Page 84 of Falling Into Bed with a Duke
Standing behind a curtain while an assistant helped her into her clothing after a fitting for a new gown, Minerva wondered if she should go ahead and talk with the seamstress about her wedding gown. She and Ashe hadn’t discussed how quickly they would marry, but she didn’t want to wait overly long. The end of the Season, perhaps. Certainly not the end of the year.
During the last dance, they’d spoken not a word. After their torrid encounter in the garden, after his stating he would speak with her father, what more was there to say? He’d made his claim, and while he’d not voiced the wordsI love you, he’d certainly made it clear that he held her in high esteem and affection.
He’d held her more closely during the waltz, he’d never once looked away. With his gaze, he communicated everything. He was offering her everything she’d ever dreamed of when gentlemen who barely gave her any attention danced with her. When they hinted that they were her last hope for a marriage and children. That she should be grateful for their attentions, just as they were for her dowry. No romantic notions of love but practicality had ruled the social scene for her.
Until Ashe. Until he looked at her as though she were more than coins. Until he looked at her—
“I simply think it’s sad is all,” a lady said coming into the fitting room. “She wore such a moony-eyed expression as they were dancing last night. I thought at any moment she was going to swoon right into his arms. I feel rather sorry for her, making such a fool of herself with him.”
“I can’t blame her,” another woman said, and Minerva knew that voice. Lady Honoria. “He is the most dashing of the hellions.”
Everything within Minerva turned to ice. She couldn’t be talking about Ashe. While Minerva considered him dashing, she knew many ladies preferred the playfulness of Edward. Surely, she was referring to him, causing some lady to swoon.
“To be sure.” She recognized the speaker now. Lady Hyacinth. “I simply find it ironic that she wrote a book on how to identify fortune hunters, and she has failed completely in identifying one and has been totally ensnared by someone who is after her dowry.”
The assistant reached for the curtain. Minerva grabbed her arm, shook her head, held a finger to her lips.
“Are you quite sure he’s after her fortune?”
“Quite. My brother has the same man of business as Ashebury. He’d stopped by to see Nesbit some time back and he overhead Ashebury shouting about his coffers being empty. Of course, my brother made a hasty retreat, not wanting to embarrass the duke when he emerged from Nesbit’s office. But there you have it. Winslow even suggested that I set my cap for Ashebury, as my dowry is nothing to sneeze at. I tried, but it became obvious rather quickly that he needs a substantial amount more than what I can offer. Where is the assistant? I really must get on with this fitting.”
Minerva released the woman’s arm, gave her a nod. She slipped out between the slight gap in the curtains, while Minerva leaned back against the wall, barely able to draw in a breath. She’d dared to believe that he wantedher.
Perhaps she’d been partially influenced by how precious he’d made her feel at the Nightingale. She’d fallen a little bit in love with him there, carried the emotion with her when she left rather than leaving it behind as she should have done. She’d allowed it to blind her to the truth.
He might have been more polished and subtle about it, but he wanted from her what every other man only wanted: her dowry.
HE was sitting at his desk, papers strewn over the top of it, head bent, hair mussed as though he’d tunneled his fingers through it repeatedly. Standing in the doorway, Minerva thought he’d never looked more appealing, and a tight painful ball formed just behind her breastbone. She’d fallen in love with him, but he was as much a fabrication as Lady V.
She’d arrived at Ashebury Place and—with a secretive smile and a wink—she’d managed to convince the butler to allow her to surprise the duke with her arrival. Having been in this room before, she’d not required an escort. Her heart had been thundering so heavily that she was surprised he’d not heard her walking down the hallway. Then she’d laid eyes on him, and everything had settled into a dull ache.
“Your coffers are empty,” she said quietly, but still he must have heard her because his head came up swiftly, and if ever there was a person who looked guilty, it was he.
Shoving back his chair, he rose to his full height, reached for his jacket draped over the back of the chair, and shrugged into it with one smooth movement. “Minerva, what a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting you.”
Walking toward him, she was amazed that her legs retained the strength to propel her forward. “Your coffers are empty.”
He arched a brow. “Is that a question?”
Stopping before the desk, she ran her gaze over him, his perfect bone structure, his perfectly proportioned features. She’d wondered why he’d begun giving her attention, and he’d made her believe that her imperfections didn’t matter. “Are your coffers empty?”
“Nearly so, yes. How did you learn of it?”
At least he hadn’t lied, denied it. She’d give him that. “At my seamstress’s of all places. Apparently someone heard from someone else ... you know how it goes. There are no secrets among the aristocracy. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t see that it made a difference.”
She stared at him. “Not make a difference? How could it not? You need my dowry.”
“Just because my coffers are bare does not mean I was in pursuit of your dowry.”
She jutted up her chin. “Are you saying it wasn’t a consideration?”
Somberly, he said, “No.”
That simple word deflated her. She looked at the papers strewn over his desk, columns of numbers neatly laid out in contrast to the disarray in which the ledgers were arranged. She spied a blue corner peering out, a familiar blue. Snatching it up, at the sight of the painstakingly writtenA Lady’s Guide to Ferreting Out Fortune Hunters, she was aware of her soul crumbling. The edges were worn, the spine cracked—the usual sign of a book well loved, well read. Well studied. She flipped through the pages. He’d even made notes in the margins.
She raised her eyes to his. “I thought I was providing information to the ladies. Instead, I provided you with the strategy on how not to get caught.”
