Page 17 of Hazardous to a Duke’s Heart (Lords of Hazard #1)

T ory couldn’t believe it. She’d had perfectly eligible gentlemen partners for the last four dances. Of course, none could hold a candle to Jon, who’d practically melted her into a puddle of toffee sauce with all his meaningful glances and masterful steps, but she wouldn’t admit that to him for the world.

No point in continuing a flirtation that couldn’t go anywhere.

The duchess approached her, wreathed in smiles. “I don’t know if it was Jon’s dancing with you or what he said afterward to the young gentlemen, but whatever it was, it worked.”

Her heart faltered. “What are you talking about?”

“I complained to Jon about the bachelors not dancing with you, leaving you to stand up with a lot of old husbands, and he said he’d take care of it. And he did!”

A sick feeling settled in her stomach. “That’s why he was talking to those men over by the punch bowl? That’s why he danced with me?” Never mind that she’d told him repeatedly she wasn’t looking for a husband. He hadn’t listened.

As if finally realizing the insult behind her words, the duchess said hastily, “No, of course not. You know he’s fond of you. He hasn’t danced with anyone else here. It’s a great compliment to you, my dear. And what a coup you had, dancing with the Viscount Knightdale! He’s quite the catch, you know.”

“Is he?” Tory said, hardly hearing her.

Of course Jon had stepped in to ensure she had partners. She should have realized it. And it did explain why, on her way to the necessary earlier, she’d seen him slip into the library. Once he’d done his duty by her, he figured he could hide.

Devil take him! Any other woman would have thought what he’d done for her was sweet, but any other woman wouldn’t have thought when they’d danced that he’d wanted . . . that he’d needed . . .

Her.

Tears stung her eyes. What a fool she’d been! She should have listened to him when he’d said he wasn’t ready for a wife.

She drew herself up. Why did she even care? She didn’t want him for a husband, no matter how deliciously he kissed. She’d have to choose between him and Cyril, and with both their parents gone, she’d have to choose Cyril.

There could be nothing between them. And she hated that.

“Are you all right, Victoria?” the duchess asked. “You look a little faint. Fortunately, supper will be served any minute. A bit of food will hearten you, I’m sure. You’re to be taken in by Mr. Pierce Egan. He’s quite clever.”

Her Grace lowered her voice. “Don’t tell anyone, but I read his scandalous book, The Mistress of Royalty , or the Loves of Florizel and Perdita , and he’s exceedingly humorous. Of course, he wouldn’t make you a proper husband—he’s Irish, after all—but at least he’ll make you laugh at supper tonight.”

Suddenly, Tory noticed the Countess of Sinclair hurrying toward them.

“Duchess,” Lady Sinclair said, “have you seen your son? He’s to take the Duchess of Grenwood in to supper, and I can’t find him anywhere!”

Oh, dear. “Did you check the library?” Tory asked.

“Of course, I checked the library. Or someone did, anyway. He wasn’t there. But the footmen say he never called for his phaeton, either.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t go home,” the duchess pointed out. “He likes to walk. He walked hundreds of miles to get to Paris from where he was kept in France. Walking home would be nothing to him.”

“True,” Tory said. “But would he really be so rude as to make Diana go in to supper alone? That seems . . . unlike him.” And she could hardly see him leaving his phaeton here to walk home.

“I swear, I don’t know the man these days,” the duchess said, lifting her eyes heavenward. “He has the oddest whims. That French prison did something to him.”

Tory could certainly agree with that.

Lady Sinclair was still staring at them. “What shall I do about Diana?”

The duchess sighed, then drew herself up with dignity. “Tell everyone my son went home, and I went home to make sure he was well. That way, since I was supposed to be taken in by the Duke of Grenwood, he can now take in his wife. That will take care of Diana.”

“He can’t take his own wife in to supper,” Lady Sinclair said. “Can he?”

