On a Wild Duke Chase: The Wayward Woodvilles Book 2 Page 9

  "You're an arse. Has anyone ever told you that?" she asked him, and by the look of his shocked expression, no one ever had.

  “You have bite, Miss Woodville. I would not have thought it possible from you," he said, his tone one of sarcasm.

  They stared at each other, and Isla did not know what to say or do next. Emotions boiled up within her, and she bit her tongue, trying to stop the tears that returned. Damn the man for getting under her skin. For making her feel things for him he did not deserve.

  His smug expression vanished, and before she knew what he was about, she was in his arms, his strong, immovable embrace engulfing her. For a moment, she did not know what she ought to do, but her body overrode her startled mind, and she clutched at him, holding him with as much force as he held her.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair, kissing her temple. "I'm sorry. I did not want to upset you. I did not follow you to upset you. I merely wanted to see you. To know that you have not promised yourself to anyone. I could not stand that."

  She sniffed, the scent of his cologne making her mind befuddled. "What does it matter if I have? The talk about town is that you're going to marry Lady Susan."

  He frowned down at Isla. He drew back a little and pushed several strands of her hair away from her face. "If I could marry you, Isla, I would. You must know that, no matter how curt I have been toward you, it is not because I do not care. It is because I care too much. I want something that I cannot have. I want you to have more than I can give you."

  "Just ask me. I promise everything will be well," she begged of him. Needing him to ask her now, before he didn't, and everything was ruined.

  "There is more to my life, that you…that no one knows. Things that may change your opinion of me. You would not marry me even if you had the choice, not if you knew…"

  He stepped out of her hold, and she reached for him, halting him. "What secret? I know that you require funds to marry. What more is there to know?" she begged him, beseeching him to tell her.

  He cradled her face in his hands, staring down at her. "You deserve better than what I can give you, Isla. And if we married, the burden of my life would be heavy. I do not want that for you."

  "But what about what I want?" she stated, clasping the lapels of his coat. "I want you. Let me love you." She had to be enough for him as he thought of her now. A woman with a modest dowry, not an heiress. If he chose her now, she could save him, and no matter what other secrets he harbored, she knew she could shoulder those.

  "There are too many who rely on me, Isla. I cannot be selfish to choose myself and my happiness over all who look to me for leadership and security."

  Disappointment ran through her blood like poison. He may want her as much as she wanted him, but it was not enough to outweigh his need for financial security. She was not enough.

  "Then you best marry Lady Susan and secure your future, Lord Leigh. I hope it is a happy union." She walked to the door, opened it, and gasped.

  Lady Collins, Lady Francesca, and Miss Jones stood on the threshold, their mouths agape, their eyes wide. Their attention slipped past Isla and landed on Lord Leigh, their eyes growing wider with alarm.

  Lady Collins pushed past Isla, a short, stubby finger lifting and pointing at each of them. "Are you in the retiring room with Lord Leigh unchaperoned, Miss Woodville?" her ladyship asked, but it was more like a statement of fact.

  Isla felt the blood drain from her face. This was not what she wanted at all. She wanted a marriage of love and affection. Not one brought on with scandal and ruination. The sound of retreating slippered feet caught her attention, and she looked back to the door and noticed Lady Francesca had disappeared.

  Panic assailed her, and she clasped Lady Collins's hand. "Nothing untoward occurred, your ladyship. I became lost, and Lord Leigh was in this room when I entered it, looking for the retiring room. You happened upon us just before I was about to leave."

  "Really?" her ladyship said, a disbelieving brow raised. "You are telling me, Miss Woodville, that Lord Leigh was using the lady's retiring room as a place to rest during my ball?" Her ladyship turned to Lord Leigh. "Might I ask why you were in the lady's retiring room, my lord?"

