Читать книгу Secrets Of A Duchess - Kaitlin O'Riley - Страница 8

“I have absolutely no intention of marrying your daughter. I do not appreciate being placed in this awkward position. You must put a stop to your wife and daughter’s gossip and misleading statements about me, or I will. And if I am the one to end it…Well, you know what that could do to her reputation. But this must end,” insisted Alexander Woodward, the seventh Duke of Woodborough, as he stood in the elegant, if rarely used, library of Lord Albert Maxwell, while hundreds of guests were downstairs dancing in their crowded ballroom. The only reason he was attending this ball tonight was to clear up this situation once and for all.

“Your father and I always thought that you and Madeline would make a fine match, Your Grace. Madeline was the toast of London last Season and held off many offers of marriage with the understanding that she would eventually marry you,” Lord Maxwell mumbled, a note of sadness in his tone. He was a very short man with a paunchy middle, typical of his years. He had a round red face, from which bulged pale, watery blue eyes, and his mostly bald head was topped by thin wisps of white hair. His white tie was askew, adding to his usual rumpled appearance, for which his wife, Ellie, was forever berating him.

Alex sighed in weariness. “I understand you were a good friend to my father, and I am sorry that you were given the impression that I was going to marry your daughter. But I made it very clear to my father before he died that I would find a wife of my own choosing. However charming Madeline is, I do not think that we would suit each other. I have known her since she was a child, and I have no interest in her. Since my father died last summer, your wife and daughter have deluded half of London into believing that I am about to offer for her. Even my own friends are beginning to believe it!” Noticing the expression on Lord Maxwell’s face, he tried to reiterate it more kindly. “Madeline is a lovely young lady and will make a wonderful wife for some man. I am simply not that man. And not at any time have I ever led her, or you, or my own father to believe otherwise.”

The last thing he wanted was a marriage to a spoiled little society chit like Madeline Maxwell. Everyone had heard the stories about her childhood and the excess to which her parents had spoiled her. The Maxwells had given their little girl her own miniature pony and cart at four years old, an extravagant Worth gown from Paris made especially for her at age ten, and a diamond and ruby tiara for her sixteenth birthday. How would one ever satisfy a wife with those expectations?

An uncomfortable silence ensued before the duke added, “If you do not wish to inform Madeline of my true intentions, I will discuss the matter with her personally.”

“It is just that she has her heart set on you and I don’t know how to break the news to her.” Lord Maxwell’s small, beefy hand shook as he took a gulp of whiskey. “Or to my wife.”

The duke ignored that last statement. “Tonight we can say that Madeline has changed her mind and that she does not wish to marry me.”

Lord Maxwell scoffed at the very idea. “Who would believe that?”

The duke knew that Lord Maxwell was correct. At thirty years old he was the most sought-after bachelor in London. The good Lord had graced him with innumerable assets. A keen intelligence, a charming magnetism, and a vast fortune were just a few of the features that made him attractive to the opposite sex. The Duke of Woodborough was an uncommonly handsome man and well aware of it. Yet he did not flaunt or take advantage of its powers. “Well, she could say that she dislikes me. She could say that I am a cad, a rake, a drunkard. I really don’t care how she explains it. Blame everything on me and I will not say a word against her.”

“Everyone just assumed that you and Madeline would marry, especially since your father passed away. But I suppose I could just let the word out that there will be no marriage.” Lord Maxwell conceded sadly, his fat jowls sagging in misery.

The duke said, “Well, it is not as though there has ever been a formal announcement about it.”

“And what sort of announcement would that be?” a playful, girlish voice asked.

Lady Madeline Maxwell, a petite vision of femininity in a baby blue silk gown that accentuated the pale blue of her eyes, breezed into the library. She tossed her yellow curls and smiled sweetly at her father, then turned her full attention upon the Duke of Woodborough.

“Uh…Madeline…darling…The duke and I were…just…discussing…” Lord Maxwell stammered weakly.

The duke, looking directly at Lady Madeline, explained without pretense, “The fact that there will be no marriage between us.”

The bright smile vanished from Madeline’s pretty face. “Whatever do you mean, Your Grace?”

