Crabbèd Age and Youth
Cannot live together
—The Passionate Pilgrim
Sweet mercies!
Louisa had never stood so close to such a powerfully built man. Heat flooded her cheeks once again.
Had she really wanted him to kiss her?
Yes!
But why?
She was supposed to be much too sensible to be drawn to an arrogant, insufferable, and infuriating man. No, she was supposed to be too sensible to be drawn to any man, but especially one with such a disregard for what was right and proper. She should be thinking she hoped she never saw him again.
The front door opened and closed, and she knew the duke had gone. Taking time to collect her thoughts, she wondered what she was going to do about him.
Her father had been a loving, levelheaded man who looked after his family even after he became viscount. For most of her life, he was a gentle vicar, well respected in the village. He never expected to inherit the title, and even after he did and they moved into the Wayebury estate, he still stayed home and took good care of his daughters.
Nathan was good to them, but he hadn’t exactly followed in their father’s footsteps after he became the viscount upon their father’s death. He had once told her the lure of all that London offered was much too great to ignore, and he started spending more time there than at home. Not even his fancy for the village’s most beautiful young lady could hold him in Wayebury.
She squeezed her eyes shut. May the saints help her. Her lashes lifted. Well, if truth be known, she knew little of men except her father, brother, and uncle. And not one of them had come close to being as overbearing and overconfident as His Grace was.
But she did wonder how anyone became that self-possessed. He remained steady as a rock even when she’d come close to accusing him of being responsible for her brother’s death. She could definitely take a few lessons from him on how to keep her emotions under control. His composure was astounding, and he’d more than proved that everything she’d ever read or heard about him was true.
He’d made her hackles rise faster than a bee’s wings could flap. The gall of him saying he would wait for her to propose to him was shocking. Hades would freeze first. The suggestion was so outrageous, so inappropriate—not to mention insulting—that she couldn’t even think about it without fuming with indignation all over again.
He was indeed a scoundrel of the highest order.
She knew she didn’t really hold the duke responsible for her brother’s death. Though, who could blame her if she did? From his own words, Louisa knew Nathan became a different man when he was in London. He’d admitted to being as wild and reckless as the other members of the Heirs’ Club when he was there. He’d admitted the pleasures of the city beckoned him and he had to go and satisfy that yearning to overindulge in drink, gaming, and ladies of the evening. She realized it might not be fair on her part, but somehow it made her feel better to lay blame somewhere other than on Nathan. And the duke’s shoulders and arms were big enough to carry the weight.
No, she could never marry a man such as her brother had become or like the Duke of Drakestone. Men who left their families for a different life in London and had no care as to how many hearts they broke or how much danger they faced would never hold her heart. If she were ever to marry, she would seek a quiet, sensible man like her father was when he was the village vicar. She wanted a man who loved his family and would rather spend time with his wife and children than with scoundrels at fashionable men’s clubs.
Louisa sighed. This predicament of being at the undisciplined duke’s mercy for now was her uncle’s fault. Or maybe it was her fault. If she hadn’t pushed her uncle to give Gwen a Season, maybe he wouldn’t have left the country without even telling her. He’d made it clear to her on his last trip to Wayebury that his only concern was that his new, and much younger, wife bear him a son to inherit the title.
Titles!
She supposed for now, for Gwen’s sake, she had to allow the duke to take care of them, but she didn’t have to like it.
Louisa faced the glowing embers in the fireplace. Watching the flames of a low-burning fire was soothing. And she needed comfort right now. She felt a tug at her heart, and her mind drifted back to the time just before her brother died. She’d been looking forward to her Season, only a couple of months away at the time. Her gowns, headpieces, gloves, and everything she would need were being made for her. Her education was complete. She’d been tutored and excelled in French, music, and dancing. She could draw, paint, and write verse as skillfully as any young lady her age. She knew how to manage a household filled with servants. Nathan had told her he was eager to introduce her as his sister at the many parties and balls they would attend.
She’d lain awake at night and dreamed of dancing with handsome gentlemen on candlelit terraces, tasting her first sip of champagne, and receiving her first kiss under a starry sky. But that wasn’t to be for her. After Nathan was buried, she’d agreed with her uncle that she should remain at Wayebury for another year and not upset the lives of the younger girls any more than necessary. And she had dutifully agreed to his same request the following year.
But she would not allow her sisters to follow in her lonely footsteps. Louisa was now content with her life. With no guidance or assistance from her uncle, Louisa had become her siblings’ parent. Her goal was to see to it that her four sisters were properly brought up and that they made a match with a well-suited gentleman. Her youngest sister, Bonnie, was only six years old. Marriage for her was more than ten years away.
Louisa’s shoulders sagged a little as she felt a stab of resentment. By then she would be thirty and much too old to consider love, marriage, and children of her own. But she was determined not to allow her beautiful sisters to become spinsters, too.
A knock sounded on the front door, and Louisa’s breath caught sharply in her throat.
The duke has come back!
He must have forgotten his hat or maybe his gloves.
She folded her arms across her chest. That was too bad. She wasn’t going to open the door to him. His hands could freeze or his head could get dripping wet, for all she cared.
The knocker sounded again. Louder. Harder.
