An Undesirable Duke Page 12

  “You should have tread the boards,” she said as she accepted a glass of lemonade.

  “Can you imagine? My father would have had an apoplexy. I did enjoy performing plays in school.”

  “Which was your favorite?”

  “Titus Andronicus.”

  Violet grimaced. “Truly? That is one of Shakespeare’s vilest plays.”

  “I know, but for young boys it’s quite fun to reenact the gruesome parts.”

  Violet shuddered. “It was awful just to read it.”

  “I saw my brother enter while we were dancing. He looked like he wanted to geld me. I’d say we’re off to an excellent start.”

  Violet sobered. She’d seen Weirick enter, and Lord Luther had not returned. “I’m still not convinced this will work.”

  “You don’t know my brother like I do.”

  “Yes, and I don’t think he wants me to.”

  Roderick shrugged carelessly. “Leave my brother to me, all you have to do is be yourself.”

  “I don’t have to pretend to be wooed by you?”

  “No, that would be taking it a bit far. I don’t want him to think you return my feelings.”

  Violet shook her head. “I don’t understand how this will work.” It felt terrible to manipulate Weirick like this. Roderick had appeared before her the moment Weirick left her to deal with Lord Luther. His eyes had appraised her, making her feel worse than before. Bernie had come to her defense again, but this time Violet had to hold her own. She wasn’t this weak-natured, not usually, but lately doubt had reared its ugly head. Nothing was turning out as she’d thought it would, nothing was coming as easy as she thought it would. If it was meant to be, it would just happen, wouldn’t it?

  She needed her sister, and she wished she could confess to her mother, but in the end, it was up to Violet, and only Violet.

  Except now it seemed she needed Roderick to help her.

  “I expect you to be a gentleman at all times,” Violet warned.

  “I swear it upon my bleak, shriveled heart.” He pressed his hand to his chest.

  Violet wasn’t convinced. “Do you?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Can no one trust me? I want this as much as you do.”

  “But I don’t understand why.” Violet caught Bernie’s eye as she headed their way. Bernie had Josie and Jeanette with her.

  Roderick sighed heavily. It caught Violet off guard.

  “Look, suffice it to say, I don’t want my brother to leave. Somewhere inside the monster lives the man my brother used to be, a man that was my brother. We didn’t always get along, but he is still my brother, and he taught me a lot about life and how to be a man. More than my own father did. Where my father lacked any interest at all, Weirick took an interest. We’re as different as different can be, but we’re brothers, sons of the same cold, soulless man. He needs to remain in London and learn to be himself again.”

  Violet was so stunned, she couldn’t tear her eyes from his even as the three Marsden sisters waited to be acknowledged.

  Bernie cleared her throat. “We’re going home.”

  Violet licked her lips, collecting her scattered thoughts as she faced Bernie. Bernie looked upset, as did her sisters.

  “Is something amiss?”

  Jeanie and Josie sent worried looks to Bernie. “Chester and I had a row. Roderick, will you escort us home? Not that it’s necessary. I mean, I can see our house from here, even in the dark.”

  “Nonsense, I will escort you three home, Miss Everly.” Roderick bowed.

  “My lord, thank you for the dance.”

  “It will always be my pleasure, Miss Everly.”

  Violet watched them leave and stood to bid good night to her mother and the duchess. She retired to her room, which felt large and empty without Bernie to help fill it. Violet rang for Janice, ignoring a twinge of guilt. She needed company, or her thoughts would eat her alive.

  Roderick demanded he see Bernie and her sisters to the door, if only because they vehemently implied he didn’t need to. He insisted he must, especially when he saw the pale face that peeked from the curtains in the front parlor of the Marsden home, and his curiosity was piqued. Curiosity was a dangerous thing, especially when it involved Annette Marsden.

  She loathed him on site, for crimes too pathetic to remember now. The imbecilic things boys did to get attention from girls, only Roderick had failed miserably, because the only thing Annette Marsden saw when she looked at Roderick was something foul. He sniffed himself, just to be sure he smelt fine.

