An Undesirable Duke Read online

  “I don’t take orders from anyone.”

  She stepped closer, her hand coming to his chest, the shock of his bare skin scalding her. “Take me to your room. Now.”

  Chapter 8

  Weirick didn’t know what to think of the woman that stood defiantly before him, begging to come to his room. He wasn’t going to refuse her again. So be it. He took her hand, so much smaller and softer than his, and pulled her into the darkness. He knew the way by heart. As he passed the first window, he yanked the curtain open, filling the narrow stairs with moonlight. He didn’t want her to stumble and fall.

  They climbed higher, his resolve settling into something like anticipation as they got closer to his room. He’d have her all to himself and then…and then what? Ravishment was the first thought that came to mind. She’d offered herself, he was only doing what any man would do. But then again, he looked terrifying, even by his standards. He could taste blood in his mouth, and feel it trickling down his cheek from the cut on his eyebrow. It wasn’t Sonam’s fault, he was good about avoiding the face. Weirick had slipped and fallen into Sonam’s elbow. Sonam had wanted to end the fight, he’d said as much as he held Weirick in a headlock. But Weirick never called a fight, not until his opponent or he was down and unconscious.

  He reached the door to his room and paused. It was another spinning door. It groaned as he pushed on the right side and it opened. He led her through, his room cozily warm and lit by the hearth that claimed one wall. He dropped her hand and went to the washbasin, grimacing at his gruesome reflection. Despite the temptation of her presence, he wasn’t in the mood for sex, not when he looked like an ogre. She deserved better than this.

  He could see her in the mirror, looking around his chamber in awe. The master suite was almost as daunting as the great hall, the ceiling high and arched, carved figures of women and men clutching each other in hidden corners. Finally, her eyes landed on him, and she hurried to him in concern.

  He wanted her gone. He didn’t want her to look at him and see him for what he was, a damaged brute, bleeding and sore. He nodded toward the double door. “There’s the exit, you should return to your room.”

  “And who will tend you?”

  She invaded his space, taking the towel from his hands and dipping it in the water. He was immobilized by her nearness as she dabbed at the cut above his eye.

  “Did you win, at least?”

  “There is no winning or losing with Sonam. The fight is a journey.”

  “You know this man?”

  “Of course. He’s been my traveling companion for years.” He watched her mouth intently. She placed the tip of her tongue right in the center of her top lip and he grew hard. He tore his eyes away and examined her face closely, since she was so preoccupied with his cut. Her face was different. How he could tell he didn’t know, but there was more to her than there had been five years ago, and not just in her bodice. She’d matured into a stunning woman, vibrant and strong-willed. He wanted to brush his thumb over her lips, especially over the cupid’s bow of her top lip where she nestled the tip of her tongue.

  “There…” Her eyes roved over his face, looking for more injuries.

  She should look lower, the ache in his groin was excruciating. He moved away from her and found a clean shirt to put on. Never in his life had his head and body been at such odds. He could ruin her, hell he already had. He could wake the house, or simply tell everyone tomorrow she was here in his room. But what would that serve? No one would expect him to do the honorable thing. Was that what she was hoping for? But Roderick might be made to pay for Weirick’s sin, and Roderick might be willing.

  His mother would insist on an honorable outcome. And truthfully, he didn’t want to hurt her. She wasn’t doing anything another girl in her place wouldn’t do. Her life hinged on how well she married. She was being smart, increasing her odds of winning, so to speak.

  What Weirick needed to do was keep her distracted long enough for Roderick to choose Miss Copperpot. Weirick had been hoping to play “least in sight” at this house party, even though it was his idea, but now he knew he needed to guide his brother in the right direction, or he would end up shackled to someone like this golden-haired temptress. Her eyes followed him around the room. She didn’t speak as he rubbed a wet cloth over his chest. He could see her in the mirror, one hand holding on to the bedpost as she watched him bathe.

  “Go ahead and ask,” he taunted her.

  She stepped forward, her eyes on his back. “What is it?”

