Her White Wedding: Dark Duke’s Legacy Read online

  His arms wrapped about her waist as he squeezed. “What are you looking at?”

  She squeezed him back. “Just the street, my love. What are you doing?”

  “I’ve just had dinner,” he said, wrinkling his little nose. “Without you.”

  She placed her finger over the crinkled flesh. “I have a guest.”

  He gave a nod as though he understood, though he didn’t unwrinkle his nose. “Will Ben and Dez come have dinner with me if you’re going to have guests?”

  “Perhaps, sometime,” she answered vaguely. He wanted to spend time with his half-brothers, men with lives of their own, new wives and powerful positions.

  “Sayden or Justice? Millie at least?” His mouth puckered into a frown.

  She hid her smile that he’d included his half-sister last. The boy idolized his older brothers, and she knew her son missed their company. The former duke had never been very involved with Caleb and her son yearned for male attention. He’d soaked up every ounce of affection that his older brothers had given him, but what her son needed was a real father figure. “Perhaps.”

  His bottom lip jutted out. “Can’t we go to north to be with them then?”

  She sighed, sliding her hand under her son’s chin.

  Benedict, Ben, the sixth Duke of Whitehaven, had offered to host them for an extended visit. But he was newly married and there was no dowager house, and she was afraid…afraid to be a terrible imposition. More than she’d been already. Besides, her best chance of finding a suitable second husband was in London.

  “Your Grace,” her butler called from the open door.

  Her chin snapped up. Reeves stood in the entry with Lord Parker just behind, towering over the older man. Just as handsome today as he’d been yesterday, he’d taken off his hat, his dark hair waving back from the hard planes of his face, softening his features in the nicest way. She held her son tighter. “Please. Come in.” She turned Caleb around. “Lord Parker, might I introduce Lord Caleb?”

  “A pleasure,” he answered, stepping into the room and nodding at her son.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Caleb returned, eyeing the other man up and down.

  “And you.” Lord Parker flashed a warm smile. “Did I just hear you’re planning a trip somewhere?”

  Caleb cocked his head to the side, straightening. “Perhaps.” In these moments, he appeared so much like a White. Strong and obstinate. She was going to have a devil of time as he grew older. Another reason she’d need to remarry.

  Ben was likely right on that account. The right man would be very good for her son, if not for herself.

  “Perhaps not,” she replied. “It’s time for you to go upstairs.”

  “But Mama,” the boy protested. “I was just going to ask Lord Parker if he played cricket.”

  “Cricket?” Parker asked with a chuckle.

  “Justice knows and he said he’d teach me, but I’d like to surprise him by walloping him!” The boy swung his arm through the air as though he were swinging a bat.

  “Caleb,” she admonished softly. “At the tender age of seven, you are unlikely to wallop Justice at anything. Except for going to bed early. Off with you.”

  Caleb went, his chin jutting high into the air as Lord Parker watched him go, chuckling as the boy disappeared. “He’s got some real spit and vinegar,” Parker said still smiling.

  She sighed. “He’s a White, to be certain.” Shaking her head, she carefully avoided Lord Parker’s disconcerting gaze as she stared at the spot Caleb had just disappeared. “He may just get his wish.”

  “How’s that?”

  Esme shook her head, realizing she’d already said more than was necessary. A simple thank you would have sufficed. It wasn’t like her to overshare. But she’d started now. “I may need his brothers’ help in raising him. Most of the family has settled in Northumberland or Dover.”

  “Sending the boy to his brothers?”

  There was a hardness in his voice that she didn’t understand, and her gaze snapped to his. A muscle in his jaw ticced.

  She gestured for him to sit as she settled herself onto the settee. She had no idea what she’d said to cause such tension, not that it mattered. She owed the man a debt of gratitude, which she’d pay with this meal. Besides, entertaining him would be a good refresher to her skills and who knew…perhaps he’d prove himself marriage material. And if he wasn’t, he was certainly acquainted with men who would be.

