The Duke I’m Going to Marry (Farthingale Series Book 2) (20 page)

“As you said, I was never all that happy.” He wrapped his arms around her, wanting to hold her close, determined to protect her from the ugliness she would surely endure for the rest of her life unless he fixed things.

She gazed at him a long moment, saying nothing.

His heart tightened and began to pound hard within his chest. He’d been surrounded by a sea of unfriendly faces, been pummeled by Julian and Graelem. He’d stood alone... as always. None of it had frightened him.

However, the look in Dillie’s eyes right now had him shaking in his boots.

She looked delicate and beautiful. There was a magical, ethereal quality about her with those pearls shimmering in her luscious dark hair. She was young and incredibly vulnerable, yet at the same time, brave. The way she had chased off his attackers last November was quite something.

He knew what he had to do. “This is my fault. I’m not going to run from the consequences.” He tipped her chin upward so that her gaze met his. There was only one possible solution to this problem. “I owe you, Dillie. You saved my life.”

He released her and bent on one knee, a gesture that could not be mistaken by her or the horde of relatives watching them.

Dillie gasped and let out another sob. “Ian, you idiot! Get up.”

Not the response he expected. “No. Let me do this.”

“But you don’t owe me anything. I don’t need you to save me. I’ll save myself.”

“How?” He was offering to marry her. He was willing to make the sacrifice, a rather noble sacrifice. A monumental sacrifice for him. Perhaps she was too overset to realize what he’d just offered to share. His name. His title. His wealth.

She tugged on his shoulders to yank him up, but he refused to budge. “There must be a better solution. There has to be,” she insisted.

He glanced at her family. The women were all silent and holding their breaths. The men had their fists curled, itching to do him bodily damage if the outcome was not to their liking. He turned back to her, hating the look of misery in her eyes. “There isn’t. Death-by-angry-family is a most unpleasant way to die. I’m not keen on ending up that way.”

She dabbed at the tears still streaming down her cheeks. He noticed that she was still holding tight to his handkerchief and she had her hand on his shoulder, clinging to him for support. She liked him, felt comfortable with him. This could work. She might even love him, if her response to his kisses was any indication. Of course, Dillie, being who she was, would never admit that she loved him. Not to him or to herself.

She let out a shaky breath and sat on a step in order to meet his gaze as he knelt. He loved the soft way she looked at him, the gentle warmth of her eyes, and the beauty of her hesitant smile. “You’re not going to die at the hands of my family. In any event, you’re a wealthy duke. You can survive anything.” She placed her hand against his cheek, caressed it. “And you’re handsome, too. And brave. And wonderful.”

“Is that a yes?” Because he was seriously starting to rethink this marriage issue. Avoiding it like the plague wasn’t working out too well for him. Having a wife had its benefits. For one thing, the scheming, marriage-minded mothers and their insipid daughters would stop chasing him.

Her hand slipped off his cheek. “No.”

The men in her family started toward him.

“Stay right there!” Dillie commanded them. “No one sets a hand on the duke.” There was a glint in her eyes that warned she’d take an elephant gun to anyone who dared cause him more harm.
Him.

Him.

She was fighting to protect him. She stole his breath away.

“Your Grace, go home,” she said with purposeful formality, obviously hoping to end the discussion. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for offering to marry me. I truly appreciate the gesture. In truth, it’s quite something coming from you.”

He could barely make out the soft blue of her eyes for all the tears she had spilled. Her voice was shaking and her breaths were ragged. She was trying to remain composed for his sake. She was strong, but despite her protestations, she wasn’t at all fine. She was scared.

“It isn’t merely a gesture. The offer is real,” he said, allowing instinct to guide him. He didn’t want to think about what he was saying or what he was offering. He’d been running from marriage for most of his life. As Dillie had said, he was one of the unhappiest men she’d ever met. “Take all the time you need.” To emphasize his point, he leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek.
Softest cheek.
“I’ll be here for you whenever you’re ready. I’ll always be here for you, Dillie.”