  A muscle worked at Lord Leigh's jaw, and Isla could see the disappointment, the regret and pain that crossed his features at being caught with her. He truly had not wished to marry her at all. She had hoped he could have looked beyond his need for money, but it would seem he could not. His financial woes overrode all his other wants and needs, and now, being caught with her alone, that future he hoped for was fading away.

  "I sought out Miss Woodville as I wanted to ask her to be my wife, and she has agreed. We wanted to surprise everyone with a notice in The Times, but it would seem you have thwarted my plans." He walked up to Isla and picked up her gloved hand, kissing it. "Wish us well, Lady Collins. You are the first to know our news."

  Her ladyship's countenance changed, and turning to Miss Jones, who stood at the door, mouth still agape, clapped her hands. "Oh, wonderful news! We shall announce your happy news now, come, we shall return to the ball together, so all will know nothing scandalous was afoot." Her ladyship bustled out of the room, and Isla looked up at Lord Leigh, but he refused to look at her. The smile he had just forced before Lady Collins was wiped from his face as they followed one of the matrons of the ton back downstairs.

  Isla's head swam, hopes and dreams dissipated. This was not how she wanted her marriage proposal to have gone. And this was certainly not how she wanted her future husband to react to marrying her.

  What a mitigated disaster her Season had turned into. Some would say a triumph, an unknown miss from Northamptonshire had secured Viscount Leigh, but she was not one of them. And nor was his lordship.

  Chapter

  Fourteen

  The remainder of the night was a blur of congratulations, toasts, and talk of his future bride and their wedding. Questions bombarded him as to when they would marry, how long they had been courting. Had their affection for each other grown while at Lord Billington's house party.

  He stood beside Isla, noting her quiet and modest countenance. She looked as shocked as he was at the turn of events, and he only had himself to blame. He should not have gone after her, not followed her into that retiring room.

  Idiot fool. What had he been thinking!

  "I shall write to Mr. Woodville tonight and send word for him to come to town. He will want to meet you, Lord Leigh, and you may discuss the marriage contracts then," Mrs. Woodville said to him, smiling down at her daughter, seemingly oblivious to her child's pale, wan visage.

  "So soon, Mama?" Isla said, her voice tired. "Surely, there is no need to rush these things. In some cases, the marriage between two people does not occur for several months, or even years."

  Isla's mother looked at her, confused. "But that is not the case with you, my darling. The union between you and Lord Leigh may progress at a normal pace. We shall have the first banns called this Sunday and for the next three Sundays following."

  A month. He had a month to speak with his steward and see where they could make up some money. Try to drag his pitiful coffers into something that would give him more than what he had now to live on. With a wife with little dowry, it merely added another mouth to feed. He was unsure how he could afford a wedding and now keep his new bride in the station in which she was accustomed.

  She would soon see the state of his Hampshire Estate. The many paintings, furniture, rugs, and curtains that had been sold after his father's death in trying to keep people employed. As it was, he had to let go half his staff, and the house and grounds suffered for it.

  A good marriage was what he had needed. He fought the panic that assailed him. How was he to bring his mother home? Pay to have her removed from Bedlam, an institution into which she should never have been placed?

  She would now die there. Alone and believing she was unloved.

  What had he done?

  "Send word to my house
at St. James Square when Mr. Woodville is in town, and I shall call on him then." He bowed before Isla, unable to quite meet her eye. "Good evening, my dear. I shall see you then as well." Duke turned on his heel and left, not bothering to stop and talk to anyone on his way out. He needed to go, think, and plan.

  He could not do any of that in the middle of a ball.

  He was sunk, and his new, poor wife would join him in that ruination.

  Duke cringed at the disrespectful thought. It was not Isla's fault he had lost all his money. Nor was it his, but his father's. Even so, she had not asked him to follow her into that room. She had not asked anything from him except to let her love him, and even then, he had thrown her wishes back at her.

  She deserved so much better than what he could give her or what he was.

  Fool.

