Their intimate encounters with one another would probably be meticulously scheduled, and whatever they would do, it would not have anything to do with passion but everything to do with the production of a child in mind. Pushing the thought aside, Isabella tried not to think of it, willing herself to enjoy the kiss the duke offered instead. But then it ended—much too abruptly for her liking—and she found herself standing alone once more with a decent amount of space between them.
“Marry me,” the duke said, a raw longing emanating from his eyes. “Marry me, and I will promise to give you this every day for the rest of your life.”
Swallowing hard, Isabella blinked. She felt faint. Had she just received a marriage proposal from the Duke of Kingsborough in the middle of a dirt road? Her mind reeled at the possibility of his offer, even though she knew, sadly, that she could not accept. Instinct told her to fling herself into his arms and say Yes, with all my heart, yes, but instead she just stood there, until slowly, she shook her head. Her throat closed at the look of anguish and disappointment that filled the duke’s every feature at her rejection, and it was sheer willpower that forced the words from her throat. “Forgive me,” she said, choking back the tears of despair that she feared would overcome her.
“Why?” His words were softly spoken, but when she found herself unable to answer for the knot in her throat, his voice rose to a near roar as he repeated the question. “Why?”
“My father has made an agreement with Mr. Roberts—it is the honorable thing to do.”
He stared back at her in disbelief and eventually shook his head. “It is a stupid thing to do—an action you will come to regret many times over.”
“You cannot possibly know that,” she said, annoyed by his accusation.
“Of course I can,” he insisted. “For the minute you marry him, you’ll find yourself waiting on him hand and foot. He doesn’t give a damn about your needs or your desires, but only about his own. I believe your question yesterday about reading will attest to that. You like to read, but he doesn’t. Consequently there will be no more reading for you once you marry him. Is that really the sort of life you desire? One where your husband will dictate each detail of your existence for you just so he can take you out in public on occasion, the way other men might take out their horse?”
Shocked by his statement and pained by its accuracy, her hand flew across his face in a hard slap. Her blood was boiling she was so enraged—at Mr. Roberts for wishing to deny her freedom, at her parents, who’d made the match, at herself for being too honorable to reject Mr. Roberts’s attention and at the duke for making her doubt a decision she’d long since come to terms with.
For a moment they just stood there staring at each other, their breathing coming hard as they fought for control. “I will not allow you to speak of Mr. Roberts in such a manner,” she said. If she was to hold on to her sanity, then she had to believe that marrying Mr. Roberts would not be as bad as she feared, and the duke was not being the least bit helpful in that regard. “Being a duke has obviously led you to believe that you can toy with people’s lives as you see fit, that you can have whatever you wish for regardless of the consequences.”
He didn’t respond, but there was no mistaking the dangerous glint in his eyes as he stood there staring back at her. Clenching and unclenching his jaw, he finally said, “I advise you to think very carefully about your decision to marry Mr. Roberts.” His anger abated and his voice grew softer and gentler as he spoke. “I should hate to see you sacrifice yourself in such a meaningless way.”
“There is nothing meaningless about it, Your Grace.” Whether he wished it or not, his words riled her.
“Yes, there is.” He reached for her hand, and she was powerless to pull away as the heat of his touch seeped under her skin. “You have an alternative in me. As you have just pointed out, I am a duke, Miss Chilcott. Don’t tell me I do not trump Mr. Roberts’s offer any day. Whatever reason you think there is for having to choose him over me—the agreement he has with your father as you claim—is exaggerated, I assure you. But the matter will not be made easier once he makes his offer, which is why I would strongly urge you to make it clear to him now that you will not accept him.”
“Why?” she asked, unable to believe that he would be willing to sacrifice himself for her—a mere nobody—when he could have any woman he desired. “Why would you wish to marry me? We hardly know one another.”
Tilting his head to one side, he appeared to consider her question quite thoroughly. “True.” He paused for a moment before saying, “May I speak plainly?”
“I would encourage you to do so,” she said, curious about what he planned to confide.
“Very well then . . . to be quite blunt, I am seven and twenty years of age. My experience with women has not been . . . limited.” Isabella felt herself blush, but, sensing the importance of what he was about to divulge, she kept her eyes on his in spite of her embarrassment. “But then I met you, and I felt something different than what I’ve felt for all the rest—a connection that made all my prior experience inconsequential. I know that it may sound strange to you, but trust me when I tell you that whatever it is that binds us together is rare. It’s not something that I can turn my back on with ease, for I know I’m unlikely to find it again with someone else.”
