiscent of her, unconsciously chosen to blot her out of his mind and senses.
None ever had.
Since Diana had accepted his offer, maybe he should go through with it. After all, there was no way the real woman could measure up to the romantic vision his youthful, poetic soul had once idolised...especially after how she’d treated him. Marrying a duke to ‘save’ him? What kind of dupe did she take him to be?
Maybe possessing her now would finally burn out of him the pain and yearning that had haunted him so long.
