Christine Bell - A Valentine from Harlequin: Six Degrees of Romance

Therefore, he must go to Mr. Duncan and rescind his offer. Such a thing would not enhance his reputation, but he could not concern himself with that.

What he should concern himself with was making sure Charlotte knew he knew the kind of woman she was, despite his momentary lapse into forgetfulness, and that he intended to make sure the rest of the world knew it, too. That was why he had followed her out onto the balcony, or thought he had.

He had mistaken Dulcie for Charlotte. The cousins looked enough alike that, attired in similar gowns and with their blond hair done in similarly Grecian styles, it was easy to mistake one for the other, especially across a crowded ballroom.

So he had followed “Charlotte” and could not resist the urge to announce his presence with a kiss, only to realize the moment his mouth touched Dulcie’s that either he was kissing the wrong woman—for it was no secret that Charlotte didn’t drink because her father had died after falling from his horse while inebriated—or else he had his lips on a rum bottle.

Whatever had happened last night, he finally decided, he could not and would not marry Charlotte.

He alighted from the barouche and strode into the distillery, heading directly for Duncan’s office. He marched past the startled bevy of clerks perched on stools as they toiled at their high desks and entered the office without so much as a rap on the door.

To find that Charlotte was already there. Or maybe it was Dulcie facing her father with her whole body rigid, her hands on her hips, and her bonnet’s white feather dancing.

The young woman whirled around to face him, and he discovered it was indeed Charlotte. “What do you want?” she demanded, glaring at him.

As always when faced with a nerve-racking situation—which was always the situation when he was near the vivacious Charlotte—he summoned up a mask of calm indifference, and answered truthfully. “I’ve come to tell your esteemed uncle that I have changed my mind and cannot marry you.”

Her green eyes flickered and a sardonic smile curved her full lips. “Good, because I am here to tell him the same thing.”

How her emerald green eyes sparkled like jewels when she was angry! How lovely she looked in that charming ensemble, including the ridiculous plume bobbing about like a writer’s quill penning a screed of its own volition. “Excellent. Then we are agreed.”

“Yes!”

“So I see no need to remain here any longer.”

“Nor do I,” Charlotte declared, pushing her way past him and slamming the office door with a bang like a cannon shot that probably sent the clerks scrambling for cover.

Taking a deep breath, James bowed at the openmouthed Mr. Duncan. “Good day to you, sir, and I regret any inconvenience.”

Before he could turn away, Duncan heaved himself to his feet with surprising speed. “Not so fast, Your Grace. I would speak with you.”

James suppressed a sigh as he waited for the man to proceed. No doubt Duncan intended to berate him, and soundly, too.

“You will either marry my niece, or I shall take you to court for breach of promise.”

James stared, slack-jawed, at Charlotte’s uncle. “Breach of promise?” he repeated in an incredulous whisper.

Malcolm Duncan smiled with malicious pleasure. “Exactly. Several people heard you offer to marry her last night.”

“She didn’t accept!”

Duncan waved his plump hand dismissively as he returned to his seat. “Women are fickle creatures, apt to change their minds.”

“But you can’t be serious! She hates me.”

“Does she?”

James’s eyes widened even more, and even though his mind told him it must not, the small, hidden place in his heart where his hope had been buried cracked open. Charlotte had been living with her uncle since her father’s demise years ago; it could be he knew her well enough….

It didn’t matter. “Of course,” he replied, burying the long-denied hope back where it belonged. “You heard her say she’d rather die than marry me.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Duncan said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers, “the fact is, you’ve compromised my niece’s honor. Your family has already done her harm, and it’s about time one of you made it right.”

“My family did her harm?”

“Aye,” Duncan said, grave and firm as the bricks of his distillery. “She loved your brother and she was heartbroken when he died. And she’s blamed herself for far too long for what your brother did. Her reputation has suffered for it, too.”

“She did not love my brother, and she is to blame for what John did,” James protested, every line of John’s last letter bemoaning his anguish and shame burned into his brain. If Charlotte mourned anything, it was the loss of his brother’s money.

Duncan eyed him shrewdly, as if James were a merchant trying to sell him something of dubious quality. “Whatever you think of the past, it is last night I am most concerned with today. You compromised Charlotte’s honor, and you will do the honorable thing, one way or another, or you’ll be hearing from my solicitor.”

“I can afford the best solicitor in London to fight the suit.”

“Aye, I have no doubt, but fighting me will cost you a pretty penny, especially as these things can drag on for so long. In the meantime, no woman of character will trust you, should you wish to marry and create an heir. Of course, if you plan to remain a bachelor all your days, that may not trouble you.”

James did not plan to remain a bachelor. He wanted children, and not simply to provide an heir. He liked children. Many nights as he had lain awake listening to his comrades in arms snoring and snorting and tossing and turning, he had envisioned leading the life of a country gentleman, surrounded by a loving family, married to…his brother’s fiancée. He flushed and pushed away that shameful memory. “Do you intend to threaten Charlotte into agreeing, too? Will you sue her, as well?”

“Charlotte will do what is best for her.”

James scowled. “Of that I have no doubt,” he said as he strode to the door. When he went out, he slammed it even harder than Charlotte had.