The countess was American, so of course she wasn’t sure of such things. Tory wasn’t absolutely certain herself. “I don’t think there’s any rule preventing it if precedence is observed, is there, Your Grace?”

“No one will complain.” The duchess waved her hand dismissively. “They’ll say you made a good faith effort, Lady Sinclair, and praise you for it. But now I must leave. Would you mind chaperoning Victoria and Chloe? Or perhaps ask Diana to do so? I hate to spoil their evening. I’ll send the carriage back for them.”

“That’s fine.” Lady Sinclair clasped her hand. “Thank you, Your Grace. This is very kind of you.”

“Not a bit,” the duchess said. “Just hold supper a bit longer to give me time to gather my things, call for the carriage, and be away. In exchange, I promise to thrash my son when next I see him.” Then she marched off.

Tory bit back a laugh at the idea of the duchess thrashing Jon. But she still wasn’t convinced he’d left. “If you don’t mind, Lady Sinclair, I shall go to the retiring room while there’s still time.”

It took her a while to get to the hall, since Chloe stopped her to ask what was going on, and she had to tell her something . But as soon as she could leave her, she headed for the library. She couldn’t believe Jon would so callously insult Diana. Then again . . .

Before entering, she made sure no one was near to see her go in, and once inside, she slid the door silently closed.

She’d been in the Sinclairs’ unusual library often and knew it as well as she knew Falcon House. Its large mahogany bookcases connected overhead to form a series of alcoves, each with a table and a Hepplewhite wingback armchair, so one could sit in the back of an alcove and read undisturbed between two bookcases.

“Your Grace,” she whispered.

No answer. She walked past each alcove and looked in.

“Are you in here, Your Grace?” she asked again, still whispering.

She heard a heavy sigh from the hidden side of the chair in the last alcove. “Who wants to know?” Jon grumbled.

“You are in here! I knew it!”

“Tory?” Shoving the chair back, he rose, book in hand, and spun to face her. “What the devil?”

“What the devil, yourself! Everyone has been looking for you! They said they looked in here but—”

“They did.” He shrugged. “When they called for me, I ignored them.”

“You were supposed to take Diana in to supper. Now your mother is having to fix things by going home, so that Grenwood can take Diana in instead, and—”

“Wait, what are you talking about? I thought supper wasn’t served at these things until at least midnight and it’s only—” He drew out his pocket watch and looked at it. “Damn.”

“Yes, ‘damn,’ indeed.”

“I was caught up in reading about crops in Shropshire and lost track of the time,” he said apologetically. “I meant to be in the ballroom long before supper.”

She planted her hands on her hips, still angry with him for manipulating gentlemen into dancing with her. “Well, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! Talk about making a hash of things—”

“I’ll go right now,” he said, his expression full of remorse as he left the alcove. “It will be fine.”

She stepped in front of him. “It will not be fine! You can’t go in now . Lady Sinclair has probably already told people you walked home—your mother’s suggestion, by the way, since the servants said you hadn’t taken the phaeton—and your mother is probably already in the carriage. You will not make liars out of either of them. As soon as everyone goes in to supper, you can slip out and take Alban’s phaeton home.”

“First of all, it’s my phaeton now. Secondly, if I drive it back, we won’t be able to avoid the servant gossip.” He narrowed his gaze on her. “And how did you know I was in here, anyway?”

“Lucky guess.” When he eyed her suspiciously, heat filled her cheeks. “I . . . er . . . saw you come in here earlier while on my way to the retiring room.”

“Were you following me?” he demanded.

She scowled. “Only you would be so arrogant as to assume such a thing.”

That seemed to catch him off guard. “You consider me arrogant?”

She threw up her hands. “I hardly know! One minute, you’re staring soulfully into my eyes as you say lovely things and whirl me about the floor. The next, you’re coldly bribing gentlemen to dance with me so I can gain a husband and get as far away from you as possible. I’d say that ‘Jon’ isn’t arrogant in the least. ‘The Duke of Falconridge,’ however, is the most arrogant, pigheaded—”

“I did not bribe gentlemen to dance with you,” he protested.