  He paused, confused. “It’s a scar.”

  “No, you dolt, the tattoo.”

  He chewed his cheek to keep from laughing. Most women begged for the story of his scar, if they first managed to overcome their revulsion of it. “It’s a mandala.”

  “A man-da-la.”

  “The word means circle,” he said. He waited for her to meet his gaze in the mirror. She did and she raised a brow.

  “A mandala represents wholeness.”

  “So you have half a mandala to indicate you are not whole?” She wasn’t impressed.

  “It’s more than that. I don’t need to explain it to you.”

  “No, but I’d like you to.” She moved away, turning her back to him as she sauntered over to a chair by the fire. “I won’t leave until you do.”

  Bollocks. He could throw her out. It was time to test Miss Violet Everly’s mettle. His hands went to his breeches.

  “Excuse me while I change.”

  She didn’t move from her chair, but neither was she looking at him. He didn’t take his eyes from her as he yanked off his boots first, and then slipped his breeches over his hips. She paid him no attention, or so she pretended. Her breathing had changed.

  “Would you like a drink?” He walked naked to the bar he kept stocked in his chamber.

  “No, thank you, unless you don’t mind ringing for tea.”

  “I do mind. I don’t like to wake my servants once they are abed. I fend for myself.” He brought her a tumbler of whisky, just a splash. He stood before her, utterly confident in his nudity and grinning madly, his erection proudly displayed for her pleasure. Dear God, look. Look all you want. She looked up at him, eye to eye and took the drink. He waited while she took a sip, barely a taste. Her eyes did not drift lower than his face.

  “Bloody hell, Violet. Have a look, you know you want to.”

  Her lips pressed together, and her cheeks were the color of watered wine, but her eyes dropped and she looked him over. After a moment, her eyes returned to his, blazing with something—anger maybe, embarrassment undoubtedly, but also intrigue.

  “I’ll let you touch me next time.” He walked away and put on his robe, letting her stew in her emotions.

  “What do you intend to do with me?” she asked from her chair.

  Weirick refilled his glass and returned to the hearth, taking the chair opposite hers. “I intend to seduce you at some point.”

  “Oh?” She finished her whisky in one swallow.

  He nodded. “That is what you wish, isn’t it? To be seduced by me?”

  “I think you are mistaken, Your Grace.”

  “Why else would you have come with me tonight? Why else would you be lurking in my castle, unless it was Roderick you were looking for?”

  “It was not.”

  She was angry now, her eyes flashing. “Tell me one thing and then I will leave.”

  “Anything you want.” The sweet warmth of the whiskey hit his blood, and his eyes grew heavy. He’d love to fall asleep on the pillow of her luscious breasts.

  “Do you not remember meeting me in Hyde Park five years ago?”

  “No.” He said the lie easily enough. He closed his eyes. He could hear her moving about the room, the clunk of the glass as she set it on the bar and then silence.

  “Good night, Your Grace.” She was over by the door now, her words sharp.

  “Do return whenever you wish. I find your company refreshing.”

  “B
ut not memorable.” The door closed with a soft thud behind her. Weirick opened his eyes as guilt flooded him. He should have walked her to her room, or at the very least given her a candle. But instead, he banked his fire and blew out the remaining candles. He stripped off his robe and climbed into bed. His punishment tented the counterpane in painful sensitivity, hungry for the warm body that was making her way to her own bed, innocence intact. He was certain of her innocence. Had she been more experienced, she would have acted on his nudity but she kept her composure, which was remarkable. This room was so far removed from everyone that had she screamed, no one would have heard, but she hadn’t, despite her virtue. She was levelheaded and dedicated to her cause. He would admire her for it, but instead he was vested in protecting his brother and mother.

