Duke of Thorns (Heiress Games 1) (17 page)

He had known she was magnificent already, but knowledge was nothing compared to the feel of her, strong and supple, as they waltzed together. The attraction of her body was something he could ignore — he’d ignored other attractions before, while keeping his vows to Ariana. But he couldn’t ignore how she’d made him laugh, or how her dark eyes had been so full of light.

Perhaps he’d cursed himself again just by touching her.

But he had resisted the temptation of her company through the previous day’s annoying entertainments. And today he had pursued business instead of pleasure. While the rest of the party had spent their Sunday engaged in more pious endeavors, Thorington had spent the day with his financial ledgers, looking for a way out of his predicament.

It was a wasted effort. His ledgers merely reminded him that he was completely destroyed. He could slow his fall into ruin if he made the worst cuts — refused dowries for Serena and Portia, eliminated Anthony’s allowance, stopped paying the extravagant pensions and annuities he’d promised former servants and retainers when his money had seemed limitless. But that would only slow the bloodletting. If his luck didn’t turn around — and at this point, he had no reason to believe it would — he would still lose everything eventually.

So he had tossed his ledgers into his trunk and returned to the original plan.

“Anthony,” he said, catching the boy as they walked out of the dining room after Sunday dinner. “A word.”

If Thorington had been steadfast in his avoidance of Callista, Anthony had been just as determined to avoid Thorington. Since the moment Anthony had learned that Thorington had selected Callista for him, Anthony had barely said two words to him. He’d ignored or refused all invitations to spend time with him and Callista. And he was too deep in Lady Maidenstone’s pocket to talk to before or after any of the dinners.

But the boy was still loyal enough that he couldn’t ignore Thorington’s direct demand. He sighed, though, to make it clear that he felt put upon. “What is it?” Anthony asked.

Thorington waited until the last of the men had passed them on their walk from the dining room to their next pursuits. Then, in a low voice, he said, “I have arranged a room in which you may become better acquainted with Miss Briarley.”

Anthony turned to him with a scandalized glare. “Don’t say you mean for me to compromise her?”

“Of course not,” Thorington said. “I mean for you to have a conversation with her. I think you’ll quite like her once you speak to her properly.”

“Is she capable of speaking properly to me? I must say she didn’t seem to know the first thing about propriety at breakfast.”

“She’s a quick study.”

Anthony snorted. “Why would I marry someone who still requires lessons? In fact, why would I marry anyone at all? I’m too young for it.”

“You’re the same age as Lady Maidenstone. You seem interested enough in her.”

Thorington didn’t want to encourage that connection, but he needed Anthony to see the situation from a different vantage point. Anthony wouldn’t be baited, though. “Lady Maidenstone is entertaining for now. But she has even less desire to marry than I do, from what I can judge. Widows are fair game, are they not?”

It was a common viewpoint — one Thorington might have even subscribed to when he was Anthony’s age. But hearing his younger brother say it, when Thorington still sometimes thought of him as a child, was shocking.

He tried to remember that Anthony was a man now. Still, there was too much at stake to let Anthony pursue pleasure instead of prudence. “You need money more than you need entertainment. Now, come upstairs with me.”

He laid a hand on Anthony’s arm.

For the first time, Anthony shook it off.

“I promised Lady Maidenstone I would attend to her,” he said.

Thorington’s first instinct was to drag Anthony upstairs by the ear. But Anthony wasn’t a child anymore. His jaw was set — perhaps not as firmly as Thorington was capable of, but there was pride and determination there that Thorington recognized.

Anthony would never marry Callista willingly.

And if Thorington forced the issue, Anthony would never forgive him.

“Are you sure you can’t give half an hour of your time?” he said. “She is a better prospect than you would imagine on first meeting.”

“If she’s such a good prospect, marry her yourself,” Anthony retorted.

Thorington sighed. But he let Anthony proceed on to the drawing room as his plans churned in his head. He could ask Rafe to marry Callista…

He dismissed that idea immediately. Rafe was too far gone for marriage, and Callista didn’t deserve the task of fixing him — or the pain of burying him.