  She ignored the passing thought that she’d simply wished to see him again. He was uncommonly handsome.

  And much as she liked the silence that had settled in the house since the Whites had left, she was—well—lonely.

  A bit.

  Sometimes.

  And there was an enigmatic energy to Lord Parker that she found interesting. Arresting even.

  “So.” She cleared her throat, noting the way the man filled the settee as he sat on it. “Where were we?” She’d completely lost her train of thought between her own realization and his…

  She stopped before she noted the power of his thighs in his tight breeches or the trim cut of his waistcoat. All right. Perhaps she had noticed. She swallowed down a lump.

  “You were explaining how you might send the boy to his brothers.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sure I didn’t say that. Ben has the dukedom and Destrian is in France. Justice and Sayden…” She cleared her throat.

  “What?” he asked, a single brow cocking.

  “Third and fourth brothers. They’re half-wild,” she said with a grin.

  He chuckled at that. “I’ve heard of them both and I do see your point.”

  She looked away, the sight of him laughing somehow even more masculine and…dizzying. He had saved her, she supposed, but she was having a difficult time keeping her thoughts in order. How strange. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so jumbled.

  “So you’ll not send the boy north?”

  What was his infatuation with the idea? “I only meant that if I can’t find a man to wed, we may both go north so that Caleb has the male influences he needs.”

  Both his brows raised at that. “Marriage?”

  Heat filled her cheeks. “Eventually, yes.”

  “Looking to make another brilliant match?”

  His voice was low, but the humor was gone, a cold edge having replaced the warmth.

  “Suitable might be the word I’d choose. But yes.” Her brows drew together as she assessed him from across the chairs. The man blew hot and cold, and she had no use for such a fellow, no matter how attractive.

  She might have to marry, but she’d not choose a man she’d hoped to fix again.

  Her Grace sat across from him, her porcelain features unreadable.

  Declan could appreciate one trait of the duchess’s.

  That wasn’t true. He was currently appreciating several. Her ample bosom, tiny waist, thick halo of blonde hair, the fine bones of her hands. No wonder she’d caught the eye of a duke. Try as he might, he couldn’t find a single flaw.

  But that wasn’t what he’d meant. The trait he appreciated the most was her straightforward, matter-of-fact way of telling him she wished to marry.

  In all likelihood, she probably expected him to fall on his knees in gratitude. She was a duchess, and he was a lowly second son. And when someone better came along, surely, he wouldn’t mind stepping aside.

  He drew in a deep breath.

  That wasn’t fair.

  Just because Abby had tossed him over when an earl had proposed didn’t mean that Esme would do the same.

  Then again, she sat before him looking delectable in a low-cut gown. Did she want to wed him or just bed him?

  Abby had still wanted to be his bed partner too. After she’d born an heir, she’d all but begged him to be her lover. Said it was the way everyone did it. They could still be together. Of course, she found him more attractive than her husband. Didn’t he understand how she couldn’t have said no to an earl?

  No. He hadn’t understood.

  Instead, he’d set himself to growing a business and being a man of his own means. A man he could be proud of even if Abby hadn’t been.

  He wanted no part in Esme’s plans either.

  That wasn’t true. He’d been tempted yesterday by her beauty and her invitation. But the more he heard today, the more it confirmed his original view. She was a social climber, looking to marry the next important man who placed himself in front of her.

  The duchess looked down at her hands again, a quiet settling about her. “Marriage can’t be avoided, I’m afraid.”

  What did that mean? He leaned forward again, really looking at the woman before him. There was a sadness about her that he’d missed at first. “Why not? As a widow of means, you’re free to remain unwed, seek your pleasures wherever you choose.”

  Her chin lifted, fire lighting her ice-blue eyes. “My pleasures?”

  He raised his hands. “I won’t judge.” He completely was. “But if you invited me here because you have either matrimonial plans or more…carnal ideas, I want you to know that—”

  She stood, her skirts rustling. “I do not appreciate your implication, my lord.”

