Page 62 of The Heiress Gets a Duke
“Rothschild is hardly Hereford,” said Papa. “You may feel that your situation is similar but only on the surface. I would not have felt nearly as justified in handing you over to Hereford as I do to Rothschild.”
She stared at him, momentarily taken aback by the wordshanding you over. Their accuracy had stolen her breath. How had she fooled herself for so long that she was in charge of her life? All this time, they had simply been humoring her. “But you would have handed me over.” It wasn’t a question. The answer was written on his face.
“August.” There was a sharpness in his voice that she had only rarely ever heard appear. It was reserved solely for those who had stretched his patience thin. “I will not entertain hypotheticals. We are discussing Rothschild and his suitability.”
“No, we are not. You are telling me who to marry. You are telling me that the only value I have to you is in which man I can make your son-in-law.”
Color rose in the apples of Papa’s cheeks. “You are making this into something it is not.”
“It is you who are refusing to see the barbarism of your own actions.”
“Enough of this, both of you,” said Mother, stepping between them. “What does any of that matter? The question of marriage is settled.” Turning to August, she continued, “Her Grace mentioned that the duke’s business might have him called back to London tomorrow.”
Now August understood why her parents had felt the need to have this conversation now.
“I’ve taken the liberty of having the appropriate documents arranged,” said Papa, his voice back to normal. “We can sign them when we return to London.”
For the first time in her life, August knew how it felt to want to hit something. To rage at it so that it was forced to absorb all of her anger and heartache. A sob almost escaped her throat, and her shoulders started to shake, but she held them both back. Now was not the time to give in to despair. Now was the time for action.
Turning abruptly, she left them both behind in the sitting room. She had to see Evan now. If this marriage was to be forced on her, she would set the terms herself. Her heels echoed off the walls as she made her way down the corridor. Armed with only a vague notion gained from a tour by the twins of Evan’s chamber being in the west wing, shemade a turn that took her away from the giant staircase and then another that put her firmly into his domain.
The family’s rooms were here. She paused at each door, continuing on if she heard a female voice within. Finally, she heard a male voice muffled behind the thick oak of one of the last doors off the corridor. It wasn’t Evan’s, but it was possibly his valet’s.
Steeling herself, she raised her hand and gave a firm knock. It was a moment, but soon it opened, and the valet stood before her with a very put-upon expression on his face. “Miss Crenshaw?”
“Good evening. I have come to see Rothschild.”
“I am afraid that is not—”
She pushed past him, and he was so stunned that he gave way. The room was a heavily paneled affair with sofas and chairs in shades of dark blue. Obviously a sitting room. Her gaze caught on an open door, and she headed in that direction.
“Miss Crenshaw, His Grace is at his bath. I am afraid this is...”
She came to an abrupt stop as she had entered a dressing room. Armoires and heavy but well-cushioned furniture was scattered around the room. An open door revealed the heavy brocade of a bedroom beyond them. She would have known this was his room by the seductive smell of bergamot and citrus alone. However, the very naked man in the copper bath was evidence enough.
“August!” He half rose as if preparing for action, remembered his state of undress, and sank back down in the water. But not before she got a very clear view of the hair gathered at his lower belly, tawny but darkened by the water. Her gaze followed the trail up as it narrowed toward his navel and then continued up his flat and ridged stomach to where the muscles began to take shape under the smooth skin of his chest, burnished with a scattering of hair. There was a small indentation where the muscle met that of his shoulder, which flexed as he gripped the edge of the tub.
“Christ, August, what the hell are you doing here?” He didn’t sound angry, merely astonished.
She was also astonished. Now that she thought of it, she might have assumed he would be having a bath after coming in from his ride soaking wet. She didn’t know what she had thought to find or accomplish by barging into his bedroom. Her anger had guided her.
She opened her mouth to apologize for her bad behavior, but she couldn’t seem to find her voice. His nipples were as hard as tiny pebbles, and his pectoral muscles flexed as he shifted to better shield his manly part from her. A rush of heat gathered between her thighs, and her body fairly vibrated with awareness of him. What would his skin smell like when wet? It was the only thing she could think. Some inner strength she hadn’t been aware of was all that was keeping her from going to him to find out.
“Miss Crenshaw, please come with me.” The valet used his sternest voice, but he stopped short of physically hauling her out.
His presence was enough to shake her from her stupor and get her senses back. She had come to do battle. Best to get it over with. If she retreated now, the show of weakness would mean she had already lost.
“That will be all,” she said in the voice she used to deal with difficult vendors at Crenshaw Iron.
Clearly not expecting that, the man stood aghast and stared at her.
“You may leave us,” she added in case there was any question.
His eyes widened, and he glanced to his employer for confirmation.
“Leave us,” said Evan. “Close the door behind you.”
There was a moment of silence, and then the valet retreated, his footsteps muffled on the heavy carpets. Evan’s hair was soaked from being washed and was pushed back, so that his eyes shone out brilliantly. The blue was like jewels. The plains and angles of his face were drawn in sharp relief, making her notice anew how strikingly handsome he was.