“No?” She stared him down. “Did you mention my dowry to them?”

He thrust out his chin. “I might have. But that was the purpose for which it was intended, was it not? To coax gentlemen into considering you as a wife?”

She glared at him. “Gentlemen who otherwise thought me beneath them, I assume?”

He regarded her cautiously. “Only because they don’t know you, Tory. Anyone who spends ten minutes getting to know you wants to be with you.”

There he went again, saying lovely things he didn’t mean. “Anyone except you, apparently, judging from how you disappeared after our dance.”

“Anyone including me,” he said, then muttered something under his breath that sounded much like bloody hell , which was rather vulgar even for him. “But how I feel doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.” When his face showed his chagrin, she instantly wished the words unsaid.

“It shouldn’t.” Then he glanced away. “How were your dances with the bachelors?”

“Oh, for pity’s sake.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “If you wanted to know that, you should have stayed around to find out.”

He winced. “Surely you discovered that one or two suited you. And there will be more, once men hear how kind and clever and accomplished you are.”

“I suppose you’ll announce that at the next ball if I don’t have any partners there ,” she snapped.

“Tory, please,” he began, his voice thrumming low.

“I am not a charity case, curse you!” To her horror, tears sprang to her eyes. “I told you I don’t want a husband, but you won’t listen. No, worse than that, you act as if you want me! Then you act as if you don’t! What am I supposed to think?”

He caught her by her arms, staring down at her with a tortured expression. “Damn it, sweetheart, I do want you. But it’s impossible.”

That struck a hard blow to her heart. “Of course, it is,” she said shakily. “Because you’re a duke and I’m a governess—”

“That has naught to do with it, for God’s sake! It’s just . . .” He lifted a hand to brush her cheek, then shook his head. “Trust me, you don’t want me.”

“That’s the problem. I do want you.” She knew that now. So, going on sheer instinct, she went up on tiptoe and kissed him square on the lips.

When she drew back, he was watching her with an intensity she’d grown to crave. “God rot it,” he muttered, and clasping her head in both his hands, he kissed her as if the world would end if he didn’t.

With a happy sigh in her throat, she rose into his kiss, clasping his arms to hold him close. Groaning, he deepened it, turning her knees to butter and her blood to fire as he wrapped his arms about her waist and plastered her to him.

They kissed a long while, eagerly, thoroughly. He dragged the breath from her, then gave it back, his tongue playing with hers and his hands beginning to roam up and down her back, then up and down her sides.

He was breathing heavily now—so was she—and she moaned as he began to kiss his way down her neck.

“We must . . . stop this,” he rasped.

“Must we?” She dropped her hands to slide them inside his open black tailcoat to where his white silk waistcoat met his knee breeches. Goodness, he had a lean waist and hips. She was just wicked enough to wish she could see him without his clothes.

She was dying to sculpt his firm muscles, run her hands down his taut chest, get a look at his tight bottom . . .

Suddenly, Jon froze and glanced at the door. That was when she heard it—two men talking on the other side.

“I tell you, I’m almost sure I saw her go into the library.”

“Don’t be an arse, Knightdale. Why would she go into a library in the middle of a ball?”

“For an assignation, of course.”

When Tory groaned, Jon grabbed her hand and tugged her into the alcove he’d been in. Then he turned the Argand lamp off. It sputtered out just as they heard the library door opening.

Lifting Tory soundlessly onto the table, Jon shielded her with his body and pressed a finger to her lips.

“I told you she’s not in here,” said the other fellow.

Tory’s heart pounded so hard, she was sure they must hear it.

“She’s probably out there waiting with the rest of the crowd,” the man went on sullenly. “Where we should be. I’m famished. Why are they waiting so long to serve supper, anyway?”

Tory cut her eyes up at Jon, who rolled his.