  Bernie scowled at him as he helped her from the carriage and followed them into the front hall of their quaint home. It was dark inside, with only a faint glow, and even fainter warmth coming from the small drawing off to the right. Like a ghost, she approached slowly, covered in virginal white from head to toe, her soft footsteps too silent to be heard. He willed his heart to cease its frantic pace. He slipped his hand in his pocket, itching to take hold of his pencil and the small book of paper he always kept on his person for moments like this, when inspiration gripped him tightly. He felt the pencil snap in his fist.

  Annette’s pale face was framed by a cascade of dark curls as she stepped into the hall where a single candle burned. “You’re not Chester,” she said to him. He was astonished she spoke to him at all.

  “Indeed, I am not.” There, he’d seen her; his innards were now quaking with a mix of fear and delight. Time to retreat. Without another word, he left them standing there, thinking any matter of things about him. He didn’t mind. He enjoyed drama.

  Chapter 14

  Weirick was foxed and seated behind his desk, ready to deal with his brother. He’d stuck a footman by the front door to wait for Roderick’s return and send him to Weirick’s study immediately. Weirick had no idea if guests lingered downstairs, he thought not since it was relatively quiet. He stared at his glass of whisky until a knock on the door startled him. He jerked in his seat, which made him feel like an idiot. Certainly not the best way to begin an argument with Roderick Andrews. The man could smell weakness, just as their father could.

  Only Roderick did have softer qualities, but Weirick was not in the mood to celebrate his brother’s better parts.

  Weirick was only in the mood to remove parts. “Come in,” he growled.

  Roderick entered, took one look at Weirick, and went to pour himself a drink. “I can only imagine what it is that’s upset you now, dear brother.”

  “I told you she wasn’t for you.” Weirick snarled at his brother. As usual, Roderick remained calm. It always infuriated Weirick how calm Roderick could be in the face of Weirick’s or their father’s tempers.

  Roderick sniffed his whiskey before taking a sip. “Yes, but when I left her for you, you didn’t take her. I’d never waste such a gift.”

  “She’s a woman, not an object.” Weirick clenched his fists.

  “Exactly, she’s the perfect woman, none of these women compare to her. Mother agrees.” Roderick eased himself into the chair in front of Weirick’s desk and took an appreciative sip of whisky.

  “Mother doesn’t understand,” Weirick grumbled. It seemed that no one understood that Weirick was trying to do this for them.

  “Of course not. None of us understands why you’re so hell bent to see me married.”

  Weirick sighed heavily and leaned back against his chair. He covered his face with his hands, groaning. “I’ve told you. To ensure the wellbeing of both of you when I leave.”

  “We did fine without you.” Roderick took another sip.

  “When the duke was alive.”

  “The duke is alive, you’re the duke, Weirick. You’re the one who doesn’t understand what you’re doing.”

  “And what is that?” Weirick snapped.

  Roderick grinned, and Weirick’s stomach tightened into a rock, a solidified ball of dread. Weirick was going to hate whatever Roderick said next.

  “Trying to give me the life you would have had, had you not beaten Benedict ou
t of his inheritance. You want me to have everything you would have had, except the wife, Violet.”

  The rock grew, filling his abdomen, stealing whatever space his lungs needed to inflate. “Don’t be absurd. No one knows if I would have married her.”

  “Oh no, I know brother. If you had met her in town, as your former hot-blooded, civilized self, it would have been the wedding of the season—nay the decade. Don’t fool yourself. You’re mad for her.”

  Weirick laughed because his brother was right about one thing. Weirick was mad, for Violet, for freedom from this life. He could admit it, though it wouldn’t change anything because the two parts could never exist together. “Nothing will convince me to stay here.” He threw back the last of his whiskey.

  “Would you care to wager on it?”

  “Name your price.” Weirick grinned painfully. The pressure inside him eased with the burn of the whiskey. He stood to pour himself more.

  “The dukedom.”

