An Undesirable Duke Read online

  With everyone enjoying the picnic in the conservatory, Violet had no impediment on her way to the study. Stepping before the door, she looked both ways down the hall and knocked.

  A grunt answered the knock, not something human in any way, so she knocked again. This time there were heavy footsteps and the door was yanked open.

  “What”—he blinked and stepped back—“is it,” he said much softer than when he began. “Violet?”

  “May I come in?”

  He looked into the hall. “I shouldn’t allow you, but the risk is yours, not mine.” He stepped back so she could enter.

  Violet looked around the room. She had yet to see it in daylight, with the curtains closed and the storm outside, it felt like night. A fire warmed the room, and an oil lamp on the desk provided sufficient light.

  Violet swallowed, taking a chair and balling her fists in her skirt. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “You are.” He took his seat behind the desk. “What is it you need, Miss Everly?”

  She should call him out on his lie. She had every right to, but she didn’t know where to begin. He looked so composed and controlled, when Violet had to focus on keeping her hands still.

  “You remember me, don’t you?”

  He raised his brow. “I don’t know what you want me to say, it was a long time ago.”

  “It was, but that moment, I’m beginning to think, was memorable for both of us.”

  He sighed and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. “I was young and stupid. Whatever I said to make you think there was something more to our meeting than there was, I’m profoundly sorry.”

  Anger burst inside her chest, hot and pulsing. Violet stood and leaned on the desk. It didn’t matter that her knees shook, she was done pretending, and she was done being condescended to. “You told your brother you knew me. He is so convinced of it that he thinks we were intimate. If you remember, there is a reason you remember, and it isn’t just because I’m pretty, or that you were young and reckless and thought it a lark to challenge me to a duel. You remember me because there was something special about that meeting. Something that we both recognized. We were both young, Your Grace, and more than a little self-involved, but you saw something in me, and I saw it in you.”

  “And what is this ambiguous something. Have you any idea, Violet?” He leaned forward, his face hard. “It’s just like a woman to invent emotions and events that have more meaning than they ought.”

  “Stop lying.” She leaned forward also. “If it didn’t mean a damn thing then you wouldn’t have lied.” Her hands itched to swipe the desk clear of its contents and climb over it. That would shock him.

  He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. His expression didn’t change, but Violet thought maybe she’d caught him off guard. He exhaled and pushed away from the desk, coming to stand before her. Violet didn’t move; she would not give in to his intimidation tactics. He stepped closer, his energy pressing back against hers, willing her to step back, submit to him, but Violet stood firm.

  “And what if I do remember that day?”

  “Which you do.”

  “Do you think I feel anything of which you say I felt then? This something?”

  “You do.”

  He squinted his eyes at her and folded his arms. His forearms brushed her breasts as he did so, and her nipples tingled in response. She wasn’t sure if he’d done it on purpose. In the past, men frequently tried to touch her breasts, innocent brushes with an arm, or worse, the elderly gentlemen attempted a discreet pinch. Violet loathed it, but right now Weirick had done it, and it felt…nice. She glanced down at his arms, and then back to his face. His expression hadn’t changed.

  “You think you can tell me what I feel?” His voice had deepened, the rough grate softened to a purring rumble.

  “Maybe not, but you aren’t being truthful and that certainly means something. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t have bothered with me, you wouldn’t care if your brother chose me.”

  His expression hardened even more, marble turning to rough stone, lips pinching at the corners. “You aren’t good enough for my brother.”

  Violet stepped back, struck by the venom in the words. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Whatever the something was long ago, I grew out of it. I know what women like you are about.”

  “Wo-women like me?” Violet retreated behind the chair. She pressed a hand to her stomach where she was sure her heart had dropped.

  “Conniving, manipulative, reaching, shallow. He looks just like me, doesn’t he? A touch more arrogant than I ever was.”

  Violet scoffed. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

  “Definitely more foolish and easily corrupted by a pretty face and”—his eyes dropped to her breasts—“other attributes.” Violet crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself.

  “And what is your excuse, Your Grace, for your behavior. You came to me first, you kissed me first.”

  “I need you out of the way so Roderick can choose someone better.” He prowled around the chair.

  Violet kept space between them, her heart clamoring, her throat tightening. Her heart was breaking all over again. “You’re wrong about me.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes.”

  “How so?”

  “You’ve painted me with a broad stroke. Yes, there are women who bear the faults you accuse me of, but the only reason I accepted the invitation here was to see you again.”

  He snorted. “Please continue, I love the theatre.”

  Violet swallowed. “Whatever it is you think of me, you’re wrong. I want to know you, but you won’t let me. Your ignorance is blinding you.”

  “You dare to call my honesty, ignorance? My honesty is a gift, Miss Everly.”

  “Am I not worthy of my name now, Your Grace? You’ve taken liberties of me, invited me into your inner sanctum, and yet consider me nothing but the worst of womankind. Do I have the right of it?”

  “I’m a man, Violet. I take what is freely offered from a beautiful woman.”

