An Undesirable Duke Page 2

  But he had been only a boy, foolish, reckless. He’d thought he was invincible. Events shortly after that fateful meeting proved otherwise. He had blood on his hands and the scars to prove it.

  Weirick pulled off his hat and watched the groom brush Hugo down. He rubbed the tight, scarred skin at the back of his neck and head. It was a nervous habit now. He sighed and put his hat back on; he’d be damned if he was going to hide from a woman. She’s not here for you, he reminded himself.

  Weirick exited the stable, closing his eyes against a burst of tangy sea air and breathed deep. He would miss this place, this smell. He opened his eyes, wary of seeing her. Violet, his mind whispered, Violet Everly. That was all he knew of her, except what his eyes had greedily consumed of her the day they’d met—what was it, five years ago or four? Honey gold hair, with streaks of sunlight. Hazel eyes slightly more green than hazel. A heart-shaped face and full lips desperate for kissing. She had eyes that tilted up at the outside corners, a bit catlike and mischievous.

  She had pluck, he’d give her that. When he’d challenged her to a duel to learn her name, she hadn’t balked. He could see the need for adventure in her eyes.

  But that was then. Now she was after his brother. His brother had everything she could need and want. Money, title, and the sort of masculine beauty women fawned over.

  His scar itched again, a reminder of his own vanity. He wasn’t the man he used to be, and he was grateful he would never fall for such shallow affections. Weirick came around the stable and walked toward the path leading up to the castle. He was aware of his own racing heart, his hands curling into fists as he prepared to come face to face with his past. He forced himself to relax. She was nothing but a memory, and she meant nothing to him now.

  He began to climb. The path curved up the hill in a snake-like fashion, some turns hidden by thickets of coastal brush. He could still see the kite, soaring high above the hill. Perhaps she wasn’t coming down after all. He approached the first bend, intently watching the kite and gauging its distance to its wielder. He looked down just in time to see the flash of gold and green before she plowed into him.

  He absorbed the blow into his body, curling his around hers as they fell to the ground.

  He hit the ground with a grunt, instinctively hugging her tighter. She was motionless in his hold. He rolled her beneath him and pushed up on his elbows, fear and panic mixing together inside him as he searched her face.

  She opened her eyes and blinked. Her mouth popped open in a noiseless gasp.

  He rolled to her side, brushing wisps of hair from her face. “Breath slowly through your nose,” he instructed. She did, her eyes closing in relief as her lungs filled. Her breasts brushed against his chest, but he ignored the sensation. There would be time to enjoy the press of her luscious body once she regained her breath. It was not pleasant to have the wind knocked from one’s lungs.

  She smiled as she opened her eyes. “Thank you,” she rasped.

  “Take it easy.” He stroked her forehead again, pulling his hand away and cursing himself for wanting to touch her. This was the opposite of what he needed to do.

  She nodded and took another deep breath. Weirick fought the urge to look down and admire the fullness of her breasts wrapped in the tight fabric. He eased away. Her body was wreaking havoc with his. He adopted an expression of concern.

  “You should be more careful.” He scooted away and came to his knees.

  “I should but I probably won’t.” She sat up and grinned, dusting her hands on her thighs as if she was perfectly comfortable sitting on a dirt path with a strange man. He came to his feet and offered a hand to assist her. She took it and stood, running her hands over her body to right her clothing and brush away dust and debris. He couldn’t stop himself from watching her, speechless as those hands slowly glided over her waist and the curve of her hips. His mouth went dry.

  He cleared his throat. “Erh…are you hurt?”

  “Not at all.” She smiled at him, a pink blush tinting her cheeks.

  He felt an answering heat wash down his neck and back. “Good, I’ll leave you then.” He turned on his heel and strode back down the hill. He would need another ride to shake these feelings.

  “Wait!” she called out.

  He couldn’t ignore her, and not because it would be absurdly rude. He didn’t give a damn about being rude. Her voice was that of a siren. Deeper and stronger than a typical miss. Not manly, he would never mistake her voice for a man’s, but it certainly wasn’t the grating, high-pitched whine he remembered young women making when he entered society years ago. Her voice was strong and clear. It made his stomach roll pleasantly.