  A week later, he received a missive from Mr. Woodville requesting an audience with him that afternoon to discuss the marriage contracts and particulars of the wedding. Duke leaned back on his chair behind his desk, throwing the missive on the mahogany table before him, one of the pieces of furniture he had not been able to part with, no matter how much money it would fetch.

  He sat there for a time, hoping that Isla may have at least five thousand pounds to her name. That would help, not indefinitely, but a little was better than none. He rubbed a hand over his jaw and sighed. Sitting here accomplished nothing, and better he found out now what his financial situation would be rather than after he married her.

  It did not take him long to get to Woodville's home, a larger Georgian mansion he had not thought would be affordable for such a humble family. The duke, he remembered. Derby most likely put them up in such comforts now that he was part of their family. But then Isla had mentioned the Woodville's leasing it, so mayhap he was wrong.

  He knocked on the door, and it was promptly answered by a young footman. "Lord Leigh, you are expected. Please come in," the young man said. "May I take your coat, my lord?"

  Leigh waved the offer aside. "No, thank you."

  The young man gestured toward a room near the front of the house. "This way if you please."

  Duke followed him and entered the library, much better stocked than his own. An older gentleman, well dressed and with graying hair, stood, calling him to enter. "Lord Leigh, how good it is to meet you." The man came about the desk and shook his hand, offering him a chair. "Come, sit. We have much to discuss."

  He smiled at the man, a jovial fellow it would seem, and wondered just how much he needed to talk about. "Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Woodville. I know this betrothal is very untoward. I should have asked for your permission first, but then…"

  "Never mind that, Lord Leigh. I know that these things happen with more spontaneity than normal when the heart wants what it wants." Mr. Woodville smiled at him as if he expected him to agree.

  "Of course," he said, not wanting to give offense. He was a right bastard. Here was Isla's father, excited and happy for his daughter's forthcoming marriage, and all Duke could think about was what she would cost him in gowns and shoes each month. However would he afford to keep a wife happy?

  "Now, may I call you Leigh? I find adding honorifics in private to be tiring."

  "Of course," he said again, making a mental note to answer with something other than of course when asked another question.

  "I thought we ought to go over the marriage contracts first. Get that side of the business out of the way, and then we shall retire for luncheon. I know my wife is particularly excited to welcome you officially to our family, and you shall meet another of our daughters. Miss Julia has come up to town with me, but of course, she is not out as yet."

  "Of—" Duke stopped himself from answering the same yet again. "Lunch sounds wonderful." He shifted his chair closer to the desk. "Shall we proceed?" he asked Mr. Woodville.

  "Yes, yes, of course." The older man opened a drawer on his desk, pulling out several papers. "Now, before we begin, I would like you to know and understand that what I'm about to tell you must stay between us. You may discuss this now with the Duke of Derby, for he has married our darling Hailey, but as part of the family, this secret is guarded and for reasons that you will soon come to understand."

  Duke gaped at Mr. Woodville. Oh dear God, there was some family secret that she too hid? His mind worked furiously, thinking of what it could be. He did not need another tribulation to pile upon him.

  "What is it, Mr. Woodville?" he asked.

  "Please, call me Edward." The older man shuffled through his papers, sliding several over to him. "This is the usual contract information between uniting our two families, the date of the wedding and who will officiate the ceremony, location, etcetera."

  Duke read through the document, seeing all that Mr. Woodville—Edward—had just mentioned written in black ink. He turned to the next page, the name of her childhood home listed as an asset upon the death of her parents. To be sold and income passed on in equal values to each daughter. His eyes skimmed over the figure of her dowry before he went back to it. "There is an error in the document, sir," he said, pointing to the sum.

  Mr. Woodville leaned over the desk, staring down to where Duke's finger sat. "No, no, that is correct."

  Duke swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. "Excuse me, Mr. Woodville. But that cannot be right." He read the sum again, counting the number of naughts in the sum. "Miss Woodville cannot be worth such a sum." His stomach revolted at the amount, and he swallowed, sure he was about to cast up his accounts.