  “I’m trying to hand you the dukedom, why would you wager against it?”

  “Because I like a gamble better than a sure thing. Risk makes life so much more rewarding.”

  Weirick wanted to throttle his brother, but he restrained himself. He poured a large draught and faced his brother. “You’re an idiot.”

  “And yet you want to leave me the dukedom. What makes you think I won’t run it into the ground?” Roderick leaned one elbow on the desk.

  Weirick snorted. “I plan for you to marry a smart wife who won’t let you, that’s how.” Miss Copperpot, to be exact.

  Roderick scoffed. “We shall see, dear brother.”

  Weirick bit his tongue. He knew Roderick wanted him to lose his temper. Watching Weirick lose control was one of Roderick’s favorite past times, and he’d become an expert at baiting Weirick. Weirick must have learned something from Sonam, because for once, he was able to maintain a semblance of control. He smiled slowly. “I’ll take your wager.”

  “And Miss Everly?”

  “I’ll never approve of your marriage to Miss Everly, so forget about her.”

  “I think you’ve already proven that forgetting Miss Everly is impossible to do. Why don’t we let her choose?”

  “She’d never choose you.” The rock was back in his abdomen, and now a vein throbbed in his temple. He returned to his desk and sat, willing himself to remain calm. He opened a ledger and pretended to review the blurred figures on the page.

  “I’d still like to try, that is…if you won’t have her.”

  “No one is going to have her,” Weirick said between clenched teeth.

  “That is where you’re wrong, dear brother. Someday, someone will marry Violet. That someone may as well be me.” Roderick stood and casually adjusted the cuffs of his coat.

  Weirick gripped the desk lest he lunge at his brother. He knew Roderick used her name so casually to taunt him—everything Roderick did was to taunt him. Weirick reminded himself of that, repeating the words in his head until he had calmed enough to release his grip on the desk and take a breath.

  “I don’t know how to convince you that she isn’t the right woman for you, Roderick. Can you not learn from father’s mistakes? She…she is too beautiful, and that beauty has a price. Women like that never learn to love, they never learn to trust or see people for more than their titles and money.”

  “You don’t believe that, do you? Not about Violet?” Roderick crossed his arms.

  Weirick would almost say his brother looked angry. “Don’t say her name like that.”

  “Like what?” Roderick sneered.

  “Like you know her, like you care about her.” Damn it, he was losing it. Just hearing her name on his brother’s lip in that smug, know-it-all fashion, as if he did know Violet, as if he knew the smell of her hair, the softness of her skin.

  “Father’s sins were his own, and I happen to believe there are very few people in the world like him. Violet certainly isn’t one of them.”

  “Don’t say her name.” Weirick growled, he hardly recognized his own voice, or the deadly threat imbedded in the words.

  “Why not?”

  “She hasn’t given you leave—”

  “She has.” Roderick grinned.

  Weirick could only stare at his brother in burning, vengeful fury.

  Roderick stepped forward and leaned on the desk. “If you can’t see her like I do, you don’t deserve her, not then, not now.” Roderick stood, smoothing his jacket and turning his back on Weirick.

  Weirick watched Roderick leave without a word, the rock inside him growing ever larger, crushing him. It weighed him down until he couldn’t breathe. He pushed himself out of the chair and grabbed the decanter. He put the bottle to his lips and swallowed the fiery liquid until the rock disappeared and all he could feel was fire.

  When Weirick woke the next morning, he was on the floor of his study and Greyson was shaking him awake.

  “Your Grace? Are you ill? Do you wish me to summon the doctor? Your mother?”

  Weirick covered his eyes and groaned. “I’m drunk, Greyson. No one can help me.”

  “I’ll have a bath brought to your room promptly.” Greyson pushed himself to his feet and pulled the bell cord. “Do you need assistance getting to your room?”

  Weirick waved him away. “Just a bath for now, and a hot poker to stab through my eye will do.”

