Ten Things I Hate About the Duke - Loretta Chase Page 0,14
which, in her child’s view, made him a warrior angel joining her battle against the world’s wrongs. Ever after, for years, in the face of contrary evidence, she’d believed he’d grow up into—what? Sir Galahad? The prince in the fairy tale?
Yes. She’d believed he would do great things.
She’d stopped believing, eventually. In time, she realized that the celestial creature she’d all but worshipped had existed only in her imagination. He’d never become what she wanted him to become.
She knew how to mend some kinds of damage. She knew how to help those to whom life had been unkind and unjust. But the Duke of Ashmont had traveled too far down the road of self-indulgence and self-destruction to be brought back. The amount of work he needed to turn into a semi-acceptable human being was far beyond her scope, practically beyond her imagining. An angel or a saint might tackle him. She was neither.
He was beyond help or hope, and the grown-up Cassandra Pomfret had more serious matters and more deserving persons to occupy her mind.
All she could do now was use him.
He stepped into the room and closed the door. “I have an idea,” he said. “Marry me.”
Chapter 3
Ashmont ducked. The teapot crashed against the door, exploding into chunks of blue and white.
Though he’d braced himself with brandy and soda, as one would for a duel, it wasn’t enough to numb his reflexes. He’d seen the warning signs, and dodging missiles was second nature. At least she hadn’t a pistol at hand.
He looked down at the shattered pieces of crockery and the tea puddle spreading at his feet. “I know it’s sudden but—”
“Your bride bolted five days ago,” she said. “Have you lost your mind?”
“She did. True enough. And if you would only—”
“You haven’t lost your heart, that’s certain.”
“Here’s the thing. From what I’ve heard, you need a husband. I was planning to have a wife. That didn’t go well, but—”
“Didn’t go well! She ran away. Do I strike you as less intelligent than Lady Olympia? Not that one wants above-average intelligence to recognize a bad bargain—and if bad bargain isn’t the euphemism of the year, I don’t know what is.”
He wasn’t used to explaining. He wasn’t sure he knew how. That was something other people did. All the explanation he ever needed was coins. Bank notes. Charm, sometimes. Persuasion. But he hadn’t time for persuading.
A misadventure was enlarging and worsening by the minute. No matter which way he turned it—this way, that way, right side up, and upside down—the consequences of this morning’s events would be . . . very bad.
His reputation wasn’t pretty. He’d done some things. A great many things, far from virtuous or well behaved. But he was a man and a duke and the only consequences he ever suffered were to his purse.
She wasn’t a man and a duke, and she’d stepped on too many toes, annoyed too many people.
Lots of people got their knives out for her, Keeffe had said.
Like Ashmont, she shrugged off the gossip and naysayers. But a girl like that wouldn’t shrug off trouble she brought to her family.
He didn’t have a family. Thought he would. Starting with a wife. But no. Joke was on him. Ha ha.
He had Ripley, Blackwood, and a smooth-tongued busybody of an uncle.
Smooth. That was it. He needed to try to think like Uncle Fred.
“Why don’t we send for another pot of tea,” he said. “Or better yet, brandy and soda. And talk this over like sensible fellows.”
“You couldn’t be sensible if your life depended on it. I want to see Keeffe.”
“Best not. He’s sleeping. In a proper bed in a bedchamber.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“I said the magical words,” he said. “All I had to say was, ‘You’re worrying Miss Pomfret.’ He quieted wonderfully. We talked. About horse races and such. Greenslade stopped in to look at him. Keeffe’s feverish, but his mind never wandered, all the time until he fell asleep. Greenslade’s sent for a nurse to look after him. Everything is in hand.”
“I am perfectly capable of looking after my own groom. I know how to nurse. You have no idea how many sickbeds I’ve sat beside.”
“Keeffe does, and he made a point of saying I wasn’t to let you nurse him. He said you had enough to manage. If I were you—”
“Indeed. Exactly what I need. Advice from you.”
She went to the window, which overlooked the courtyard, and turned her back to him. She shook her head, and a pin slid out from her