Both parents stared at her and her mother finally stopped grinning.
‘It was just a mutually beneficial arrangement between the two of us, but we never intended to actually go through with the marriage,’ Margaret continued, forcing her voice to remain steady. ‘The Duke hoped an engagement would make him look respectable and save him from…’ She paused, knowing what she was about to say would not redeem the Duke in her father’s eyes, but also knowing she now had no choice but to tell the entire truth. ‘An engagement would hopefully extricate him from a scandal with Baroness Winterborne, whose husband was threatening to divorce her and cite the Duke as her lover.’
Her father’s hands curled into fists, making it clear that such honesty was not really helping. ‘And what do you get in exchange for saving him from a husband’s justified wrath?’
‘I wouldn’t have to go through another Season.’
Both parents continued to stare at her as if trying to grasp what she was saying, then her father nodded slowly while her mother’s beaming smile returned just as bright as before.
‘None of that matters now, Percival,’ she said to her husband. ‘The Duke kissed her, remember? He took liberties. He has to marry her.’
‘He didn’t kiss me, Father. I kissed him,’ she said, driving home her point.
‘Why?’ her father asked.
‘Why what?’
‘Why did you kiss him?’
‘What?’ she repeated.
‘It’s a simple enough question. If you don’t want to marry the Duke, why did you kiss him?’
It might be a simple question but Margaret had no idea how to answer it. Should she tell him that something about the Duke made her ache with desire? Should she tell him about the jealousy that had consumed her at the theatre when she had met his ex-lover? Should she mention how he’d looked when he’d gazed atThe Garvagh Madonna? Would her father understand? Didsheunderstand?
‘I don’t know,’ she said instead.
‘Well, it matters not. You will be married within the week and that is the end of the matter,’ her father said, causing her mother to once again clap her hands, and for Margaret to sink back into the nearest armchair, completely defeated.
Chapter Nine
After such a dramatic evening Jacob had not expected to sleep a wink, but he had easily fallen into a deep slumber, and would still be there if a loud knocking on the door of his bedchamber had not roused him.
‘Come,’ he called out and his valet entered.
‘There’s a young lady waiting downstairs, Your Grace. She says it’s vital that she speak to you.’
‘What time is it, Bates?’
‘Just gone eight-thirty.’
Jacob rubbed his hand across his face and huffed out a breath. There was only one young lady who would arrive at his house at such an ungodly hour, uninvited. His future bride.
He climbed out of bed and pulled on his silk robe.
‘Hot water is on its way so I can shave you, Your Grace. And should I lay out the grey suit?’ Bates moved towards the wardrobe.
‘Don’t worry about that. If Miss Whitmore has turned up at this ridiculous hour uninvited, then presumably it is a matter of some urgency and she’s not going to care whether I’m unshaven or what I’m wearing.’
‘Very good, Your Grace,’ Bates said, showing no reaction to this impropriety.
‘It’s not what you think,’ Jacob said, not entirely sure what his impassive valet ever thought. ‘Miss Whitmore and I are now to be married within the week and not at the beginning of next Season as…er…planned.’
This did get a slight reaction from Bates, whose eyes briefly grew wide, before he quickly recovered and his face once again adopted the mask of a well-trained servant.
‘Very good, Your Grace,’ he repeated, an answer he would no doubt give to any statement Jacob made, no matter how surprising or outlandish. ‘Would you like coffee served in the drawing room?’
‘Excellent. Yes, black and strong, please.’