  He stood too, looking down at her with his best glare. “And I don’t appreciate you inviting me here under the guise of a thank you when you clearly have ulterior motives, Your Grace.”

  “What have I done to give you such a low opinion of me?”

  Her shoulders remained straight, her gaze steady in a way that made him shift. Slightly. “You married a duke after a single ball,” he said. “I know your type. And that neighborhood you were in yesterday…it was coincidence that you were steps from a brothel?”

  Her eyes went wide, confusion drawing her brows together. “A broth
el? Why would I wish to be at a brothel?”

  His first misgivings snaked down his spine. Her confusion and naivety appearing genuine. “Surely, Your Grace, you are aware that all prostitutes are not female?”

  The color drained from her face, and she sat back down with a decided plop. One of her hands fluttered up halfway to her face and then lowered. She swallowed and looked up at him. “I was not.”

  His jaw clenched so tightly, his teeth ground together. “And you had no idea you were less than a block from such a place?” She covered her mouth, and her eyes took on a glassy appearance, clearly welling with tears. Damnation. He sat back down too. “Your Grace.”

  Her other hand lifted as she held up her palm. “Let’s stop, shall we?”

  Those simple words cut into him, and he winced. He’d made a mistake. Anyone could see that she’d had no idea what he talked about. “Not before I apologize. I made an assumption and—”

  “My lord,” she started. “You don’t know me. And while I am in your debt, that does not mean we need to be acquainted. I can assure you that I have no plans for you in regards to matrimony or otherwise. After a year of mourning, I simply wished to thank you and enjoy a bit of company. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in the company of a man whom I was not related to, and if I had an ulterior motive, it might have been to brush up on my conversation skills. But I don’t think that’s going particularly well, do you?”

  Hells bells, he was a complete and total cad. His stomach felt weighted by a brick. “We are acquainted. And I’d like to make amends. We’re bound to see one another again and—”

  “Why would we ever see one another again?”

  “Because.” He leaned forward again. “I have a sister in her first season whom I escort on occasion, and you will surely be rejoining society.”

  “I doubt very much I will.”

  His brows lifted. He’d been wrong about the brothel, but he doubted very much he’d been incorrect about her desire to marry a high-powered man. “Do you really expect me to believe you’re not planning to find another influential lord for your second conquest?” But the moment the words left his lips, he regretted them. He’d already made one wild accusation and as her eyes widened, he had the distinct impression he’d made a similar mistake once again.

  She gave him a long stare, her lip curling the slightest bit. “Since I plan never to see you again, I will tell you the truth. I would rather live my life a penniless pauper than marry another man like my late husband. A man like you.” She stood once again, glaring down at him. “Thank you for saving my life. Please leave.”

  And then she walked from the room, head held as high as if she were a queen. Which was fitting. Because he’d played the jester, for certain. A complete fool.

  Chapter Three

  Esme refused to cry. She blinked back the tears that had misted her eyes. She had very strict rules about crying. She rarely indulged in the useless act, she did so for her own benefit and—most importantly—any tears that fell were private, for herself only. She did not share the act with anyone, least of all the person who’d caused them to fall.

  Which was why she blinked back the tears collecting on her lashes. Esme had only made it as far as the hall outside the sitting room, this was not the place to lose control.

  “Your Grace,” his deep voice rumbled behind her.

  Drat. He’d followed. She’d hoped…

  She didn’t know what she’d hoped. To never to see him again? Probably. To have the sort of company that might actually make her smile, laugh even? Definitely.

  But those hopes had been dashed.

  After his rescue, she could admit to a bit of romantic fantasy but now, after all his comments, she realized she’d been wrong about his character. He was not a man in whom she’d ever be interested.

  “My lord,” she replied, stopping but not turning around as she fought for control and clarity.

  He cleared his throat. “My given name is Declan.”

