WHILE SHE’D BEEN focused on saving the carter’s horse, Josie had been able to ignore the duke’s overpowering maleness.
Once the two of them were back in the Garden Room, the horse having been temporarily dispensed to the duke’s stable, she was suddenly very much aware of Marcus Wharton’s height. Tall. The breadth of his shoulders. Massive. The cut of his jaw. Rock-solid. And the force of his gaze. Blue steel.
She felt very much like the youngest and most bookish of the Wentworth girls and very little like a worldly, wealthy heiress, intent on getting what she wanted from a man who might very well be unwilling to give it up. She pushed her glasses up over the slight bump in her nose with a gloved forefinger. What on earth had possessed her to drag the Duke of Blackthorne out onto the street? She’d come here to negotiate a business deal and had succumbed to a combination of nerves at the prospect of facing the man and compassion for the horse.
The duke was the one dabbing sweat from his forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief, but Josie was having trouble catching her breath, as though she were the one who’d unharnessed the nag, rather than the duke.
She was here to convince Blackthorne to put his nephews in her care in exchange for her fortune. She believed him to be uncaring enough of their welfare to be glad of her offer.
At first, she’d been anxious that he might recognize her, but she bore little resemblance to the battered creature he’d rescued. She’d considered using a false name when she met with him, but the Pinkerton had discovered from Blackthorne’s solicitor that he’d had no previous dealings—none at all—with anyone named Josephine Wentworth. He really had forgotten all about her!
Josie had been incensed all over again at the thought that, instead of spending the money to send her home, the duke had dumped her at one of his faraway holdings and completely wiped her from his mind—along with his nephews.
The fact that he’d helped her rescue the broken-down horse suggested he wasn’t completely heartless. Maybe she’d misjudged him. Maybe there was some other reason he’d ignored the two boys. Maybe it would be sufficient to bring his nephews’ plight to his attention.
The impudence of her original plan—to buy the boys with her inheritance and take them back with her to America—suddenly struck her, making her breathing even more labored. Alone in this barren room with the duke, she felt like a helpless lamb who’d come face-to-face with a ravenous wolf. She wondered if the feeling of being trapped had anything to do with the fact that Blackthorne stood between her and the door.
A picture of Spencer and Clay appeared in her mind’s eye with welts on their calves and palms, the result of Mrs. Pettibone’s war against the governess. That pitiful image gave her the strength to lift her chin and ball her gloved hands into tight fists in the folds of her skirt.
She was about to speak when the duke said, “I understand you’re here to apply for the position of duchess.”
His low, rumbling voice reminded her of those painful days on the ship, when he’d coaxed her to hang on to life. But that was another lifetime ago. Josie took a breath to contradict him, but he’d already continued speaking.
“I think you’re exactly what I’ve been seeking. My solicitor will explain the terms of our agreement. It will be up to you whether we continue marital relations once the union has been consummated.”
Josie was flustered by such plain speaking. Her clenched fists unfurled and rose to cover her cheeks, as she sought to hide her blush. But she was appalled by the duke’s assumption that any woman would agree to marry him because of who he was, without even the courtesy of a proposal.
She lowered her hands, which quickly curled back into tight knots behind her skirt. “Do you plan to propose? Or have you assumed I’ll accept, even before you’ve made your offer?”
The duke looked taken aback. “I presumed—”
“Yes, you did, Your Grace,” she interrupted. “I never said I was here to apply for the position of duchess.”
“You didn’t?” His brows lowered. “You aren’t?”
Josie hadn’t expected the duke to be interested in her as a prospective bride, so she hadn’t considered becoming the Duchess of Blackthorne as a possible means of taking the boys under her wing. But why not?
Because he’s a thoughtless, unkind human being, who’s ignored his nephews for the past two years.
He saved the carter’s horse.
You saved the carter’s horse. He came along because you gave him no choice.
He saved you.
Well, yes, that’s true. But he broke his promise to send me home. He made me an utter slave at one of his estates and forgot I was alive.
So here’s your chance to repay the man for his perfidy. You could show him how it feels when someone makes a promise—for instance, to love, honor, and obey—and then breaks it. You could marry him, and then, when he least expects it, abandon him the way he abandoned you.
Josie turned her back on the duke and stared out the window at a garden that seemed as untended as the duke’s nephews, giving her the chance to think without being distracted by Blackthorne’s steady, penetrating gaze.
It suddenly occurred to her that, if she married the duke, she would become Spencer and Clay’s aunt. She would be able to bring them to live in the duke’s home, where they belonged. Eventually, if the duke cared as little as she believed about the boys—and a wife he’d married merely for her money—she would be able to take them home with her to America.
If you marry the duke, you’ll have to lie with him. He’ll see your back. He’ll know at once—or at least suspect—who you are.
All the better. He should know from the start how I feel about him—when it’s too late to do anything about it. He’ll be stuck for the rest of his life with a wife who despises him.
But you’ll be stuck with him, too! The duke will never divorce you. Even if you return to America, you’ll always be tied to him.
Josie pursed her lips at the dilemma she faced. To save the boys, she was considering marriage to a man she didn’t like or admire, let alone love. On the other hand, she’d never planned to marry, because of her disfigurement. Her back was a dreadful thing to see, something no man would ever want to touch. So it wasn’t as though by marrying Blackthorne, she’d be giving up a chance of finding her one true love someday.