She was confused. This was not going at all how she intended. The duke, after settling matters with her father, was supposed to ask her to stroll in the rose garden and while there become so captivated by her charm and beauty that he would propose marriage. Ask her to be his duchess. The Duchess of Woodborough. That was what was supposed to happen. But now…

She did not like the look of his eyes. They were frosty and hard. Ice blue. She was accustomed to gentlemen looking at her with longing and appreciation. Men always did what she wanted them to. They were so easy to manipulate. A flutter of her long eyelashes, one pretty pout, a toss of her curls, and they were hers.

The duke was not behaving correctly. She had been positive that he was in love with her when they spoke last Christmas at the Talbots’ Holiday Ball. He had smiled at her and commented that she had grown into a lovely young lady and that she was no longer the little girl he remembered teasing. She mentioned that their fathers hoped that they would marry someday, and he said he was aware of their wishes.

Everyone thought that they should marry. Everyone said she was perfect for him. His own father had wanted him to marry her, knowing full well that she would make a beautiful duchess. Every man wanted her. He would be crazy not to marry her! Yet he did not look like a man about to propose marriage now, standing before the mantel with his handsome features set in a dark scowl. So what had gone wrong?

“I mean, Lady Madeline, that I do not appreciate the gossip about us. However lovely you are, I have never mentioned marriage to you, or anyone else for that matter. You and I have not even seen each other in months. I am sorry to put this so bluntly, but I have no intention of proposing to you,” the duke stated, his eyes locked with Madeline’s.

An anguished moan escaped from Lord Maxwell. He sank heavily into a rich leather armchair, taking another long gulp of whiskey as he went.

Lady Madeline was stunned. Utterly stunned. No one had ever spoken so rudely to her before. How dare he! Her mind raced feverishly as she struggled to get her thoughts around the meaning of his words.

He did not want her.

He did not want her. Her. How could he not want her? Why, she was the one that everyone wanted! Didn’t he just say that she was lovely? But wasn’t she the loveliest, the most charming, the most fashionable, the most graceful? How could he not want her? There must be some terrible mistake.

“But everyone believes that we will be betrothed, Your Grace.” She posed dramatically with her hands to her heart, hoping that he would notice how attractive her bosom was in her low-cut French gown.

Ignoring her affected posturing, he asked with quiet determination, “Whose fault is that, Lady Madeline?”

“Papa?” Madeline turned to her father for confirmation that this man did not want to marry her. The idea was completely preposterous. The duke could not treat her this way. Surely her father would make him marry her. Her father always got her what she wanted.

Lord Maxwell could not meet his daughter’s eyes and sank lower into his chair. “I’m sorry, my dear.” He finished off his whiskey and stared at the empty glass.

This is impossible, Madeline thought. Everyone knew that they were getting married. She was going to be the Duchess of Woodborough. Her mother had said so. Her father had said so. Her friends had said so. Yet here was the duke himself saying it was not true.

He was not going to marry her.

What in heaven’s name was she going to say to everybody? How could she ever show her face again?

If he didn’t love her, her mind reasoned quickly, he must be in love with someone else. But who could it possibly be? There wasn’t a girl in the ton who even came close to matching her in beauty or style. There had to be somebody though. Nothing else made sense. Madeline would find out who she was eventually. There could be no other logical explanation for him to spurn her. White-hot tears of humiliation stung behind her eyes, but she held them back. She clenched her hands so tightly her fingernails cut into the flesh of her palms. She would not cry.

Her pride and vanity bolstered her now. No one could think that the duke turned her away. No, no, no! She had to be the one to turn him down! Yes, that was it! Wouldn’t that be something? The beautiful Lady Madeline Maxwell refused the Duke of Woodborough’s hand in marriage! Why? She simply did not love him! And, oh, but he was devastated, completely crushed by her rejection! The gossips would love that. She would be renowned. Gentlemen would flock to her, wanting to be the one she chose in his place! Yes…Yes. This could work.

However, she would have to marry very quickly to give the impression that she was in love with another all this time, that she had just been torn between her parents’ wishes and her true love. But who? Who…? John Talbot? He was young and handsome but would only be a baron. Besides, he was too serious. Maybe Oliver Parkridge? He was rich, young, somewhat handsome, and would at least become an earl when his father died. She could win him over in no time since he was in love with her already.