Or Thorington could marry her himself.

He dreamed of it for a moment. In truth, he’d dreamed of it the previous day as well — he never would have gone back to his ledgers, looking for a new path, if he hadn’t. She was magnificent. And she would be even more magnificent as a duchess.

Perhaps she would be so magnificent that she could change his ruined luck.

He shook his head to dislodge the thought and walked toward the Gothic wing and the rendezvous he’d arranged. Ferguson would never let him win Maidenstone. And her dowry, if that was all he gained from her, wasn’t enough to cover his debts. Granted, her ships might be worth something, but he couldn’t count on them to survive the war. She’d be left impoverished, and leg-shackled to him besides.

Callista didn’t deserve that fate. She’d hate him for subjecting her to it.

And he couldn’t bear for her to hate him.

*     *     *

Callie was almost glad it was Sunday. Lucretia had suggested, after less than an hour in the drawing room, that they all retire for an evening of quiet contemplation.

Quiet contemplation was good. Callie could quietly contemplate murdering Lucretia. Or she could quietly contemplate how to shock the party into talking about something other than the weather.

Or she could quietly contemplate Thorington.

That path led to madness. He hadn’t come into the drawing room with the other gentlemen after dinner. In fact, he had seemed to avoid her all day. As much as she thought their lessons over the previous two days had been farcical rather than helpful, she found that she’d already begun to look forward to them.

And she was just the slightest bit hurt that he’d made no move to teach her something that day.

Callie didn’t let herself wallow. She’d spent her time in the drawing room staring out the window and trying to name every flower she could see. Unfortunately, she wasn’t much for gardening. She thought she saw some roses, and perhaps some kind of ivy, but it was really too difficult to tell.

She was going to go mad before Anthony ever got around to offering for her. Not that it seemed likely that he would, now. When he’d arrived in the drawing room after dinner, he’d immediately lured Lady Maidenstone out into the gardens. The two of them probably knew every flower for miles. Their blonde heads were bent together as they walked, and he kept whispering things that made Lady Maidenstone laugh.

Lord Salford had been right the first night — house parties were awful. She needed the sea, or a dockyard misadventure, or even a badly balanced ledger to set to rights.

Where the devil was Thorington?

Like a besotted fool, Callie had been reading old editions of the
Gazette
all afternoon, seeking more information about Thorington’s past in the society pages. What she’d read so far hadn’t put him in the best light. She thought she might as well return to the library and continue her studies, even though she felt a vague sense of shame that she was so interested in his past when he seemed to have no interest at all in her. But as everyone filed out of the drawing room after Lucretia sent them to bed, Lady Serena trailed after her.

“Will you walk with me, Miss Briarley?” Serena asked.

Callie didn’t want to engage in the hundredth inane conversation of the day. She kept walking. “Lucretia has the right idea — Sunday is better for contemplation.”

“If Lucretia is as pious as she claims to be, I will give you all the remnants of my pin money. I think she sent us all to bed so she wouldn’t have to think of yet another way to entertain us.”

Callie laughed. “That isn’t very charitable of you.”

“Little annoys me more than inhospitable house parties.”

Callie could think of a whole host of issues that annoyed her more than inhospitable house parties. The war’s effect on shipping, for one. Or the lack of current knowledge about where her ships were and what trouble Captain Jacobs might have gotten himself into. But if Serena’s life had been so sheltered that house parties were the worst of her problems, Callie tried not to begrudge her that fact.

Still, Serena seemed very intent on conversation. She let Serena take her hand and direct her away from the modern rooms. If nothing else, she didn’t want to have this argument in the main hallway, where other guests might hear them. But Serena took an unusual path — toward the darkened halls and disused rooms of the Gothic wing. Warm, painted walls and carpeted floors gave way to cold stone. Evening light still streamed through the windows, but the openings were narrower than those in the main wing, illuminating ancient tapestries.

This was a part of Maidenstone she hadn’t seen yet. And she was charmed despite the chill.