Lord Knightdale cursed. “She must have gone back in the ballroom. And I’d been hoping to catch her so I could ask her for the dance after the supper dance.”

“Why? You were mocking her earlier.”

“That was before I heard she had a fortune. Did you see the titties on her? Any woman who looks like that with a five-thousand-pound dowry is nothing to sneeze at.”

“You’re such an arse, Knightdale.”

Tory quite agreed. Meanwhile, Jon stiffened and looked as if he might vault out of the alcove to take on Lord Knightdale. Hastily, Tory clutched him tightly about the waist, then stretched up to kiss his mouth.

He hesitated only a moment before kissing her back, his tongue making lazy strokes inside her mouth that coaxed all her senses to life. She could feel the faint stubble on his chin, taste the champagne on his tongue, smell the sharp and spicy cologne on his neck.

Not to mention that the fear of discovery gave their kisses an exhilarating edge. He must have felt it, too, for he slid his hand up to cup and knead her breast through her gown, making her wild for more.

So this was what desire felt like, this jumble of sensations turning her to clay in his hands. More, please, she thought, then had a moment’s panic when she feared she’d said it aloud.

Thankfully, if she had, the other two gentlemen hadn’t heard it. “Come on, Cokesbury,” Lord Knightdale said. “Might as well look for her in the ballroom.”

“She probably went into the retiring room,” his companion said, his voice dropping as the two men left.

Tory barely noticed when the door shut with an audible click. But she definitely noticed when Jon’s thumb rubbed her nipple through her gown.

“Gave you ideas, did they?” she murmured against his mouth.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” he said in a husky voice, “I’ve had ideas since the day I met you. Which is precisely why you shouldn’t be alone with me.”

His admission thrilled her. “I probably shouldn’t. But I am.”

With a low moan, he kissed her throat, all the while moving his hand up to slide her gown off her shoulder.

“Jon!” she said urgently.

“Let me show you how much I want you, so you never doubt it again. I promise I won’t ruin you. But . . .”

He left that thought hanging in the air as he kissed his way down to where her breasts were pressed together by her gown and corset. Somehow, he got her gown lowered enough to expose her corset cup and chemise ties. Within moments he’d bared one of her breasts.

She dragged in a shaky breath as he gazed down at it. “Now I wish I hadn’t turned off the lamp,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t imagine anything I’d like to see more than you displayed in all your naked glory. But I’ll have to settle for this.”

Then he bent his head to cover her breast with his mouth.

Oh. Good. Lord! His warm mouth sucked at her breast, and she felt a burst of sensation like . . . like nothing she’d ever known before. Then he tongued her nipple, and she thought she’d go out of her mind. It was exquisite, something she’d never imagined could feel that good! Arching up against his lips, she released a long, low moan.

“Like that, do you?” he whispered against her breast.

She had to close her eyes against the satisfaction in his expression.

“God, you taste like heaven.” He used his hand to fondle her other breast, two glorious sensations at the same time, and she dug her fingers into his waist. It was divine having him do this to her, better than the best dessert, and she did like her desserts.

Now an ache had started beneath her mons that made her feel wet and hot inside her fountain of love , as her mother had called it. Was that normal? If it wasn’t, she didn’t want to be normal.

“This is madness, sweetheart,” he murmured against her breast. “Make me stop.”

“Why?” she choked out. “So you can return to treating me coldly? Not on your life. If I only get this moment of you needing me, I shall enjoy it.” Especially when he tongued her nipple again, making her catch her breath.

“I do need you, you know,” he rasped. “If I dared, I’d strip you bare and take you right on this table. But that would ruin you.” Then he straightened to gaze down at her, eyes smoldering. Slowly, he began dragging her skirts up her legs. “Still, I can give you a taste of what it would be like to experience that kind of pleasure without ruining you.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

He flashed her a wicked smile. “You will.” Then he began to kiss her again, all the while moving his hand higher and then pushing his body between her legs, parting them for him.