Yes, Oliver Parkridge would have to do.

She promptly composed herself and faced the duke. “Well then.” She smiled brightly, while smoothing the silk ruffles of her blue gown.

From the depths of his chair, Lord Maxwell offered in a thin voice, “We can say you refused his hand, my dear.”

Madeline gave a look full of sweetness, addressing her father, yet staring directly at the duke. “Papa, how can I refuse him if I have not yet been asked?”

The duke stared in disbelief at her outrageous implication. “I beg your pardon?”

“I cannot simply lie to everyone,” Madeline stated as if speaking to a small child.

“Now, now, my dear…” began Lord Maxwell, stunned into rising from his chair. It would not do for his daughter to anger the already irritated duke. “Be reasonable.”

Madeline sauntered to the tea cart and calmly poured herself a cup of tea, confident that the duke would do what she wanted. “I must be asked before I can refuse, Your Grace.” She posed prettily with a delicate china teacup in her hand, fluttering her eyelashes with just the right amount of innocence.

The duke muttered something under his breath. “Let me understand this, Lady Madeline. You wish for me to propose marriage to you now, so that you can refuse me honestly?”

“Yes.” She used the full force of her baby blue eyes to appeal to him. “Is that too much to ask?”

The clock on the mantel ticked rather loudly, echoing the silence of the elegant library. Madeline watched the tense emotions play across his face. He did not know what to make of her. Nevertheless, she knew him to be a gentleman. She waited patiently.

“Will you marry me, Lady Madeline?” The words were harsh, his voice like ice.

She set down the teacup, fluttered her long lashes again, and spoke with soft earnestness. “Thank you, Your Grace. You do me a great honor, but I fear that I cannot accept your proposal in good faith, although our families dearly wish for us to marry. To state it quite simply, I am in love with another. I hope you are not too disappointed. Please consider me your friend. I could not bear for anyone to believe that there were any ill feelings between us. Now if you will please excuse me, I must return to our guests. Good evening, Your Grace. Papa.” Lady Madeline turned and glided from the library, leaving the two men standing there quite speechless.

“How did she take it?” Lily Sherwood asked, handing the Duke of Woodborough a crystal glass filled with the finest bourbon his money could buy.

“Thank you.” He kissed her cheek as he gratefully accepted the drink from her. “She handled it better than I expected. Lord Maxwell actually seemed to take it harder than she did. But then again, he has to live with her and her disappointment. Poor old man.” He shook his head grimly as he sipped his bourbon.

Lily gave a little laugh. “Well, as I said earlier, all of London is under the impression that you are going to marry this girl. You’ve been buried out at Ridge Haven and Summerfields since Christmas and have ignored all the talk about you and her.” Lily’s dark eyes sparkled with a seductive gleam. “You have to admit, it was rather an ingenious plan. She even had your father’s consent. You can’t blame the girl for trying.”

With her silky black hair, clear white skin, supple body, and long legs, Lily Sherwood had once been an acclaimed ballerina. But she was over thirty years old now and well past the time when she could dance for a living. The duke met her six years ago after one of her performances at the theater. He had been taken by her stunning beauty and quiet manner. So much so that he set her up in an elegant house in a fine neighborhood and provided very well for her, an arrangement of which she did not take advantage. They had a good relationship and they enjoyed each other’s company immensely, both in and out of the bedroom.

“I’m going back to Ridge Haven tomorrow. I need to get out of London.” He laid down on his back, settling into the comfortable pillow-strewn sofa.

“But you only arrived a few days ago.” She brushed her hand along his arm. “We’ve hardly seen each other.”

