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“What did you say?” The boy had to be wrong. William could not sell off everything and then leave. The estates were entailed and he had responsibilities to attend to here. If he left, who would care for the tenants? Who would care for the lands?
Michael rolled onto his side and stared at her. “We’re going back. Will is going to sell off everything.”
“Oh, no, he is not,” Elizabeth said, striding toward the door. “The servants will be up in a moment with bedding. Good night.”
She slammed the door on the way out. Picking up her skirts, she raced down the marble stairs. Did the man know nothing? He couldn’t sell off the estates and return to America.
She strode into the parlor to find the duke with his feet on the mahogany table and his head tilted into the corner of the wingback chair, with his dark brown eyes shuttered and his breathing even. Her anger should have dissipated at the sight of his obvious exhaustion, but it did not.
“Get your filthy feet off my table!”
One dark brown eye stared at her. Slowly, the other eye opened and one brow arched. “Your table?”
She swatted at his feet. “Yes, my table.”
He placed his booted feet on the floor and sat up straight. After folding his arms over his chest, he continued to stare at her.
“Last I checked, I was the duke,” he said in a low tone. “I believe that means this house and everything in it belongs to me.”
“Hah! You are incorrect on that matter. Some of the things belong to the title, not to you.”
“It’s all the same to me,” he said with a dispassionate shrug.
“Well, you would be wrong.”
“Perhaps I am. I may have been born in this country, but it isn’t my home and never will be. For all I care, some other cousin can inherit this damned title.”
She glared at him as her anger rose higher. “But they cannot.”
“Oh?” He arched one eyebrow slightly.
“As long as you are alive, you are the duke. Whether you like the idea or not,” she retorted.
How dare this man think he could dismiss centuries of family history? Did he have no idea of what his relatives did to gain that title? The battles fought over land, the marriages brokered over money and land. All done to increase the family’s position and fortune. All done to give them the wonderful and secure life they had now.
Meeting him almost made her wish Richard had inherited the duchy. At least he would have respect for the title and the history that went along with it. Although, he would gamble away the money. The situation was bewildering. She had one cousin who would gamble the estates to ruin, and another who would sell off everything. Well, she wasn’t about to allow either of those things to happen.
“But again, I am the duke,” the arrogant, uncivilized man stated. “Therefore, I can do as I wish with the assets.”
“You might be the duke,” she replied, balling her hands into tight fists. “But you cannot sell off this family’s properties and belongings.”
He leaned his head back into the corner of the chair and smiled. “I don’t believe you have a say in the matter.”
She smiled sternly at him. “Perhaps not. But I do know you cannot sell off any entailed property.”
Watching his eyes widen and his mouth drop slightly, she knew she had caught him off guard. He knew nothing about the laws of inheritance in England. She could use his ignorance about the subject to her advantage.
“What can’t I sell?”
Ignoring his demanding question, she walked toward the door. “Good night, Your Grace. Pleasant dreams.”
Chapter 3
Will watched the aggravating woman walk out of the room as frustration seeped into his bones. What did she mean? Not everything he owned could be entailed. Could it?
All his plans hinged on his selling some of the properties and finally returning to America. It had been his dream for the past five years. Without the money, he was no better off than he had been in Canada.
He combed his fingers through his long hair. He desperately needed a shave and a haircut. Nevertheless, that could wait until tomorrow. He would question the little shrew about her comments then.
