Page 24 of The Duke’s Rejected Mate

Sir William Graves wagers Mr. Howard Finch the sum of twenty-five guineas that the Viscount of Henhaven shall express private regret at his choice of bride before Michaelmas.

W. Graves H. Finch

This one strikes deep. As much as I do not wish Henhaven any goodwill, it stings to have them speak of Cynthia that way. What would there be to regret? Unless they also speak of her lower birth?

Before I can read the next, the steward comes over. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but there has not been any record of a drink being sent to you. All staff have been questioned.”

I blink at the man, mulling over his words. “It couldn’t have appeared from thin air. It’s not as if a wraith placed it on my table. There has to be someone.”

“Your Grace, I hear you and understand. I simply have nothing I can report. There were some delivery boys going in and out. Perhaps a friend merely played a joke on you.” He bows once more and steps away.

A joke. The drink, yes. The note… Now that would be a cruel joke indeed. Glancing back down at the pages, my eyes skim until I reach the very bottom. There, in barely dried ink, the last entry stands there like a testament to all my carefully concealed glances.

23th May 1814

Arlo Mathews, Duke of Dunton, wagers Finnley Riley, Viscount of Glendale, the sum of one hundred guineas that the Duke of Norhaven shall make his intentions toward Miss Campbell of Kirden known before her wedding to the Viscount of Henhaven.

A. Mathews F. Riley

My heart nearly stops as I read it. Of course, the handwriting is Arlo’s. His scrawl is not easily missed. It’s not, however, the same hand as the blackmailer's.

My fingers clench around the edge of the table until the words start to blur in front of me. All this means is that I’ll have to be far more careful when out in public. In private, however, I will make Cynthia cry out for more. If she is, indeed, to be saddled with the milksop likes of Henhaven, I shall at least give her memories to warm her through her rather tepid moments with him.

Chapter 11

Cynthia

A jaunty drive around Hyde Park. A simple coming together so I can know Henhaven better. A perfectly miserable afternoon. Soft sounds of conversation and laughter greet my ears as we pass the members of London, but nothing can lift my spirits with how low they sink.

Closing my eyes, I drag in the scents around me, naming each bloom as I can. Something, anything to give my mind something else to think about besides Charles and the incessant throbbing between my thighs. Though I shift a bit, all it does is fan the flames.

Even now, I can still feel his seed slipping out of me as arousal threatens to swamp my senses. If only it were Norhaven taking me for a ride today and not Henhaven. Two Alphas. Two powerful men. Two determined to make me a bride.

It all just feels so muddled inside. I shouldn’t even be here, entertaining Henhaven for all of London to see. I should be on Charles’s arm, showing off my love to the world. Ours should be a romance they talk about for ages. Statues should be erected in our honor.

But no.

I’m forced to ride with Henhaven, affixing a smile on my face so as to not bring shame to us by looking as miserable as I feel. In truth, I would have come out wearing all black if the maid hadn’t insisted on putting me in a dress that supposedly showed off my hair and eyes.

And for what? For a man to go on and on about things I care nothing about? It hurts, a little. At least with Charles, the conversation was compelling. Though, most of the time, it was some other part of him doing the talking and not his lips.

Though the path is smooth, there are still a few rough patches here and there. The moment the wheel bumps into it, I find myself gripping the other side of the curricle to keep myself upright and not slam into him. Far be it from me that he gets the wrong idea that I am for this arrangement.

Sitting next to Henhaven, thighs nearly touching, I grip my reticule even closer, doing my best not to sway about. From either side, others smile at us, seemingly happy for this Season’s newest match. They tip their hats and murmur what I think to be well wishes.

Surely, they’re all happy and relieved that I finally found someone before I became far too old to garner the affections of anyone of note. Not that Henhaven has all that much going for him. I mean, I’m sure he’s good for someone, but that person is not me.

As we move about a turn, a hint of wind picks up, sending chilly eddies around me. Unfortunately, it also brings his scent fully in my nose. It’s not the worst thing I’ve smelled, but I clamor for the dark richness of leather and smoke instead of the salt kiss of the ocean.

“Your thoughts on the matter?” his deep baritone cuts in, interrupting my thoughts.

Turning, I blink at the man, noting the glint of gray in his steely blue eyes. They stare at me in small bursts before looking back at the horses to make sure our course is steady.

“Could you repeat the question?” I ask, swallowing as I do my best to turn my attention back to him.

His lips turn up into a soft smile, as if my inattention amuses him. “I said French or English? Which do you prefer?”

My brain whirrs in my head, but I still cannot make out what he’s asking, even with that bit of information. “Please forgive me. I do fear as if I’ve missed part of the conversation. I am passable with French, though not nearly as accomplished as my family would like. I do apologize if that makes me far less appealing to you.”