There it was. He’d said it again.
Always
.
Forever
. These strange words kept tripping from his tongue as though they were the only ones he knew. As though they were the only words that could be said to Dillie. These sensations—affection, sharing, concern—were strange to him. In truth, they frightened him. He was opening up his damn turtle shell and inviting her in. There was a risk to it. She might not like what she found buried deep within.

His brother had died because of what he’d done. He could never take it back. “Always.”

The magic would end once she found out about James, and her affection would turn to disgust. He’d still protect and take care of her, of course. He owed her that. He’d provide all the advantages that came with the title of duchess, for she deserved the best.

As for him, he’d go back to being alone.

It was the only way of life he’d ever known.

DILLIE SIGHED
and tossed in bed, unable to sleep, as sunrise neared. She finally gave up, throwing off her covers to walk to the window. She hoped to find Ian standing in the garden below, his handsome frame outlined in the gray wisps of dawn. But he wasn’t Romeo and she wasn’t Juliet. He wasn’t standing beneath her window with a love-struck expression on his face, eager to spout sonnets to her beauty. He’d gone home... or possibly elsewhere to seek the comfort of another woman.

She knew he had a mistress.

She knew his mistress was exquisitely beautiful.

Oh, she would turn into a watering pot if she didn’t stop crying over Ian. Or wondering where he was. Or whether he had his arms wrapped around another woman.

She turned away from the window and settled on the bench beside it, her head swirling with the one decision to be made, the most important of her life. It should have been easy. Any other young lady would have been waltzing about her room after receiving an offer of marriage from a duke. Even if that duke were Ian.

Especially
if that duke were Ian.

Dillie sighed, knowing she was different for wanting love and fidelity. No one else would have demanded it of him. No other would care about Ian’s discreet
amours
. Indeed, most young ladies would have been delighted at the prospect of acquiring a noble title and the riches certain to accompany said title. As for sharing Ian’s bed, most would have been shocked if he required it, for everyone knew that dukes and duchesses retired to their separate quarters. It wasn’t a hard and fast rule, but simply done that way.

Dillie had never been very good at following rules. She wanted to share Ian’s bed, wanted his strong arms about her on cold winter nights. Any other young woman would have been content to wrap her arms around her newly gained title, allowing it—and not the man—to keep her warm and cozy.

Indeed, Dillie knew she was different. She needed Ian beside her not only on those wintery nights but on warm summer nights, too. And cool spring nights. Also on mild autumn nights. She wanted
him
. Not his wealth. Not his title.

Had she just made the most idiotic decision of her life in rejecting his proposal? He’d spoken to her father before leaving, probably repeated what he’d said about waiting for her consent. His offer was still open.
Always.
For Ian, “always” meant about two weeks.

Her heart tightened. She was going to cry again. “You can’t spend the entire season in tears,” she muttered to herself. The sun would soon rise, giving way to a bright new day, and she had accomplished nothing. Not that she had much to accomplish, now that she was temporarily ruined. At least she hoped it was temporary. In any event, this season was over for her. She wouldn’t be invited into any respectable salons while scandal swirled about her. If she were by chance invited, it would certainly be to be put on display and mocked for the amusement of others.

No doubt she’d lose her composure and poke some old biddy in the nose, making matters worse. Then she’d be considered not only loose with her morals but violent to boot. Not that she cared. However, her parents would be heartbroken.

There was no help for it. She had to return to Coniston, for how could one think amid the mad London whirl? There, she could immerse herself in peaceful isolation, take long walks down country lanes, and gaze for hours at Coniston’s scenic splendor. Indeed, she needed to be alone and away from her meddling, although well-intentioned, family. Away from Ian, for she couldn’t hold a thought when he was near. He overwhelmed her senses.

She’d give herself two weeks to come to a decision. In that time, Ian might lose interest and effectively make the decision for her. No, she realized at once. He was determined to protect her, and a determined Ian was not easy to overcome. He’d be ruthless in getting his way, using his considerable powers of seduction to lure her into accepting his proposal.

She was so close to surrendering. The butterflies in her stomach were already flitting about inside her, cheering and shouting,
Yes, my love! My dearest! Yes, yes, yes!
By tomorrow, they’d be dancing to the tune of a wedding waltz.