What on earth could she possibly say in the face of such a declaration? This was the fairy-tale moment she’d always dreamed of, and yet, tragically, it couldn’t be hers. She shook her head with sadness. “Even if I turn Mr. Roberts down, my parents will never allow me to marry you.” She didn’t have to look at him to know he had to be thoroughly confused.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, confirming her thoughts. “Any other parent in the world would be thrilled at the prospect of a duke paying court to their daughter. Why would they possibly be against it?”
She couldn’t look at him as she spoke, her words reflecting her sadness. “It is my mother, to be precise. She hates your kind and will never allow me to wed you.”
Silence filled the air with a crispness that crackled around them. Unable to stand it any longer, Isabella looked up at him and saw the incomprehension in his eyes. He shook his head and blinked. “She doesn’t approve of my history as a rake.” He spoke as if this had to be the obvious meaning behind Isabella’s words. “Surely she must know that I’ve given up on that life, but if not, I shall just have to prove myself to her.”
“It’s not that,” Isabella said, eliciting a frown from the duke. “She hates the nobility and everything it stands for.”
“Well,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips and placing a tender kiss against her knuckles, “then it is fortunate that your father shall be the one making the decision. I will speak to him.”
And I will pray for a miracle, Isabella thought, keeping silent this time, reluctant to say anything that might instigate another argument. She knew that he was right—that it was her father he would have to speak with, but that was only a matter of convention. When it came to actual decision making, her mother had some very firm opinions, and her father never resolved anything of importance without consulting her first. No, in order to marry the duke, she would have to elope with him, and that was something she could not do.
One late-night escapade behind her mother’s back was one thing, betraying both of her parents’ trust in her was entirely a different matter. She nodded, but there was no conviction behind it. “Get his approval, and you shall have mine.”
She watched him smile—the smile of victory close at hand. If he only knew the obstacle that awaited him in the form of her mother. He had no idea. Reluctant to ruin his good mood, however, she accepted the arm he now offered her and recommenced walking. They had lingered enough already. It was time she delivered the pie to her aunt.
Chapter 15
It was not without apprehension that Anthony arrived at the Chilcott home later that day. He’d put on a confident smile for Miss Chilcott’s benefit, but her words of defeat worried him. After escorting her all the way to her aunt and uncle’s doorstep, where she had, to his great consternation, proven herself capable of splitting an apple in half with the mere twist of her hands, he’d returned to Moxley, assured by Miss Chilcott’s aunt that her uncle would take her home in his buggy.
Rapping on the door, he now waited for it to be opened by the same maid he’d met on his previous visits. “Is Mr. Chilcott at home?” he asked, hoping she’d respond in the affirmative.
She did, much to his relief, leading him quickly inside to wait for his host in the parlor. “Mr. Chilcott will be with you shortly.” She gestured toward a beige armchair that stood as part of a larger seating arrangement. “Please have a seat.”
Thanking her, the maid bobbed a curtsy, then exited the room, leaving Anthony alone. Looking around, he was just preparing to take his seat when the door to the dining room opened, revealing the man himself. “Your Grace, I am honored once more by your visit.” Anthony straightened himself, accepting the hand Mr. Chilcott offered him in a firm shake. “Do have a seat—tea will arrive shortly.”
Thanking Mr. Chilcott for his hospitality, Anthony placed himself in the beige armchair while his host took a seat on the sofa across from him.
So far so good.
“I apologize for coming unannounced like this,” Anthony began. “But there is a matter of grave importance that I must discuss with you—indeed, I have a moral obligation to do so.”
Mr. Chilcott frowned as he leaned back against the sofa and crossed his arms. “That sounds rather serious. Do continue.”
Anthony steeled himself. The nerves in his stomach were in utter uproar. What if he failed? He wanted Miss Chilcott at his side—needed her in such a profound manner that he felt quite desperate at the thought of losing all hope. Swallowing his misgivings, he trained his features into a mask of utter confidence and said, “I wish to ask for your permission to court your daughter, sir.”
Mr. Chilcott blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”
Taking a deep breath, Anthony directed his intense dark eyes squarely at Mr. Chilcott and pressed on, attempting to choose his words with care. “I know that it was she who I met at the ball—the mystery woman whom I’ve been searching for—that it was her I danced with, spoke to and . . .”
Kissed.
Mr. Chilcott raised an eyebrow.
“She’s a remarkable woman,” Anthony continued, hoping he wouldn’t be asked to elaborate on what he’d just left unsaid, “and I am confident that she will make an excellent duchess.”
Mr. Chilcott frowned again—more deeply this time. “What makes you so certain? You cannot possibly know that you will get along well with one another in the long run—you barely know each other, for heaven’s sake!” The words were barely out before Mr. Chilcott’s eyes widened with alarm. “Don’t tell me you’ve been romancing her in secret and that she went to the ball specifically to meet with you. Good God! Has she been compromised? If you’ve—”