Page 30 of Secrets of a Duke's Heart
If she married him, she would have to be presented to the queen. She would look ridiculous in court dress. Everyone looked ridiculous in court dress, but her flaws would be magnified and on full display. She could hear the room buzzing with gossip about her poor morals already.
A union withLordMontague was unthinkable.
“I thought you would be pleased to discover you’d landed such a prize catch. Doesn’t every woman dream of marrying a duke?”
She scoffed. “I have never viewed marriage as a competition for the highest-ranking husband.”
“I know. I’m sure that’s part of why you appealed to him.”
“You’re not taking this seriously,” she fumed. “I wanted a partner. A man I could talk to every day as a friend and a companion for the next fifty years. A man who loves children and wants to raise them with me. Not a man who is beholden to carrying on a lineage so loaded with expectations that his children are thrust into adult obligations from the cradle!”
“Don’t you think you’re being presumptive? This is exactly what Montague fears, you know. That people will make assumptions about what kind of man he is, and when he fails to meet them, think badly of the whole family.”
She crossed her arms and finally perched on the arm of the fainting couch. An undignified place to sit, for certain, but the fight was leaching out of her and she was suddenly exhausted.
“Perhaps I am being a little judgmental,” she grumbled, “but what do you expect when the man doesn’t trust me with the secrets of his heart?”
“You sound like Miss Turner. All starry-eyed with love and ready to fight to the death for it.” Nathaniel smiled, unbothered by her seething outrage. He could be annoyingly rational. She had always valued that aspect of him, until now.
“How is she, by the way?”
“Still determined to make her uncle see reason. Key, please.” She held out one hand, palm up.
“To what?”
“To your prisoner’s cell, obviously.”
“Why?”
“So that I can facilitate that conversation, Nathaniel. Now, hand it over.”
Reluctantly, he fished an old skeleton key out of his pocket. “This is the only one I have. The other is with Leacham. There is no jail in Cavalier Cove, so I told him his prisoner—not mine, to be clear—would be secure in my wine cellar. The previous earl used to keep his fine clarets and brandy locked up so the staff couldn’t steal it.”
“But you don’t keep large quantities on hand.”
He shook his head. “Can’t afford to. Don’t you get up to any tricks with this.”
“I only want to take Harriet down to see her beau while the Riders are in town this evening. Will they post a guard?”
“They said they would check on him after returning from their supper. I didn’t offer them hospitality here, for reasons I know you understand and will keep to yourself.”
“Mum’s the word.” She mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key. “I would never betray your secret. I expect you to tell any lady you intend to marry what you’ve been doing, however. Preferably before you propose.”
She made a face and pocketed the key. Harriet lurked by the front door, watching the retreating backs of the Riders as they went into town for their supper at the Cock and Bull Tavern. Maggie would not be pleased to see them again.
“Now is our chance,” Harriet whispered loudly. “Please. You have to help me free Rémy.”
“I’ll have a word with him,” Clarissa said, though she had already promised herself that she would free him, if the smuggler didn’t seem to be a danger. Guilt twinged within her. Mr. Montague would certainly repudiate her if she aided the young lovers.
Lord Montague,she reminded herself sternly.
They went down into the cellar together, taking the stairs as quietly as possible. One squeaked under Harriet’s slight weight, so she made sure to avoid it.
A single candle inside a glass lantern illuminated the underground space. It was dry and clean, if mostly empty. Wooden boxes were stacked in one gated cell. Old furniture sulked in the dusty corner of a second cage. The previous Lord Prescott or one of his ancestors must have had an enviable wine cellar at one point.
Imagine what a duke’s collection would look like. Immense. Vast. Intimidating. Like everything duke-related.
She shoved the thought away. The empty center cell was locked, and upon closer inspection, it was occupied by a man with tawny hair wearing a white linen shirt that had seen better days. A bruise graced his cheek. He scrambled forward to press his face against the bars when he saw them coming.