  He turned to face her.

  “Are you all right? I hope I didn’t hurt you?” she asked.

  He bit back a laugh and kept his expression neutral. “Of course not.”

  She crossed the small distance between them, stepping close and brushing the dust from his arm. “This wasn’t how I wanted us to meet again, but it seems like fate that it happened this way.”

  His lungs seized. This was the moment he would disabuse her of whatever notions she had about their meeting. If she wanted a duke, it wouldn’t be him. She could have his brother. His response to her didn’t matter. Lust was only lust.

  “I beg your pardon?” he asked in a cold tone.

  Her glow faded a bit, or maybe it was the effect of the clouds coming in from the ocean.

  “I…I brought the kite hoping you would remember.” She bit her lip. Her teeth folded into the plump skin, and it set his blood on fire.

  “I’ve never been fond of kites myself. They’re for children.” He looked around, avoiding the sight of her mouth at all costs.

  “I have fond memories of this kite.”

  He looked around, frowning at the shrubbery. “Well, you may have lost it now.”

  He looked at her again, only because she was now looking away from him. He watched her bend and pick up the spool. She followed the string until it disappeared in the bushes.

  “It’s lost,” he said.

  “It’s not lost. The string will lead me right to it.”

  He wanted to curse. Was he obligated to help her? He couldn’t leave. She was a guest in his home, not that he wanted her to be. His mother had created the guest list and sent out the invitations. His only contribution had been to include a few close friends he wanted to see one last time. He sighed and stepped to her side. He helped unravel the string from the first bush, but it was imbedded in another, deeper in the thicket.

  “You should give up,” he grumbled. In his periphery, he could see her hands go still. They ceased their tugging on the string and dropped out of view. He turned to her. She was looking up at him with a perplexed frown.

  “Do you not recall that day in the park five years ago?”

  He shrugged. “Which park? You will have to be more specific.” His heart was pounding again. He doubted he would ever feel normal in her presence.

  “Hyde park. I hit you with a kite—this kite. You don’t remember?”

  He blinked and shrugged. “No, I don’t.”

  “You”—she pressed her lips together–“never mind.” She turned away and strode back up the hill.

  “What of your kite?” he called to her.

  “Damn the kite,” she retorted.

  He blinked again, stunned. Violet Everly was not the typical female. In another life, one in which he wasn’t a deformed monster and murderer, he would enjoy pursuing her, getting to know her. Perhaps he would still believe in foolish things like love and trust.

  But that was never to be. Not now, not ever.

  He lost sight of her at the bend. She said the kite meant something to her, and yet she walked away now. Was it all a ploy? Was it over? It had been easier than he thought, pretending not to know her. What had he expected, tears? Protestations of love? He turned away, determined to take a longer ride. If he were a bigger coward, he’d head to the nearest inn, book a room, a
nd avoid the house party and Violet Everly altogether.

  Chapter 3

  Violet returned to her room, her chest burning from holding back the sob that wanted to tear through her. She gulped down air, pressing the backs of her hands to her eyes to stem the tears. I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry. She poured a glass of water and drank greedily.

  So, he didn’t remember her. That wasn’t something she’d considered. She had been so bowled over by their encounter five years ago, she never would have guessed he hadn’t been affected at all. All this time she’d been pining for him, dreaming of him and this moment, and it was all for nothing. She squeezed her fists and her eyes closed as she paced the rug at the foot of her bed.

  Violet stopped her pacing and sat. She couldn’t focus. The pain was so deep inside; it hurt in places she had never imagined could hurt without it being a physical wound. Cupid’s arrow must have struck deep, straight through her heart and out her back. There was no other cause for this. She was in love with a man who did not care enough to remember their meeting.

  How could she let herself do this? All this time, all her emotions wasted on an imaginary man and unrequited feelings. She was a fool, a naïve nitwit to set all her hopes and dreams on one moment, a moment that meant nothing. To think she could have missed the man who was meant for her. No, she wouldn’t think it. If she learned anything from Heather’s rather unique courtship and marriage, it was that fate wouldn’t be denied. Violet didn’t think she was a dreamer, but destiny could not be ignored. She had to trust herself, and that meant trusting her feelings too.

