The last was true. Lady Deering was kindhearted, despite her affinity for shopping and insistence that every lady must certainly yearn for a husband.
“There is nothing for you in Nottinghamshire now,” the duke said smoothly.
Nothing for her in Nottinghamshire? Everything and everyone she loved was there.
Virtue gripped the chair’s back so tightly that her knuckles ached with the strain. “Greycote Abbey is there.”
“A failing estate,” he countered. “And a failing estate which is being sold, in accordance with your father’s will.”
She had argued with the duke before, always careful to keep from revealing the full extent of her interest. Ridgely was cunning and shrewd, and she had no notion of whether he would use the intensity of her feelings against her.
“Is not the intent of its sale to provide me with a dowry?” she probed. “As I have no intention of marrying, there is no need for a dowry, and therefore the sale of Greycote Abbey is not required.”
“I am obliged to follow your father’s will,” Ridgely said, frowning. “We’ve discussed this before. The estate’s income is hardly what it should be, given its size.”
“Mr. Leonard has been mismanaging it badly for the last decade or more,” she defended. “Lord Pemberton chose to ignore every letter I sent him imploring change, and my hands were tied. However, if I am allowed to oversee the estate, I am reasonably certain I can produce an increase—”
“You’ll not be allowed to oversee it,” Ridgely interrupted, “as it is being sold forthwith.”
Sold.
The landscape of her youth, forever lost to her in exchange for a small sum that could not possibly hold a candle to the people and place she loved. Gone. Forever.
The very notion made something inside her, some part of her she had not realized was hopelessly fragile and delicate, crack open. It felt like a death, a loss beyond compare. And to think she had no control over it, that her home should be sold at the behest of the father who had never loved her, carried out by a man she scarcely knew… It was devastating.
She longed to throw something at the Duke of Ridgely’s head.
“It need not be sold,” she tried again, trying to maintain her calm. “My father’s will stipulates that the estate be sold to fund my dowry. However, there is no need for a dowry as I shan’t be marrying.”
“Youshallbe marrying, and soon.” He stalked toward her, hands clasped behind his back, cutting a fearsome figure with the bold way he carried himself. Rather in the fashion of a great general guiding his troops to victory. “If you think I’ll endure playing guardian to a spoiled lamb for the next year, you’re as featherheaded as your recent behavior suggests.”
“If you truly wish to be rid of me, why not send me to Nottinghamshire now as punishment?” she offered with feigned meekness.
His eyes narrowed. “Ah, that’s your game then, is it not?”
“Game?” She pretended confusion. “I am afraid I haven’t one. I am merely seeking to atone for my rash actions yesterday morning.”
He had paused before the chair, which stood between them as sole barrier, his dark, glittering gaze far too intelligent for her liking as it searched hers for answers she didn’t want to give. “Do you truly expect me to believe you only went riding on your own yesterday morning?”
Far too intelligent indeed. She wondered what hidden depths lay behind his rake’s façade. Was it possible that there was more to him than the conscienceless seducer he portrayed to the world?
For some reason, Virtue did not like the thought. It was far easier—and preferable—to think him despicable. After all, this was the man who was insistent upon stealing her independence from her.
“I have been riding each morning whenever the weather has permitted,” she allowed, hoping the revelation would serve to heighten his frustration with her.
You see, she wanted to shout.I am trouble! Return me to my home and in a year’s time, you shall be freed of me, and I shall be equally freed of you.
“No more riding alone at six o’clock in the morning, infant,” he said sternly.
“I am sorry for the potential scandal I could have caused,” she offered. “However, surely you must see I am not at home here. I do not belong in London.”
“It isn’t the scandal that concerns me. It’s your wellbeing. The city is dangerous. Christ, when I think of what could have happened to a babe like you, wandering about without protection…”
Ridgely allowed his words to trail away, shaking his head, his jaw tensed.
Impossible to believe that he cared if anything ill should befall her.
“I’m not a babe,” she countered. “Nor am I a missish society lady who cannot tend to herself.”