She tore her mouth from his. “Wait! I know how ruination works and if you put your . . . your . . . member . . . inside me . . .”

He uttered a rough laugh. “As badly as I wish to, I won’t put my ‘member’ inside you, I swear.” With that, he slid his hand between her legs, where she was so damp and eager, where it felt as if she’d been waiting her whole life for him to touch her.

But he didn’t just touch her. He caressed her, fondling parts of her she’d never touched herself. And what a revelation! It felt magical and perfect and daring, all at the same time.

Then he slid his finger inside her fountain of love , and she let out a throttled groan. “That is . . . oh dear . . . my word . . .”

He pressed his mouth to her ear. “You’re so hot and wet for me, sweetheart, it drives me to insanity.”

“You’re doing . . . the same to me,” she rasped.

He groaned. “Good. I only wish I could . . . we could . . . But we can’t. So this will have to be enough.” He swept his thumb against a very tender spot, and she nearly jumped off the table.

“Ohhh, Jon . . . That is . . .”

He said nothing, merely filling his free hand with her naked breast, and thumbing her nipple over and over, the way he was thumbing her down below in a rhythm that made her start to pant and strain against his hand.

Meanwhile, he thrust a second finger inside her, stretching her a bit, but not unpleasantly, until his thumb and fingers were working in concert, stroking her inside and outside, until her body smoldered like coals on the edge of erupting into flame.

“Yes . . . like that . . .” she choked out, as little fires began to break out below. “More . . . please . . . Jon . . . more. ”

“Tory . . .” he whispered against her cheek. “I wish . . . damn . . . how I wish . . . you could be . . .” Then he took her mouth again as if to blot out anything reckless he might say.

But she was beyond speech. She pressed her mons rhythmically against his thumb as more fires erupted. Then she strained against Jon’s hand, her body seeming to ignite into flames, and for a moment, all was ecstasy. She could feel her fountain of love convulse around his fingers.

Apparently, so could he, for he whispered, “That’s it, my beauty. My sweet . . . angel . . . My dearest.”

She delighted in his possessive words as she clung to his body. They added to the warm embers left behind after he’d pleasured her as he kissed her cheeks and mouth and throat. He might not want to desire her, but clearly, he did. And that gave her hope despite all her cautions.

“That was amazing,” she whispered. “I . . . I had no idea.”

He nuzzled her neck. “So, you enjoyed it, did you?”

“You know perfectly well that I did. But did you?”

“I enjoyed watching you enjoy it.”

That’s when it dawned on her—he hadn’t ruined her, which meant he hadn’t gained his own satisfaction from their encounter.

She drew back to stare at him. “Isn’t there something I could do to give you pleasure without being ruined?”

He blinked, clearly surprised by the question. “Perhaps one or two things . . . But I’m afraid I must forego that particular enjoyment. Because if you did them, I’d never be able to walk out of here without someone guessing what I’d been up to, and eventually they’d figure out who I’d been up to it with.”

“Even if they did,” she said hotly, “I wouldn’t make you marry me.”

“I’d make you marry me. ” He kissed her with a leisurely thoroughness that left her gasping once he drew back to say fiercely, “I would never let you lose your reputation simply because I couldn’t control myself.”

“And I’d never make you sacrifice yourself for my reputation.” She kissed his throat, then stared up at him. “Never.”

“It wouldn’t be a sacrifice,” he rasped, his eyes gleaming in the semidarkness. “Not for me, at any rate. But it very well could be for you.”

“Why?”

“Because . . .” He seemed to catch himself. “Because you’ve already said you don’t wish to marry. I took you at your word. Should I not have done so?”

If anything could throw cold water over all their pleasures, it was the reminder that although she wished to marry, she dared not.

With a sigh, she slipped off the table to pull her skirts down. “No, you should take me at my word. Indeed, I should go. We’ve lingered too long in here. And though the rules of precedence may make me one of the last to go in to supper, if I know Lady Sinclair, she won’t announce that supper is served until she’s sure every one of us is in place.”