  There was nothing honorable about a mercantile heart. Yes, people needed money to survive, but as his father had so adeptly proved, money didn’t buy happiness and neither did beauty. It didn’t buy loyalty or trust and certainly not forgiveness. Money was shallow, lifeless, and ultimately, it corrupted. Weirick wished people were more like dogs. A dog’s love was earned through trust and kindness. They never took more than you were willing to give, and they certainly didn’t care what you looked like. As a young man, Weirick had taken his looks for granted. All his life he was admired, put on a pedestal by his peers, especially by his father. The fall from that height had almost killed him. He’d never rely on appearance again. He’d found himself friendless, of less value than a mangy dog in the street. But what hurt more than the abandonment of most of his friends was his father. The man left him for dead, literally.

  What was beauty but a mask? Inside is where true valor and honor lived. But those things had died inside Weirick too. There was nothing good left. Not beauty, not honor, and certainly not trust. Brick by boring brick, he rebuilt himself. If he let her, Violet could dismantle him. Why was she his weakness? Why could he not be rid of her as he had his heart?

  Sonam would know; he was an endless font of wisdom when it came to understanding the frailties of human emotion. Weirick could lay here and think of Violet all night, wondering, questioning, but in the end, he still wouldn’t understand. Sonam would give him the insight he needed. Sonam always had the answer.

  Chapter 9

  May 3, 1825

  In the morning, Violet woke in a tangle of bed linens, Bernie beside her, snoring softly. Janice entered; she must have been the source of that infernal knocking. Bernie jerked awake.

  “Where”—she looked around—“oh, right.”

  “Have you never slept out of ye own bed before now?” Janice asked.

  “Never.” Bernie accepted a mug of chocolate.

  Violet accepted hers and thanked Janice. “You must come to Ablehill. It’s only half a day’s ride from here. The castle is large enough that all nine of you could have your own room.”

  “Can we move in permanently?” Bernie grinned.

  “Well, there are lots of clansmen looking for wives, you know.”

  “Don’t tempt me.” Bernie’s eyes darted to Janice. She was setting out Bernie’s dress from yesterday and a fresh one for Violet.

  “Jeanette will bring me a fresh gown but not until the picnic,” Bernie said.

  Violet and Bernie watched Janice until she finished her duties and went into Lady Everly’s room.

  “What happened last night?” Bernie whispered excitedly.

  “Well…” Where could she begin? Her instinct was to keep everything to herself, but Bernie had put herself at risk to help Violet, and she deserved a measure of trust in return.

  “Did you…sleep with him?” Bernie set her mug down.

  Violet blushed. “No, nothing like that occurred.” Violet took a deep breath. “He showed me a secret passage to his room.”

  “You went to his room but nothing physical happened?”

  His naked body had been exceedingly physical. “We had a drink and we talked, and I tended the cut above his eye, that is all.” Bernie didn’t need every detail, did she?

  Bernie looked disappointed. “Oh.”

  “There was nothing ‘oh’ about it. By all rights we should be engaged, and so should you and Chester, but these are not typical gentlemen we are dealing with.”

  Bernie made a face. “Chester is very typical, but our relationship is that of brother and sister. No one would expect us to marry simply because we spent time alone. He’s more likely to lecture me than ravish me.”

  Violet wasn’t so certain. Every man could be tempted, and Bernie—though unconventional—was still a beautiful, young woman.

  “I’m a tad disappointed,” Bernie admitted.

  “Really, did you think I’d be discovered in his bed this morning?” Violet laughed quietly.

  “Well, maybe a bit. Weirick is so intense, I didn’t think he’d practice restraint—not that I think he would ever hurt you—but he had you alone and acted like a gentleman. I’m astonished.”

  “I don’t think anything he did could be called gentlemanly.” Certainly not.

  “Then we will have our work cut out for us today. Chester swore he wouldn’t leave my side for the rest of the party, and if I step one toe out of line—his words, not mine—he said he’d send me home immediately.”

  Violet chuckled. “You won’t need to. The duke gave me an open invitation to his room. All you’ll have to do is make clever excuses for my absence.”

  “That won’t be difficult. I’m excellent at causing distractions.”