Besides, if their marriage was like most Society marriages in England, she and her husband would see very little of each other. And, the icing on the cake, she would have the experience, at least once in her life, of knowing what it was like to be a woman in a man’s arms. If the duke was virile, perhaps she would even conceive during that single encounter. Because she’d never intended to marry, Josie had never let herself imagine having children of her own, but that possibility had considerable appeal.
Blackthorne had foolishly agreed to leave the issue of “marital relations” up to her, so she would be the one deciding whether or not they repeated whatever happened between them on their wedding night.
So why not marry him?
Josie turned back around and discovered that, in the interim, a suspicious frown had been carved on the duke’s chiseled face. She realized she needed to distract him from asking why she’d come here, if not to become his bride. She didn’t want to give him any inkling that he was being cleverly manipulated into this marriage, so that she could both have her revenge against him and rescue his nephews.
“I came here to see for myself whether marriage to you would suit me,” she said.
The frown disappeared, and a smile teased at his lips. “What have you decided?”
“I’m willing to listen to your proposal, Your Grace.”
He took several steps to close the distance between them, and it took all Josie’s courage to stand her ground. When he stopped, he was no more than a foot from her, close enough that she got a whiff of his cologne and a musky, though not unpleasant, odor that had likely resulted from his recent labor unharnessing the horse.
She was close enough to see the tiny black lines radiating from his pupils into his startling blue eyes. To see the beginning of a dark beard shadowing his cheeks and chin. To see the satanic curve of his dark brows. She resisted the urge to reach out and shove the single black curl off his forehead, as she’d done so often with Spencer and Clay.
Josie realized she was holding her breath and carefully let it out, so the duke wouldn’t realize how powerfully she’d been affected by his closeness.
Then he focused his eyes on hers and spoke.
“I’m not sure what you want to hear, Miss Wentworth. I don’t love you, and I have no doubt the feeling is mutual. I need your wealth to save my estate. In exchange, you will become the Duchess of Blackthorne, and you, and any children we may have, will forever after be royalty.”
Josie appreciated his frank speaking and decided to be equally frank. “I understand my inheritance will become yours upon our marriage. I will need some funds of my own.” She was taking no chance that she would end up without the financial means to bring the boys from Tearlach Castle to wherever she and the duke ended up making their home, and then on to America.
She saw the cynicism overtake his eyes and mouth before he replied, “You can speak to my solicitor and name the amount you will need for a quarterly allowance. The rest, I’m afraid, must go to repaying debts and repairing the estate.”
“Very well,” she said. “I don’t love you, and you don’t love me. Let us say merely that we agree to marry for our separate personal reasons. Shall we shake on it?”
The hint of a smile was back. When he reached out, she set her gloved hand in his and became aware of his very human warmth, which didn’t fit with her image of him as someone so coldhearted that he would pawn off the care of his nephews on a housekeeper and a governess.
“You Americans—”
“Stick to our agreements,” she said archly, as she pulled her hand free.
“I hope you’ll agree to stay with my grandmother while the banns are read in church over the next three weeks. That will give you the opportunity to get acquainted with her, and for us to spend time together before we’re wed.”
Josie was very much aware that Spencer and Clay were essentially dodging bullets on a battleground every day that she was separated from them. “Must we wait for the banns to marry?”
The duke raised a surprised brow. “I thought you would appreciate time to plan a wedding at St. George’s, so all of your relatives and friends could see the spectacular catch you’ve made.”
“I have no family or friends here in England to attend the wedding. Is there a way we can do this sooner?”
“We can be married tomorrow morning with a special license, if that’s your wish.”
Josie swallowed painfully over the sudden lump in her throat. “Tomorrow?” Knowing she had only a day before she became the duke’s wife made what she’d agreed to do seem very real.
“Or we can wait three weeks and marry at St. George’s.”
Waiting wasn’t going to change anything. The sooner they were wed, the sooner she could rescue the boys. “Tomorrow, then.”
She looked into the duke’s blue eyes and felt as though she were tumbling into a bottomless well. Her stomach turned upside down, and she suddenly felt dizzy. She lowered her gaze and clasped her gloved hands together to steady herself. How was she ever going to make it through the wedding? And the wedding night?
“I would like you to meet my grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Blackthorne, before the nuptials tomorrow morning. Is there anyone you would like to invite to the wedding?”
Josie thought of the Pinkerton detective, the only person she knew in London, but realized Mr. Thompson’s attendance would raise too many questions she didn’t yet wish to answer. She shook her head.
“My solicitor didn’t lie,” Blackthorne muttered. “You don’t have any connections.”
“No,” she said. “I don’t. I think now I should meet with your man.”
“Very well. I’ll take you to him. Phipps is working in my study. Once you’ve finished your business, I’ll escort you to my grandmother’s townhome.”
Josie self-consciously poked her glasses up her nose. She hoped she hadn’t made a terrible mistake. It wasn’t too late to back out. She could simply walk out the door and try some other means of rescuing the boys.
The duke set his hand on the small of her back to aim her toward the door, and a frisson of feeling skittered down her spine. She edged away, resisting the urge to lean into his touch, afraid he would feel how her flesh was ridged with scars beneath the cloth.
Josie grudgingly admitted to herself that she wanted that wedding night. She wanted that once-in-a-lifetime chance to be held in a man’s arms. She wanted to become a woman in the duke’s bed.
She just had to figure out how to keep him from getting anywhere near her naked back.