He helped her straighten her attire, then gave her a quick kiss before she headed to the door, praying that Lord Knightdale and his friend weren’t standing about in the hall.

But as she slipped into the ballroom unnoticed, she realized she’d unwittingly become Clytie, yearning for Helios the sun god, whom she could never have.

And there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it.

Jon sat in the library, trying to get his arousal to subside, no small feat when he couldn’t stop thinking about how it had been to kiss Tory, caress Tory . . . make Tory come. He ought to be proud of his success.

Instead, he wished he’d asked her to marry him.

Damn you, Morris, he thought, for the first time remembering his mentor with anger, not guilt. Why couldn’t you have had a stupid or cruel or ugly daughter, preferably all three? Why did it have to be the witty, kind, and sensuous Tory?

Thinking of Morris did the trick. Now he could slip out of the Sinclairs without provoking anyone’s notice. Still, it was better he walk home and leave the phaeton, if only to help his mother maintain her tale. Although if he had the choice, he’d march into the supper room, throttle Knightdale for being a randy arse, and sweep Tory from the room and off to Scotland to be married.

But he couldn’t. Knightdale might call him out, and he’d have to shoot the fellow. Tory might refuse to marry him. And he didn’t fancy driving the phaeton to Scotland. He suspected she wouldn’t either, even if she did agree to marry him, which wasn’t certain.

Why was she being so determined not to marry, anyway? After tonight, he would swear she liked him well enough. Yet she’d made it clear marriage still wasn’t in her plans. Yes, she did wish to use the money for her school, but he began to think there was more to it.

Or perhaps that was just his pride talking, trying to find a reason for her not wanting him as a husband other than that she didn’t like him. She’d said she found him arrogant, after all.

He scowled. He had to stop this and go home while everyone was at supper. Thank God he successfully slipped out unseen so he could walk home.

Unsurprisingly, the moment he entered Falcon House, his mother waylaid him. “I had to leave a perfectly delightful ball because you forgot to stay for supper and insulted our good friends the Grenwoods!”

He acted surprised. “Forgive me, Mother. I forgot I was to take the duchess in to supper. I’m not used to being around so many people, and the chatter and music was too much for me after years in near solitude.” It was the only excuse that might be acceptable to his mother, although if she believed that, she was more gullible than he thought.

She sighed. “I’m sorry to hear that, Jon, but you can’t just do as you please at these affairs.”

“Can’t I? I am the duke, after all, as you keep reminding me.”

That put a steely glint in her eyes. “Yes, but you’re the duke who means to take the dukedom in hand. Which means you can’t be insulting half of society.”

“Duly noted, Mother.” He bowed. “Now if you don’t mind, I—”

“Where were you, anyway? I thought I might encounter you on the ride home, but I didn’t see hide nor hare of you. Not even long ears.”

That flummoxed him. “My ears are . . . long these days?”

“You know what I mean. Like a hare’s ears! Hide nor hare !”

“Right.” He sighed. “I walked around Mayfair for a bit.”

“At night? Alone? I’m surprised you weren’t accosted by footpads.”

Oh, for God’s sake. “Yes, we know how riddled Mayfair is with footpads. Besides, after Bitche I don’t go anywhere without a knife at least.”

“You carry a weapon ?” she exclaimed, eyes wide.

“Don’t worry, I promise never to use it on you. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed. We can discuss this further in the morning.” Especially since he was planning to go riding with Grenwood quite early, at which point he would apologize profusely for the insult to Grenwood’s wife.

She glared at him. “You can’t go to bed yet. You have a visitor.”

“ Now? ”

She sniffed. “I told your friend Heathbrook he could wait for you, since I knew you’d show up eventually. I put him in your study.”