  “I never offered you more than my heart, Weirick, but you don’t want that.” Violet turned on her heel and darted for the door. A sob stole her breath, her lungs seizing as she reached for the door.

  His arms closed around her like a vice. He lifted her and spun, carrying her to the hidden door.

  “No.” Violet gasped for air.

  “I’m not done with you.”

  She gulped down a breath, finding her voice. “And I’m not done with you, but I’ve had all I can take for the moment.”

  “I can’t let you leave in a huff of womanly rage. Lord knows what you’ll do.”

  “I’ll not let you drag me to your room like some—some—despot.”

  He laughed, pushed the panel, and secluded them in the dimly lit hall. He set her on her feet. “I promise I won’t do anything you don’t beg me to do.”

  “I’m begging you to release me.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then when?”

  “When you’ve calmed.”

  “I am calm, you’re the one kidnapping me.”

  “It’s not kidnapping when we haven’t left the castle.” He let her go on the first step and stared at her with something like amusement. He was blocking the door to the study, so Violet turned and marched up the stairs. He followed her, his presence at her back making her itch to turn and face him. Instead, she carried on into his room, ignoring him as she went straight to his chamber door and tried to open it.

  “It’s locked. I have the key.” He was over by the windows now. Violet scowled at him.

  “You’re not what I thought you were, you know.”

  “Is that so?”

  “You’re a lunatic.”

  “A lunatic you happen to be infatuated with.”

  “Given time, I’m sure you’ll drive it away.”

  He smiled at her. “I like you this way.”

  �
��Imprisoned?”

  “Passionate.”

  She bit her tongue. She didn’t want to think about passion; she didn’t want to think about the large bed that dominated the room, or the man that made her feel on fire inside her skin. Rage, passion, what was the difference. He’s cut her down to something she didn’t like. Confused, doubting her own heart again and her head. She didn’t deserve this. All his judgments were because of imagined crimes she’d committed. It galled her. She knew the type of women he spoke of, and she was not one of them. She didn’t care if he was titled or not, she didn’t want him for his wealth. If he was a common blacksmith, he’d still make her heart hammer with more force than a forge. But instead, he treated her like garbage.

  His lips had lied effortlessly, with words and with kisses. He’d made her feel special, even now with just the memory of those kisses, and yet he tore her down. She wasn’t going to win like this, not if he was going to be this way.

  Roderick’s plan came to mind. She would have to be all those things Weirick had labeled her. She watched him stare out the window, overcome by her own defeat. She sniffed and his attention snapped back to her.

  “Are you crying?”

  “Over you? Of course not.” Violet turned and faced the door. “It’s dusty in here. Do you let them clean or do you like living in filth?”

  She heard his chuckle, but he didn’t respond. Violet gave up her vigil by the door and poured herself a drink. She returned to the chair she’d occupied before and attempted to appear comfortable, but inside her there was a riot of emotions. Her head and heart argued bitterly, her heart wailing for closeness, for a heated embrace. Her head told her to give up and retreat. She sipped the whisky slowly, trying to calm herself and regain some semblance of herself.

  What was her objective here? She’d called him out on the lie, but that hadn’t gone well. Did she expect him to confess his love because she’d caught him? Well, perhaps a little part of her had hoped for that. She finished her drink, her heart heavy and her stomach warmed from the whisky. She truly didn’t feel well. It was time to retreat. She pushed to her feet. “Will you let me go now?”

  He was staring out the window again. “I want to show you something.”

  His stride ate up the distance between them, and he took her hand. Violet’s heart turned into a rabbit in her chest, thumping erratically with excitement. They left his chamber and took the back stairs down to the ground floor. They went through a dark, musty hall and across the bailey of the castle to the keep. He pushed open the door, and they climbed a narrow set of stairs until they reached the highest floor. They stood at the foot of a set of brittle wooden steps, leading to a wood hatch in the ceiling. He let go of her hand and climbed up to open the hatch. The wood groaned under his weight. Violet tucked her hands together, holding on to the warmth from his. A bright light blinded her as he opened the hatch and climbed down. Violet didn’t know why she allowed herself to be dragged along, but she did. Would she ever understand why this man held her heart captive?

  He waved her up the hatch. “Don’t worry, I’ll follow so I can catch you in case you slip.”

  “How chivalrous, considering you don’t like me,” Violet muttered.

  He shrugged. “That doesn’t mean I want to see you hurt.” Violet wondered if that shrug summed up his feelings for her. She began to climb, fresh, crisp air striking her face as she emerged from the hatch onto the roof of the keep. The rain had stopped, but everything was wet and slick.

  Violet walked to the walled edge, built with stones wider than the length of her arm. She’d never been this high before. The wind danced around her, pulling at her hair and skirts. She put her hands on the thick stones and looked over, damp wind rushing up to her face. Her head swam as she looked down. She lurched back and pressed a hand to her midriff as she took a steadying breath.

  “You won’t fall,” he said from some distance behind her.

  “I know.”