  If he didn’t remember her from before, she would make damn sure he couldn’t forget her now. She would do what she’d been doing for years. Pretending to be interested in the gentlemen around her, enough to keep everyone from knowing the truth, but she would be courting him. She had it down to a fine art. Violet was going to catch his attention, and she was going to do whatever she had to do to keep it.

  She sniffed, dipping a rag in the cool water and wiping her face. It was almost time to wake Mother and dress for afternoon tea. Her first impression on him had been forgettable and her second a disaster; her third would have to be perfect. Violet exchanged her green day dress for a yellow silk that made her hair and skin glow. She needed to look delectable, too enticing to ignore.

  There were a handful of gentlemen that were able to capture her attention, and Violet had used them to test her infatuation for Lord Denton. She’d even allowed innocent liberties, the better to understand her attraction, and why it was still so powerful after years of Lord Denton’s absence had passed. But none of them could make her feel like he had. None of them could steal her heart.

  Now she was going to steal his.

  It seemed an impossible feat. He looked like an impenetrable force, and now that she’d had full contact with his body, it was easy to believe that was true. Were the walls around his heart as thick as his muscled chest? He was more barbarian than gentleman, something that would put most women off, but Violet was intrigued and more than a little tempted to explore all that hard muscle with her hands.

  Janice returned and helped Violet dress. “What gossip have you learned?” Violet asked.

  “They are rather tight-lipped, but in time they always talk.” Janice smirked as she repinned Violet’s hair.

  “You should be an investigator.” Violet smiled at Janice in the mirror.

  Janice was older and wiser than Violet, but she still had a youthfulness about her, even though silver strands threaded through her strawberry curls.

  “Aye, I could. But then who would tame this hair of yours? And hide your dirt-smudged dresses from the rest of the household?”

  Violet looked down at her lap. “I took a tumble.”

  “What!” Janice yelped, pins flying from her hands.

  “Not in that manner!” Violet blushed. “A literal tumble, down a hill to be precise. I lost my kite.”

  “That won’t be all you’ll lose if you keep up this reckless behavior. Your reputation and your virtue will be at risk as well, and Miss Prim’s.”

  Violet batted Janice’s hands away and spun to face her. “What have you heard? Primrose is safely engaged to Mr. Peverel. Nothing I could do will change the mind of that lovesick fool.”

  Janice set her hands on her hips. “It isn’t what I’ve heard per se, it’s what I know. This is your fourth season, after all. Lord Roderick Andrews will be duke one day, and you won’t make a good impression if you’re off toppling down hills and such. You’re a woman, not a child.”

  Violet bit her tongue. A child, was she? His grace had come to the same conclusion. He’d said kites were for children. Perhaps her infatuation for him was childish too, but it wasn’t as though she could turn it off. It hadn’t waned in five years, despite his absence.

  “I will take your advice, Janice. Make me a woman.”

  “I can’t make ye a woman,” Janice muttered and spun Violet back toward the mirror. “But I can make you look delectable.”

  “Close enough.” Violet smiled. Tonight she was on the hunt. She wasn’t going to hold herself back anymore. She’d resisted opportunities to let herself shine. If she’d wanted to, Violet could have been popular. She’d had four proposals her first season, and some of them from handsome and titled gentlemen she would have considered marrying, if her heart had been free of Lord Denton. After tonight, he wouldn’t think her a child. After tonight, no man would.

  “I see you’ve decided to make an impression,” her mother said as they strolled into the great hall and to the smaller Queens Hall, which served as the drawing room where guests mingled before tea was served.

  “The question is who to make an impression on. Janice said there are several gentlemen here besides Lord Roderick Andrews.” Violet eyed the room warily and chewed her lip.

  “She told me as well. Lords Chester, Sehlhorst, Luckfeld, and Densmore, Mr. Cage, Mr. Denham, and Mr. Seyburn.”

  “That is quite a list. I’m not familiar with all of them.”

  “Some are here at the request of His Grace and don’t circulate in our circles as they ought, and the others you may recognize are guests of his brother.”