  Mr. Woodville chuckled. "Oh, she's not worth that measly sum. She is priceless, but to you and your future, that is what my darling Isla brings with her." Mr. Woodville frowned, clearly sensing Duke's distress. "Did you not know she is an heiress, Lord Leigh?"

  Duke stared at his soon-to-be father-in-law, unable to form words. She was rich? An heiress. His stomach recoiled at the way he had stayed away from her this past week since their announcement at Lady Collin's ball. He had been sick with worry, and yet, all the time, she was worth more than many of the women he had been seeking to court.

  "I did not know," he said, his voice hoarse. He felt as if he would vomit, and he knew the reason why. She had told him herself. Just ask me, and all will be well. And he had not trusted her. He had not loved her enough to let go of his need for funds to marry her. And she knew that truth as well as he did.

  She would hate him as much as he hated himself for not seeing past his need for money to what he truly wanted.

  Her.

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  "Well, that is good news for me, then, for then I know that you are not a fortune-hunting good-for-nothing whom I would have to call out for being caught alone in a retiring room with my daughter."

  The steel in Mr. Woodville's tone brought Duke's gaze up to meet his, and he heard the warning in the man's voice and knew he was being chastised for his slip of etiquette.

  "I apologize for that, Mr. Woodville. I should not have followed Isla to that room, but I wished to ask for her hand," he lied, unable to tell her father the truth, for he would indeed then boot him out of the house and refuse to allow her to marry him after all. Ruination and scandal bedamned.

  Something told Duke that Mr. Woodville, for all his friendliness, was not a man to cross. Not when it came to his daughters.

  "What you now know of my daughters' dowries must remain confidential. If the ton found out that they were worth such a sum, they would be hounded from dawn to dusk during their Seasons. We may not be titled, but we are not without means. The gentlemen whom my daughters choose to be their husbands will love them for who they are, not what they will bring to the marriage."

  "I understand," he said, guilt crushing him from within. "Should we sign the contract and have some luncheon?" Duke suggested.

  Mr. Woodville smiled, dipping a quill and handing it to him. "Sign away, Lord Leigh, and let us be done with work."

  Duke signed his name and watched as Mr. Woodville did the s
ame before ringing for a servant. He rolled up the document and sealed it closed with wax. "Have this sent directly to my solicitor on Warwick Lane, just off Newgate Street. Have Thomas take it and ensure it is placed in Mr. Lipton's hand himself."

  The older servant nodded. "I will send Thomas posthaste, Mr. Woodville."

  Isla's father leaned back in his chair, smiling. "Now, shall we have lunch? I do not know about you, Leigh, but I’m hungry and our cook does the best roasted potatoes, and we have beef for lunch. It should be delicious indeed."

  Duke's stomach grumbled. It had been several days since he had eaten anything remotely satisfying. Cheese and bread could only sustain someone for so long. The thought of vegetables, gravy, and meat made his mouth water.

  They made their way into the dining room, and he found Mrs. Woodville already seated, along with a young lady whom he had never met before, but there was no mistaking her for Isla's sister.

  He bowed before them. "Good afternoon. Thank you for having me for lunch, Mrs. Woodville," he said.

  She smiled, gesturing for him to sit across from her. "The pleasure is ours, Lord Leigh." She looked toward the door. "Isla will not be long, I'm certain."

  Duke nodded, but he knew why she was avoiding him, for the same reasons he had been avoiding her this past week. She knew his secret. That he was indeed a fortune hunter who had fooled Mr. Woodville into thinking it was a love match. That his daughter was marrying a man she loved, not one who had made a mistake that just happened to turn out to his advantage.

  The sound of slippered feet on the foyer floor caught his attention, and he looked toward the dining room door just as Isla entered the room. She did not look at him, merely dipped into a curtsy to her parents and sat beside him. He could feel the tension that radiated off her in waves. She was angry, seething if he were right, and that anger was directed solely toward him.