* * *

“But, Papa, I don’t understand,” Dulcie pouted a fortnight later as she sat on the arm of her father’s chair in his mahogany-paneled study, which smelled faintly of cheroots and pomade. “Why did you invite him to dinner again? Charlotte refuses to see him, and he sits here scowling like a bear whenever he comes. Why, they loathe each other!”

“Of course they do,” her father replied with a chortle as he chucked his beloved, but not overly intelligent, daughter on her round little chin. “I don’t intend that they should marry. I have other plans for the duke.”

He eyed Dulcie so significantly, even she caught on. “Me?” she squeaked. “You want him to marry me?”

“Yes.” He patted her arm. “The more annoyed he gets with Charlotte, the lovelier and more pleasant you will seem.”

Dulcie pouted again. “I thought I was pretty and pleasant.”

“Oh, you are, my dear, you are, and the duke can hardly fail to notice that fact every time he comes here.”

Dulcie’s pale forehead wrinkled with a frown. “Yet you said you’d sue him if he doesn’t marry Charlotte.”

“Only to ensure that he would stay in London and visit us. The moment he tells me he would rather marry you instead, all talk of breach of promise will be quite forgotten.”

Dulcie toyed with her rings and didn’t meet her father’s gaze. “That seems a bit hard on Charlotte, Papa, using her to lure the duke here to fall in love with me.”

“All’s fair in love and war, my dear. Indeed, we are really doing her a favor.” He warmed to his subject. “The gossip will go against her if the duke doesn’t at least seem to be doing the honorable thing, but if he jilts her in your favor, she’ll appear to be the one hard done by. All the ladies will sympathize with her, even those who were so quick to blame her in that other unfortunate business.”

Dulcie continued to frown. “What if they blame me for stealing the duke away?”

“They won’t,” he assured her. “If there’s any blame in this, it will attach to him.” He gave his daughter an indulgent smile. “Besides, what does it matter what they say if you marry a duke in the end?” 

Charlotte looked unseeing out the tall, narrow windows of the town house in Mayfair. She felt like a prisoner in her home—or at least, her uncle’s home. She had never been completely comfortable living with her uncle and cousin, but after her father’s death, she had no other alternative. Now, with the unwelcome presence of the Duke of Broverhampton haunting her like a ghost, she felt more imprisoned than ever.

She heard a small sound and turned away from the window, to find Dulcie standing near her dressing table.

“Yes?” she asked, noting that her usually placid cousin looked worried and uncertain. Perhaps the strain of this forced marriage nonsense was wearing on her, too.

“The duke is coming to dinner again.”

“So I heard from the downstairs maid.”

Dulcie chewed her lip and gazed at her beseechingly. “Charlotte, do you really not want to marry him?”

“No.” Not now. Not under these circumstances, although there had been a time…. “I do not understand why he doesn’t just let Uncle Malcolm sue him for breach of promise. I am more than ready to give evidence that I would be pleased to release him from his promise, such as it was. He can afford a good solicitor and surely that has to be more appealing to him than continuing this sham.”

Obviously relieved, Dulcie’s words came out in a torrential rush. “Papa thinks if the duke keeps coming here and you don’t see him, but he sees me, he might…that is, he might change his mind about marrying you and ask to marry me instead. He’s threatened to sue the duke, not to ensure you marry him, but to keep him coming here.”

Charlotte stared at her, confused—and yet, knowing Uncle Malcolm and his crafty mind, this could very well be true. “If this is so, why are you telling me, Dulcie?”

Her cousin straightened her slender shoulders and her doelike brown eyes shone with more resolve than Charlotte had ever suspected she possessed. “Because I like you, Charlotte. You’ve been like a sister to me, and I don’t agree with Papa’s plan.”

Charlotte’s heart swelled. She had no idea Dulcie cared for her so much and she hurried to embrace her. “I appreciate your affection, and your honesty, Dulcie,” she murmured, while also cursing herself for ever thinking ill of her cousin. “If you can win the duke’s heart, you are welcome to it.” She silenced the nagging little voice in her heart that told her she was lying. “And you are kind to tell me that I am but bait.” She drew back and regarded Dulcie gravely. “Shall I end this charade, then?”

Just as grave, Dulcie nodded. “Yes, please. If I cannot attract his notice by better means, I do not deserve it.”

* * *

Listening at the top of the stairs, Charlotte hurried toward the drawing room the moment she heard the butler usher James toward it. Dulcie would be at least another hour dressing, her uncle several minutes. This was her best chance to have a private word with the duke.

Despite her determination, she hesitated on the threshold when she saw him. He had one arm draped across the ornately carved marble mantel and was staring at the flames in the hearth, a look of such despondency on his face, she could scarcely believe this was the arrogant James Ellery.

All this time, she thought he must be enraged over the situation, or disgusted, or frustrated. She had never imagined he would ever feel despair, about anything. She had always believed him different from John in that, as well.

He must have heard her, for he looked up, and was immediately once more the coolly indifferent nobleman. “So, you have finally decided to venture down from your tower, Rapunzel.”

She perched on the scarlet velvet seat of a gilded chair. “You must ignore my uncle’s threat of a lawsuit and stop coming here.”

“Perhaps it amuses me to allow people to think I have a vestige of honor, after all, by agreeing to marry you,” he said as he sat on the brocade sofa opposite her.

“He doesn’t really want to sue you.”