  “Look out over the sea, there is nothing like the view from up here. One can see everything.”

  She did, her eyes finding the horizon first to settle her equilibrium. Now she could appreciate the view. She moved to the other side of the keep, looking over the hills and valleys. The storm had passed, and puffy white clouds chased away the charcoal rain clouds, while rays of sunlight stabbed through the cracks to cast a rainbow over the hills. It was a lovely view, stirring hope inside her. She took a deep breath. This was only the second day of a house party that was a fortnight long. These two days had been volatile, to put it frankly. She needed to slow down and think rationally. She’s come out of nowhere and speared him with her feelings. No wonder he didn’t believe her. He didn’t know her, and she didn’t know him. If she wanted the chance, she needed to slow down. Logic, Violet. Figure out who he is. She nodded to herself. The cool air had revitalized her, soothing her wild emotions.

  “Tell my something you love?” she asked. She kept her eyes on the hills but she felt him come to stand beside her.

  “This castle.” He took off his hat and ran a palm over his head. “I can feel the pulse of my ancestors here.”

  Violet nodded. She knew what he meant. There was so much history here, still alive and breathing in the walls.

  “Tell me something you hate?” she asked next.

  “Insincerity.” His words nipped the air, colder than the wind.

  Violet remained silent. Was the barb aimed at her? Or at people in general?

  “Now you.”

  Violet blinked in astonishment. “Me?”

  “Tell me something you love and something you hate.”

  She chewed her lip as she thought for a moment. “I love my family.”

  “That’s too easy.”

  “No, it’s not.” She met his gaze. She would defend her answer to her last breath. “Before Heather, my older sister, met Ablehill, we were destitute. He was our last hope. At the time of the house party where we were to meet him, we had no place else to go. I had three dresses, one nightgown, and only two pairs of stockings, which I shared with my younger sister Prim. I could un-sew and resew a dress by hand to reverse the fabric. We made our handkerchiefs from old nightgowns. When the sun set, we didn’t burn candles unless it was absolutely necessary. We went without oil for a whole week. But it was the way we banded together that made it bearable. My mother… She was so strong, and Heather, she would have married anyone—no matter how terrible, to save us from utter destitution. And Prim always found a way to make us smile. We survived because we had each other.”

  “You survived because Heather found a rich husband.”

  “If you knew the circumstances, you’d see what I mean. It was fate.”

  He laughed now. “Fate? Are you that naïve?”

  “Are you that cynical?” Violet returned.

  “Most definitely.”

  Violet inhaled deeply and then exhaled. The cold damp air tickled her throat and lungs. She cleared her throat. “I won’t be coming to your room again, with or without your invitation.”

  “No?” He moved closer, his arm brushing hers. “But you said you wanted me, you’ve been waiting five years to have me.”

  Violet focused on the wet, rough stone under her hands. It grounded her and gave her the support she needed for what she would say next. “But you don’t want me, Weirick, not the way I wish you did. We don’t know each other, and I built you up in my head to be someone you’re not.”

  “Gallant, handsome…”

  Violet could hear the sneer in his voice. She turned to him and reached up to cup his cheek. He stilled. She hoped she’d shocked him again. “Kind, playful…different from other men. You looked me in the eye and saw who I was. I could feel it. But you’ve forgotten me now. I waited five years to be seen by you again. I tried not to let society change me, but I suppose I failed. I want you to remember me, but I can’t force you. When you remember who I am, maybe you will remember who you were, and we can meet again.” She stepped back. His
brow furrowed as his gaze followed her.

  “Violet.” His voice halted her. It was more serious than she’d ever heard. “That boy died.” He shoved his hat on his head.

  Violet carefully lowered herself to the steps. “That’s not possible. The boy I met would not be felled by scars and betrayal. He’d be stronger because of them.”

  Chapter 12

  Sunday May 8, 1825

  Five days had passed since Violet had left Weirick on the roof of the keep, five days of uncertainty. He showed himself for most of the party engagements, but their eyes never met, and he never came within speaking distance of her. Tonight, the guests would dance in the great hall—not formally, the grand ball was planned for Thursday evening. The pianoforte was moved to the larger room and furniture pushed to the side. There was plenty of group seating for games and conversing, but the main entertainment would be dancing.

  Violet drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair as she looked around the room. She’d successfully avoided Roderick for the past five days, but now as she sat here ruminating in her chaotic thoughts, she could taste desperation. Maybe Roderick was right, maybe Weirick would never care for her until his feelings were tested.

  “Violet!” Bernie hissed.

  “What?” Violet blinked into awareness.

  “I’ve said your name four times. I can guess what you were thinking about, or whom rather, even though it’s been days since you told me not to speak of him.”

  Violet sighed; she looked around the room and couldn’t see Roderick or Weirick in attendance.

  “You look as though you’ve gathered enough wool to cover London.”

  Violet flushed guiltily. “I’ve been thinking about what Roderick said about…his brother’s competitiveness.”

  Bernie nodded encouragingly. “Yes?”

  “Is it true?”