  Before dawn had fully broken, Weirick set out on horseback for Sonam’s cottage. He wasn’t surprised to find Sonam awake, meditating in an open field. As Weirick approached, Sonam stood, bowing toward the rising sun.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

  Sonam waved him toward the cottage without answer. Weirick tied his horse to a post and stepped inside. It was a shepherd’s cottage with a small kitchen, dining table, and bed all in one circular room.

  “You’d be more comfortable at the castle, Sonam,” Weirick said as he looked around the small cottage.

  “I have every comfort here,” Sonam replied in his sage-like, raspy voice. “What brings you out this early morn?”

  “I’m struggling with my past.”

  “Unsurprising, given that you invited it back into your life.” Sonam waved him to a chair.

  Weirick sat and watched Sonam as he hung a kettle over the fire. “Specifically, one of the guests is a woman I knew before I obtained my scars.”

  “Ah, and now she scorns you,” Sonam stated.

  “No, she has sought me out. She thinks I should remember meeting her.”

  “Which you do not.”

  “No, I do.”

  Sonam turned and raised a brow. “Do not say that you led her to believe you did not remember her?”

  Weirick’s gut twisted with guilt. He nodded. “Am I that transparent?”

  “You have deceived both of you.”

  “No, I’m playing her game. The purpose of this house party is finding a wife for my brother, someone to care for him and my mother once I leave here. The guests are fully aware of this, and she is one of the guests but she’s smart. Why have the younger brother when it is clear the duke is still present?”

  “She doesn’t know you plan to kill the duke, and go on as only the man.”

  Weirick nodded. “That’s it exactly.”

  “So tell her.”

  “I can’t tell her I’m planning to fake my death. Roderick will never be able to inherit.”

  Sonam took the chair across from him and stroked his chin in thought. “Are you sure of this woman’s motives?”

  “Of course, why else would she be here other than to catch a duke?”

  “Tell me of this previous meeting.”

  Weirick did, as much as he could remember, which was quite a lot. Sonam remained silent throughout, only moving to remove the kettle from the fire and pour their tea.

  Weirick finished and waited for So
nam to respond, but Sonam remained quiet. He had now lit a pipe and was puffing out clouds of smoke as he stared out the single cottage window.

  “Well?” Weirick said in irritation.

  “It would appear this girl is a manifestation of your past that exists inside you.”

  Weirick snorted and took a sip of tea. “Spoken like a true monk.”

  Sonam spared him a glance and returned his gaze to the window. “Ask yourself, what would you have done with this girl had you not gotten into that fight, had you not become scarred and abandoned by your father and left England?”

  “That’s impossible to answer.” Weirick stood and stretched his legs. He should get back in time for breakfast. Sonam was only adding to his confusion and making Weirick feel like an idiot.

  “Find one answer and you will undoubtedly find more.”

  Weirick scowled at Sonam as he opened the cabin door. “You’ve been no help whatsoever.”

  Sonam only smiled.

  Weirick returned to the house, invigorated by his morning ride but still puzzled over Violet. He entered the dining room, where a lavish buffet was laid out for the guests. There were looks of surprise, quickly masked behind awkward greetings as he filled a plate for himself and claimed the head of the table, pulling his hat lower. Violet was already there, looking as fresh as the morning dew in an apple green dress that did little to disguise her sensual body. She could dress herself in sackcloth, or a flea-riddled horse blanket, and she’d still be the most beautiful woman in the room.

  “Good morning, Your Grace.” Lady Everly sat to his right again.

  “Good morning to you, my lady, Miss Everly.”

  “Good morning, Your Grace,” Violet returned timidly. He wasn’t amused by her timid nature this morning, but he could understand it, given his behavior last night. He wouldn’t begrudge her a bit of shyness.

  He thought of Sonam’s question, mentally shaking his head at the absurdity of it. What would he have done if he had not gotten into a fight that sultry summer night? He briefly glanced at Violet and wondered at her age. Had she been out in society then? The more he thought, the more he realized he knew very little about Violet Everly. He would have to change that. It wasn’t good battle strategy to know so little of one’s enemy. Not that she was his enemy, per se, but she was most definitely an obstacle.