But she was more curious about what she’d find in the
Gazette
than in Maidenstone’s oldest rooms. “This is lovely, but I would rather return to the library,” Callie said.

“I don’t know why you would. There are far better things to do, even at a house party like this one, than hide yourself away with some books. And my brother doesn’t want to waste the evening in quiet reflection when he could drill you in your hostess skills.”

She had seen Thorington at dinner, but they hadn’t spoken. Lucretia had seated her between a baronet who was missing half his hair and a viscount’s nephew who was missing half his brain. But much as she wished she’d seen him earlier in the day, her temper was too frayed now to be safe with him.

“I don’t wish to have any lessons tonight,” she said. “Please give my regrets to your brother.”

“Tell him yourself, if you’re so insistent. If he’s in the mood to shoot messengers, as he so often is, I want no part of it.”

“I played hostess for my father. Testing those skills isn’t necessary.”

Serena shrugged. “Then take five minutes to prove it to him and retire for the evening.”

“Must I?” she asked.

“You must.”

That was Thorington’s voice, not Serena’s. He stepped out of an open doorway, still wearing his proper dinner attire. But his smile was decidedly improper as he held out his hand to her.

He was a devil. She was becoming sure of it. His odd manner and autocratic demands intrigued her — more than she cared to admit, if she were being honest. But she couldn’t afford to be intrigued. Her company couldn’t afford for her to be intrigued.

She touched the pendant on her necklace, hidden by the swell of a borrowed white dress over her bosom, and tried to remember her responsibilities. “If I tell you all the steps of making a proper cup of tea, will you leave me be tonight?”

“I’m afraid I require a demonstration. A future duchess must be able to serve tea with ease. And all I know of your kind is that you are capable of tossing tea into harbors, not steeping it.”

Callie scowled at him. “That was nearly forty years ago. If we’re all to judge each other on such time frames, I should ask where your powdered wigs and knee breeches are.”

Thorington wiggled his fingers at her. “Come, Miss Briarley. We can insult each other more comfortably over tea.”

His hand was tempting. His voice was more so — something dark and devilish.

She was being overly dramatic. He was just a man. But that didn’t do justice to how much
more
of a man he was than the others at the party.

Serena pushed her between the shoulder blades, causing her to stumble forward. “How clumsy of me,” Serena murmured, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. “Go about your lessons without worrying about your reputation, Miss Briarley. I’ll keep watch across the hall.”

“You aren’t staying with us?” Callie asked.

Serena grinned. “You can thank me later when you realize you won’t have to pour tea for me.”

Thorington frowned. “It would be better if you stayed.”

“No, I’m sure you can train Miss Briarley more effectively without me,” Serena said brightly. “I’ll be within earshot if you need anything.”

The girl very nearly shoved them into the room, pulling the door shut between them.

And that left Callie looking up into Thorington’s eyes and wondering if he was really, truly, a devil.

“A proper chaperone wouldn’t leave me alone with the duke,” Callie said.

“If it would make you feel more comfortable, you may pretend that I’m not a duke,” Thorington said. “For tonight, I’m your governess.”

Callie laughed despite herself. “The very idea is ludicrous. I’m sure that if we are caught, no one will think to believe that you are tutoring me rather than ruining me.”

“We won’t be caught,” Thorington said. “Lady Serena will watch for intruders and keep them away. But from my reconnaissance of Maidenstone, it seems that this floor is entirely disused.”

She gave into the tide and let him pull her into the room. “Now, Miss Briarley, show me how you prepare tea.”

There was a tea cart near the window, completely out of place when most of the furniture was swathed in dustcloths. Someone had uncovered two chairs and a settee, along with a pair of small side tables. This room faced south, toward the sea, and an open window admitted a refreshing breeze to the disused space. The sun was setting, but the air was still warm — warm enough that Callie would rather be out in the garden than trapped in one of Maidenstone’s older rooms, with one of Maidenstone’s more dangerous guests.

“Won’t the footman who arranged this tell Lucretia what you’re about?” Callie asked.

“I gave him two guineas for his troubles. If he tells her, he will never get such a handsome reward again.”