Damn. Something must be seriously wrong if Heathbrook was paying him a call this late, not to mention coming to town at all. Jon started to head that way, then paused to kiss his mother on the cheek. “Forgive me for causing you such trouble tonight. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Hmph. It had better not, young man.”

He couldn’t help laughing. She still saw him as eighteen. But then, she was a mother, so that was to be expected.

Moments later, he entered his study to find Heathbrook pacing, with a glass of Jon’s whisky in hand.

Instantly, Jon went on the alert. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“Mademoiselle Bernard and her mother are in England.”

Jon stopped short. “How do you know? When did they get here? Where are they now?”

Heathbrook sipped some whisky. “Another détenu, who’d settled in the village near my estate, told me. He said when he’d first arrived back, he’d encountered them in some watering hole. Apparently, they’d acquired passports in France. But they didn’t tell him when they arrived or where they were living.”

“We have to find her. Them.”

“I agree, if only to put to rest your suspicions about Mademoiselle Bernard.” When Jon scowled at Heathbrook, he added, “I’m just not sure how to go about it.”

Jon mused a moment. “Actually, Beasley will be coming here tomorrow afternoon, so I’ll ask him if he knows where she went.”

“Good idea.” Heathbrook stared at him. “Why is Beasley coming here ?”

Jon explained, but that didn’t seem to satisfy Heathbrook.

“Scovell thinks you’ve invented a dowry for Miss Morris, since we both know Morris had no money at the end. None of us did.”

“He had a little.”

“Not five thousand pounds.” Heathbrook refilled his whisky glass. “And it seems to me it would require changing the codicil to Morris’s will. Beasley would certainly know how to do that.”

Jon crossed his arms over his chest. “What are you accusing me of?”

“Providing Miss Morris with a dowry because you feel guilty over how our escape went.”

Pouring himself a glass of whisky, Jon drank deeply of it. He should have told his friends the truth from the beginning. But he’d known they would disapprove. They had never understood the depths of his guilt. How could they? “Morris asked me on his deathbed to get her a good husband. What was I supposed to do?”

“Introduce her to eligible gentlemen.”

Jon scoffed at that. “You and I both know she’d have no chance at marrying if not for that dowry.”

“Morris wouldn’t have expected you to go to such lengths.” When Jon didn’t answer, Heathbrook asked, “Can you afford it?”

“From what I’ve determined so far, yes.”

“Does she know?”

Jon turned to fix him with a fierce look. “God, no. Neither do my mother and sister. And don’t you dare tell her. She’d be mortified.”

Heathbrook gazed at him coolly. “I daresay she would. She’s probably holding out for true love, as most women are these days.”

“If so, they’re fools. If Morris taught me anything, it’s that the sort of love women want doesn’t exist.” Even this feverish desire he felt for Tory would cool in time. At least he hoped it would. He couldn’t imagine going on for years in such agony. “When even a man like Morris, who professed to love his wife dearly, can take a mistress—”

“And I’m still not sure that he did.”

“Fine. Forget Morris’s . . . behavior toward Mademoiselle Bernard. What about the many men in Verdun who tired of not having wives and looked elsewhere for company?”

“Those exist everywhere, Jon. That doesn’t mean love isn’t real.” Heathbrook narrowed his gaze. “If you ask me, you seem very much like a man in love yourself. It begs the question of how you can push Miss Morris at other men.”

“I’m not pushing her at anyone,” Jon ground out. “I’m just giving her a chance at a decent life and future. That’s all.”

“If you say so. But I do hope you’re prepared in case she finds out that you manufactured her dowry.”

He flinched. “I’ve taken steps to make sure she doesn’t.”

“Well then.” Heathbrook set down his whisky glass. “It seems you have matters in hand. I’ll be going now. I’ll see myself out. If you need me, I’ll be in town for a week tending to business.”

“Why would I need you?” Jon snapped.

Heathbrook shook his head. “In case you don’t have things as well in hand as you think.”

And before Jon could answer that, the earl left.