Who Wants to Marry a Duke - Sabrina Jeffries Page 0,7
only emotion replacing his cold arrogance was hot anger.
What right did he have to be angry? She’d saved him from being forced to marry her. He could at least be grateful.
Her stepmother tried to smooth things over. “What my stepdaughter meant to say was—”
“—exactly what I said,” Olivia put in. “I have no desire to marry His Grace. And I suspect he has no desire to marry me either.” She headed for the door to the drawing room. “Now if you both will please excuse me . . .”
She had to escape. She couldn’t bear to see his triumphant expression once he realized he was truly free. But she only got as far as the hallway before her legs failed her, and she sank onto the nearest hall chair to try and settle her nerves.
From inside the room, she heard her stepmother say, “Your Grace, you must give her a chance. Like any young woman, my stepdaughter wants to be courted and petted. Surely in time she—”
“I do not like being toyed with, madam,” he cut in. “As far as I’m concerned, I have met the terms of our bargain.”
Bargain! Oh, this day only got worse and worse. What could her stepmother possibly have offered him to gain his compliance? Was Olivia really so dreadful that a young man wouldn’t even consider her for a wife without some inducement? Granted, she had a middling fortune, but that wouldn’t tempt him. Everyone knew he was rich as sin.
He went on in a voice devoid of the playfulness he’d shown Olivia last night. “I offered; she refused. So we are finished. And if you ever make good on your threat from last night, I will make your life—and that of your stepdaughter—a misery. Good day, Lady Norley.”
Those words galvanized her into action. He was about to leave the room! And she couldn’t bear to be caught listening at doors. She jumped up and headed for the stairs, praying he took his time about walking out on her stepmother.
When she glanced back, she noticed he hadn’t even seen her on the stairs. He was too intent on making his own escape. No doubt he’d finally had the good sense to realize he’d narrowly missed marrying a near stranger.
For the merest moment, she wished she had accepted him. Their kiss had tempted and entranced her. She knew she’d never have another like it.
But kissing wasn’t enough. She could easily guess what marriage to a man of his consequence would be like. He would dictate her days—and her nights. Like Papa, he would have no use for her or for what she wanted. Her desire to be a chemist would fade away just as every woman’s ambition seemed to do once she had to subjugate her dreams to a man’s needs.
It sounded awful. And in such a case, who wanted to marry a duke? Certainly not her.
Chapter One
London October
1809
Thorn broke into a smile as he saw Gwyn heading across her modest ballroom toward him. Leave it to his sister to celebrate her and her husband taking ownership of their new town house by throwing a ball. He didn’t regret one bit selling the house to them. She’d turned the place into a home, and it showed, especially in here. The new floor had the perfect gloss for dancing, and the new chandeliers lit the room much better than the old ones.
It meant she was sure to stay nearby for a while, thank God. And now that she’d married Major Wolfe, who could well protect her, Thorn could relax and stop worrying that some scoundrel might run off with her for her inheritance.
He could focus on his writing for a change, although it was getting harder to hide it, especially from Gwyn. She thought him nothing but a rakehell. His whole family did. In truth, Thorn the rakehell was a character every bit as much as Thorn the playwright and Thorn the duke. None of the roles felt real. Except Thorn the brother, of course. At least that role was genuine.
“You’re wearing a suspiciously secretive smile.” Gwyn kissed him on the cheek. “What mischief do you have up your sleeve tonight?”
“Nothing that would concern you, Liebchen.”
She laughed. “How disappointing. I love being part of your schemes. Or I used to at home, at any rate.”
Home. Prussia was still home for him, too. “Do you miss Berlin?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“Sometimes.” A faraway look crossed her face. “I’d sell my soul for some Eisbein mit Sauerkraut.”