  Greyson whispered fervently to someone behind the door. He closed it as Weirick pushed open the panel door to his room but he paused. The sun was barely up. “Why are you here, Greyson?”

  “The duchess wished me to wake you. Last night the guests decided to venture to the shore during low tide. Her Grace thought you might like to join them this morning.”

  “No.” Weirick leaned one hand against the wall and rubbed his face. His eyes felt like coarse rocks in his eye sockets. “I’ll be returning to bed for the time being. The guests can hunt for shells without me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Weirick stumbled up the stairs to his chamber. He climbed onto his bed and didn’t bother to open his eyes, even when his chamber door opened and footmen filled his tub. When he next opened his eyes, he was blessedly alone. The water still steamed, and he could smell the spicy aroma of ginger tea. Weirick knew as much as he wished to linger in bed, feeling like a deer carcass after cleaning, he would have to rise and present himself before his mother, or she would hunt him down and remind him how woefully suited he was for this life. Weirick didn’t need a reminder. He already longed for Tibet and the quiet village of Jungney. There were no brothers there, and certainly no Violets.

  The mere thought of his brother and Violet occupying the same space in his head, let alone this house, jolted him awake. He undressed and threw himself into the bath, his breath hissing out of his lungs as he submerged himself in the scalding water. It was soon bearable, and his battered muscles eased as the water and lavender oil worked it’s magic.

  Trust Greyson, or perhaps Mrs. Kemp, to know exactly what he needed. He would miss them when he was gone, but he wouldn’t miss the emotional baggage that came with caring for people. It was already destroying him, taking him apart little by little, and it all started the moment Violet arrived.

  He slipped under the water, pinching his eyes closed so tightly he saw bursts of color. He stayed there until his lungs begged for air and surfaced. He stood from the water, watching the steam rise from his skin. Climbing from the bath, he toweled himself and dressed. He needed to speak with Sonam and see how the ex-monk was faring. If all went as Weirick planned, they would be leaving in a matter of weeks. Sonam would be pleased, and Weirick would be relieved.

  He almost felt like himself again by the time he left his chamber and headed back to his study through the secret passage. He’d start with a ride on Hugo, that would clear the rest of his head from this fog, and then he’d visit Sonam. He pushed the panel door and stepped into his study.

  He froze as a teary-eyed Violet turned to face him.


  Chapter 15

  She was in her purple dress again, the one that she’d worn when they argued in the keep. Weirick suspected it must be a favorite of hers. He swallowed and closed the panel door, coming around to his desk and putting a necessary distance between them. “Something has gone awry, I take it? Is it Roderick?”

  “No, Your Grace.” She looked back at the study door. It was ajar.

  Weirick closed it, his stomach balling into a knot, not as severe as last night, but it had potential. “Then what is it?” He resumed his position behind the desk and sat, shuffling papers.

  “Miss Porter.”

  His hands stilled. “Miss Porter, Lord Luther’s daughter?”

  Violet nodded. “I begged you not to do anything regarding Lord Luther for a reason. The blame will always fall to me, and so will the consequences. The other guests know what happened, and they know that you spoke to him shortly after. He didn’t return, and I am to blame.” She sniffed.

  “Are you saying Miss Porter retaliated against you? That girl doesn’t look like she could hurt a fly. Did she say something to you?” He couldn’t imagine Violet succumbing to tears over a biting comment from Miss Porter, but maybe he was wrong.

  Violet let out an agitated huff. “She humiliated me in front of everyone this morning. This is precisely why I asked you to do nothing. This is your fault.”

  “Mine? I defended you, and countless future women who would fall prey to such a man. What could she do that has you so perturbed?”

  “She dropped sand in my bodice.” Violet blushed.

  Weirick folded his arms, fury coursing through him. “She dropped sand down your…” His eyes briefly touched on her bodice before returning to her red-rimmed eyes. “I would assume she’s jealous of your attributes.” He regretted his words immediately.

  “She isn’t jealous. She’s embarrassed because of what her father did. Everyone saw it, if you remember.”