  She didn’t reply, her eyes fluttering closed.

  “I know that we’ve just met but we’ve rather quickly gotten past the formalities and to the part where we share our true selves. Haven’t we?”

  Those words made her turn. Which meant she was looking into his chest. Slowly notching her chin up, she let her eyes wander up the strong cords of his neck, past the square jaw to those eyes… “We have,” she answered, pressing her lips together for a moment.

  “May I ask your given name? Do others call you Esmerelda?”

  “Esme,” she said in a voice just above a whisper.

  “Esme.” He stepped closer, bending his head toward her. The gesture added an aura of intimacy to their position. “Allow me to explain.” And then he slid his hand over her elbow as he gently guided her back into the sitting room.

  “Explain?” she asked.

  He nodded and guided her back into the sitting room. This time, however, he settled next to her rather than across from her, his hip lightly touching hers. Esme was so aware of the simple touch that her breath held in her throat.

  “I was engaged,” he said simply. “My intended decided that a lord with a better title would make a better husband.” He paused, his fingers lightly massaging her elbow where his hand still rested. “I may have a bit of bias with regards to ladies who make excellent matches.”

  She looked at him then, real pain crinkling the corners of his eyes. Her own heart lurched in sympathy. “I see.”

  “But that was no reason to make assumptions about you.” He grimaced, his fingers squeezing.

  Esme studied the tight lines of his face. She knew what he meant. Had his father provided for him or only for the heir of his family? “I can’t explain her motives, but I can guess. Surely you can understand a woman’s position if she chooses a second son. We’re already dependent on the will and success of another person. First our fathers and then our husbands. It’s very tempting to ensure our own success by choosing the most titled, or richest, or successful.”

  A muscle in his jaw ticced. “Do you think that makes a woman happier?”

  “No.” The single word came out without thought or motive. “No, I don’t. In fact, I’m quite certain my choice made me absolutely miserable. It’s not a mistake I’ll make twice.”

  She watched his throat work underneath his cravat. “What will you look for in a spouse this time?” he asked.

  She drew in a ragged breath. “For starters, affection. Kindness, steadiness. Enough of an income that we can live a comfortable life, if I’m being honest, but I don’t need extravagance such as this.” She waved her hand about the room they sat.

  His lips parted. “This home isn’t yours?”

  She shook her head. “My father retained my dowry, my husband did not provide for my future.” She smiled, but it was a sad smile, the sort that surely didn’t reach her eyes. “I live by the grace of the new duke, a good man, but he wishes for me to find a new benefactor. Soon.”

  Understanding dawned in Declan’s eyes. “I see.”

  She’d shared the whole of it. Of course, she hadn’t mentioned any of the particulars. The abuse, the fear. But that was not a conversation she’d likely have with anyone, least of all a man she’d met yesterday. “I suppose you do.” She intentionally leaned back, pulling her arm from his grasp. “I am looking for a steady and kind man, one to help me raise my son and treat us with respect. That is the entirety of my requirements for marriage.” She straightened her back. “I invited you here, my lord, with no intentions toward you personally, I simply wished to thank you.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. A masculine gesture that made her stomach flutter, the tips of her fingers tingling. “Esme.” Her name on his lips did peculiar things to her chest. It tightened as her heart sped up. “I do believe it’s my turn to make amends.”

  She shook her head. Time with this man was dangerous. He brought out a need in her…and attraction was not what she searched for. Stability. Steadiness. That’s what she craved. “I brought you here to thank you. At best, my debt is paid and neither of us owes the other anything.”

  “Your debt.” One side of his mouth quirked up. It lent a careless air to his good looks that was so charming, she forgot to breathe. She forced herself to look away. He was not a man to be trusted and she needed to remain wary. Why was he being so kind to her? “Two nights from now, I’m escorting my sister to a dinner party. The hostess is a family friend and sure to welcome a duchess into her list of guests,” he said. “Come with me and my sister, Charlotte.”