The only holdout was her heart.

She sniffled, realizing she was still holding Ian’s handkerchief and had held on to it all night. Crumpets, she was a pathetic creature for needing a piece of Ian beside her, even something as inconsequential as a small square of cloth.
Ian, I wish you loved me.

Her tears began to flow again, confirming that she had officially turned into a watering pot. She was misty eyed, red nosed, and a blubbering, sputtering mess. She cried until morning. She cried until the sun shone brightly through her window. Then she dried her tears, dressed, and rang for Gladys. “Pack my trunks.”

The sweet girl’s eyes popped wide. “Where will you go?”

“I’m returning to Coniston.”

She announced her plan to her parents when they came down to breakfast later that morning. Dillie had been waiting for them and was already seated at the dining table, an untouched glass of milk in front of her. She hadn’t eaten any food. She hadn’t the appetite, for her stomach was twisted in a painful knot. “I don’t want anyone to accompany me. I’m going alone.”

Her father, who had just filled his plate with sausage and kippers and then sat down beside her, threw his napkin onto the table and rose. “Sophie,” he said, pushing back his chair, “our daughter is determined to put us into an early grave. Alone, Dillie? Are you jesting? Isn’t it what got you into this scrape in the first place?”

Dillie’s mother left her plate on the sideboard and hurried to his side. She patted him on the shoulder. “Now, John, you know none of this is Dillie’s fault. The duke was hurt. Dillie and George saved his life. I’m quite proud of her. You ought to be as well.”

Dillie smiled for the first time in what felt like centuries. “Thank you, Mama.”

“And the duke is willing to marry her. He could offer nothing less, of course. After all, she did save him.” She nibbled her lower lip as she turned to Dillie. “So why won’t you marry him? Is there something you aren’t telling us?”

“No. I simply don’t wish to be the only Farthingale trapped in a loveless marriage.”

Her mother shook her head. “I still don’t see the problem. I’ve noticed the way you look at him, child.”

Of course, because she didn’t know how to hide her feelings. Especially about Ian. She turned into a tongue-dragging, stumbling, bumbling idiot whenever he was near. “It isn’t that simple.”

Her mother cast her the gentlest smile. “Yes, it is.”

Perhaps for her mother. She glanced from one parent to the other. Her mother had always had her father’s loyalty and affection. He’d loved her from the moment he’d set eyes on her. Not on Chipping Way. He’d met her in Coniston. She hadn’t needed the Chipping Way curse to catch a husband.

“I just need time alone to think, time without everyone looking over my shoulder and commenting on everything I do or say. Abner can drive me up in one of our carriages. Or I’ll take a hired coach.”

Her father slapped his palms on the table. Dillie jumped at the resounding
thwack
. “The devil you will! You’ll take a Farthingale carriage. And your aunt Imogen will accompany you.”

“Aunt Imogen?” Dillie groaned. “Oh, not her! Anyone but her. She reeks of rosewater and never stops talking.”

Her mother let out a small gasp. “That isn’t a nice thing to say.” But she was pursing her lips and trying her best to hold back a grin.

Dillie raised her chin in indignation. “But it’s true.”

“John,” her mother said softly, “perhaps Rupert can escort Dillie most of the way. Didn’t you just tell me that he must go to Carlisle on family business?”

He nodded. “An important meeting on Wednesday. He won’t have time to drop her off and still make the meeting.”

“He would if we went straight to Carlisle and dropped him there first,” Dillie said. “Abner can then take me down to Coniston. It’s an easy day’s ride from Carlisle, and even if we’re delayed, we know the area well. If we have any difficulty, I’ll take a room at the Black Sail Inn in Penrith. It’s a respectable establishment. You’ve often said so yourself.”

“What do you think, John?” Her mother was still at his side, soothing him as no one else ever could. “It sounds like a workable plan.”

He shook his head and sighed. “I think,” he said, sighing again, “that I ought to have thrown each of my daughters into a dark dungeon and not let them out until I had betrothal contracts firmly in hand.”