“Are you saying that if I give you an heir, you’ll grant me a divorce?” she asked.
“That’s precisely what I’m saying. I married you because I required a son to carry on the title. If I have an heir, there’s no need to continue on with this sham of a marriage. I’ll do whatever it takes for us to be granted a divorce or forus to proceed with separate lives, whichever situation we find preferable.”
He would take a mistress. Desert Sybil. Do whatever he must. She could return to the arms of her lover. All would be well. They could remain husband and wife or divorce. He didn’t give a damn, andMamancouldn’t continue to berate him if he provided the world with a future Duke of Riverdale.
He couldn’t shake the bitterness that took up residence within him at the thought of his wife running off to her lover’s arms, however. He didn’t know why the notion should affect him so.
“What if I don’t bear a son?” she asked.
“Then we shall try again.”
“If I never bear a son?”
Everett hadn’t thought that far ahead.
He shrugged again. “We can conceive a mutually agreeable number of children, after which point, if no sons are issued from our union, we will go our separate ways.”
“The only person that particular bargain benefits is you, Riverdale.”
“Nonsense. You want a divorce, do you not?”
“Yes, of course, but I can have one without promising myself as your broodmare for an indeterminate span of years.”
He gave her another indolent shrug. “I’m not so certain of that, my dear. We both know that it is far easier for a husband to obtain a divorce than for a wife. You haven’t a case against me, and I have no desire to divorce you, so even if you were foolish enough to flaunt a lover to all the world, it wouldn’t matter.”
Her nostrils flared as she took in what he had just told her, and he could see the reality of her circumstances dawning in her eyes. She had thought to storm in here and best him, but she had clearly underestimated her opponent.
“You, sir, have no heart left at all,” she accused coldly.
Everett smiled cruelly. “What gave you the wrongheaded notion I ever had one to begin with?”
With a swirl of vexed skirts, Sybil finally left his bedroom. He watched her go, bemused.
What the devil was he going to do now that his wife was in residence at Wingfield Hall?
CHAPTER 2
The devil had a face, and it was sinfully handsome.
He also had a name, and it was Everett Winthrop Saunders, Duke of Riverdale.
And now, that same devil expected Sybil to share his bed until she bore him a son.
It wasn’t going to happen. She would sooner pitch herself from the roof of Wingfield Hall to the unforgiving ground below. She would sooner return to her father’s tyrannical rule at Eastlake Hall. She would endure his rages and raised hands any day over submitting herself to a husband who would never love her.
Liar, taunted a small voice.
One she promptly smothered like the flame of an unwanted candle.
The initial round of their battle that morning had ended in a stalemate and Sybil’s retreat. But she refused to allow him to wallow in the mistaken belief that he had emerged the victor. Which was why she was currently winding down a narrow stone staircase into the belly of the Wingfield Hall grotto in search of the same devil who had so boldly made demands of her.
Heaven knew he had been leading her on a merry enough chase ever since she had enjoyed the thorough satisfaction of dumping a pitcher of water over his head. There had been no sign of him at breakfast, nor had he taken tea. It had required no small amount of questioning domestics to determine where His Grace had gone. Then to find where the clandestine grotto itself was located on the estate.
But at last, here she was. As Sybil reached the bottom stair, however, she instantly realized that finding the grotto hadn’t been the problem. It was what awaited her within the grotto that was the true predicament.
Specifically,whoawaited her within the grotto and what he was wearing. Or rather, what he wasn’t wearing.
Not a blessed stitch.