  Violet nodded. She’d danced more than a few times with Mr. Cage. He was handsome and charming, more playful than most gentlemen, which she found refreshing. She could almost see him as a friend if she made the effort.

  “There are five sisters here,” her mother whispered as they drew closer to the steps leading up to the drawing room.

  “Five?” Violet lowered her voice further.

  “Neighbors of the duke. Five of nine daughters, can you believe it?”

  “Large families are not unheard of in rural areas,” Violet murmured.

  “Nine daughters.” Her mother shuddered. “Their poor mother and father.”

  Violet bit back a smile. “Such horror. Are they all of age?”

  “Janice wasn’t sure of the ages of all nine.”

  Both women plastered smiles on their faces as they climbed the three steps, and the duchess moved toward them, followed by five young women.

  “How lovely you look, Miss Everly.” Her grace beamed at Violet.

  “Thank you, Your Grace. You are stunning, I must say.” It wasn’t a lie. The Duchess of Selbourne was a beautiful woman dressed in royal purple. The silver streaks in her chestnut hair took nothing from her natural beauty. Her sons shared many of her attributes, including her eyes.

  The duchess nodded in thanks and waved the five women forward. “Our closest neighbors, Miss Marsden, Miss Georgette, Miss Jeanette, Miss Josette, and Miss Lunette.”

  The young women bobbed in greeting as Violet and her mother were introduced. All five shared the same sable hair, brown eyes, and figures. Violet kept her smile serene so as not to show her shock at their names. Miss Marsden caught her eye.

  “Yes, all our names end in ‘ette’ and are in alphabetical order. The eldest, Annette, could not join us. We’re the
‘ette’ sisters or as the locals call us, the Northumberland Nine.”

  Violet raised both brows. She didn’t know how to respond. “That is interesting. How blessed you are with so many sisters. I only have two.”

  “Blessed is a bit of a stretch,” Miss Marsden muttered.

  “Bernadette…” The duchess clucked like a mother hen.

  They must be very familiar with each other, Violet thought. She stepped to Miss Marsden’s side. “Please call me Violet. My sisters and I were named after flowers: Heather, Violet, and Primrose.”

  Miss Marsden smiled at her. “I suppose that should make me feel better. Call me Bernie.”

  Violet thought she heard the duchess groan. Her smile broadened. Bernie reintroduced her sisters as Georgie, Jeanie, Josie, and Luna. “We prefer our less formal names.”

  “Miss Everly, allow me to introduce you to the gentlemen that have newly arrived.” Her grace touched Violet’s elbow and looped their arms.

  The gentlemen, oh god. She steeled herself, lifting her chin and schooling her features into something pleasant but not overly interested. Would she see him again? Was he even here? She quickly scanned the room, but the duke was not here.

  They approached a large group of men gathered around the fireplace. It was large enough that most of them could stand in it together. Roaring lions with flowing manes were carved into the front wood of the mantle. Violet would have liked more time to appreciate it, but she could feel everyone’s gaze settle upon her.

  “Miss Everly, I present Lord Chester, also a neighbor of ours, Lord Selhorst, Lord Luckfeld, Lord Densmore…”

  Violet’s mind began to wander as the litany of names continued. Some she knew already; some she wouldn’t be able to remember among the sea of faces. They each nodded in greeting. If Violet had to choose, which she really must because having a second plan of action was always a good idea, she would pick Lord Chester or Mr. Cage to pay court to her. Lord Chester was tall with sandy blond hair and pale blue eyes. He looked very fit under his fine clothing, but there was something shrewd in his gaze that made Violet want to study him and ask him questions. Mr. Cage she knew well; he winked at her, the devil. His warm mahogany eyes always sparked with mischief, and his smile hooked up on one side. He tousled his brown hair in a practiced fashion, knowing his hair was one of his best features. She smartly looked away from him and gave her attention back to Lord Chester, but his gaze was now on the woman at her side. Violet turned to glance at Bernie. She was grinning at Lord Chester. Did they know each other? Bernie elbowed Violet gently. Violet knew then that Bernie considered her a friend. Violet bit back a smile.