He groaned at the prospect of remaining in the city. He could not stomach another Season of greedy women vying for his attention. The first Season he had participated in during his early twenties had soured him on the whole marriage business. It wouldn’t matter if he were a miserable miser with a hump and one eye, as long as he was the Duke of Woodborough and had money, women would seek him out to be his wife. Since his father’s death, his obligation to marry had been brought to light with more urgency, and he had steeled himself to participate in the coming Season. And once again, he found himself the object of acquisitiveness in women. The last straw had been that conniving Madeline Maxwell and her mother. The entire situation left him with a sordid feeling. Imagine the gall of that girl in demanding that he propose so that she could refuse him to save face in circumstances of her own creation! At least the matter was done now. Marriage! It turned females into crazed creatures and turned him off the entire thought of it. Oh, he knew marrying well was his duty, and he had every intention of fulfilling that duty, but for some strange reason he needed to know that he was wanted for something more than just his title and wealth.

“I know. But I cannot abide all these marriage-hungry mothers, throwing their dreary daughters at me. It’s appalling. I spent most of the evening outside to get away from the matchmakers.” His hands set her long hair free from its knot atop her head, sending it cascading in dark silky waves around them.

She made mocking tsk, tsk sounds as she teased him. “Poor baby. Women falling at your feet. All men should have such troubles.” Her sheer negligee barely covered her as she stretched her lithe dancer’s body on top of him.

He laughed with ease and kissed her, but inwardly he wished Lily understood what he meant. He wanted something special. Something different from anything he had yet to find. And not for the first time this evening, an image of Caroline Armstrong flashed through his mind.

“You have to marry, and once you do, all these women will leave you alone. Or so one would think.” Her long fingers caressed the masculine line of his jaw. “You’re too handsome by far, Alex.”

He took Lily’s hand in his and kissed her fingers one by one. It seemed throughout his childhood he was reminded that he would inherit the highly vaunted title of Duke of Woodborough one day. To that end, he never knew if he was valued for himself or for his title.

“Just get married. Just get married. Carry on the family name. Have sons. Pass on the title. That is all I have heard my whole life. It was my father’s dying wish to me last summer, and it was my father who began all this nonsense with the Maxwells in the first place, all the while knowing that I had no desire to marry that spoiled, vain, little twit. Now it seems that every female of my acquaintance has taken it upon herself to see that I get married.”

“So marry someone,” Lily suggested, placing feathery kisses along his jawline until she encountered his ear, where she began to nibble delicately, which she knew from years of experience that he adored.

“Do you think I haven’t thought about doing that? But I cannot marry just anyone.”

She began to undo the buttons of his finely starched, white shirt. “Men do it all the time. Choose some biddable young girl with a pretty face, a good family, and a large dowry, and marry her,” she said somewhat sarcastically.

He playfully swatted her bottom. “I don’t wish to marry someone simply because she has the proper pedigree. These empty-headed girls only want me for my title and my money. They don’t want to know me. Who I really am. I need something more from a wife. I want to marry…” His voice trailed off as he thought of a green-eyed beauty who did not wish to marry.

Lily suddenly stilled her movements, her heartbeat increasing its pace. “You’re actually looking for a love match, aren’t you?”

He caught her hands in his. “Now that you mention it, I suppose I am.” With a brooding look, he formed into words the thoughts that had been buried within him for years. “I’ve seen too many marriages turn out badly, full of bitterness and anger. I want a marriage similar to the one my parents shared. They truly loved each other and were genuinely happy together. Why should I have to settle for less to fulfill an ancestral obligation? I want to marry someone I actually wish to spend my time with. Someone intelligent and passionate. Not one of these mindless girls on the marriage mart.”

Lily blinked, her dark eyes wide. He had never talked of his feelings about marriage to her before. Being a realist, she knew he could never marry her, a common dancer from the East End slums of London, nor had she expected it of him. She clearly understood that a duke had to marry. It was his familial duty. However, she cherished the idea that one day he might love her. She wouldn’t care if he married some dim-witted society girl like Madeline Maxwell. A girl like that could never make him happy, which is precisely why she didn’t mind. He could keep his little society wife and still love Lily. She had loved this man for five years and, if she knew nothing else, she knew without a doubt that if he married for love then it would be over between them. “What if you don’t find that someone?” she asked in a breathless whisper.

He smiled seductively and tugged at the silken ties of her negligee, revealing her creamy white breasts. “Then I’ll remain a bachelor all my life.”

Lily placed her mouth on his and kissed him with an eager need, and he pulled her against his aroused body, blocking all thoughts of marriage from their minds.