Page 23 of Rogue of My Heart

Her mother laughed. “They are tiresome.” The smile fell from her mother’s face. “Are you certain you are all right? I’ve been having strange dreams.”

Francesca’s heart raced. Her mother had a prognostic gift, and if she had dreams…they might give away her secret. “I’m fine.” She put more effort into her smile. “I promise. What were these dreams about?”

Her mother glanced away. “They were flashes really. You didn’t look happy, there was a man but I only saw him from the back. He had dark hair…” She shook her head. “It’s probably nothing. Maybe he’s the one you’re meant to fall in love with. The path isn’t always easy on the course to true love.”

Her mother couldn’t be more wrong. Matthew didn’t love her at all, and even if she found him Francesca doubted he’d take responsibility for the baby he’d help create. Still she had to try..

“You could be right. The ball is soon, and perhaps this mysterious man will be one of the guests.”

Her mother hugged her. “I hope whoever the man is that wins your heart realizes how lucky he is to have you.”

Francesca fought tears. Her voice was a little husky as she spoke, “I’m sure he will be worthy of it. I wouldn’t pick a man undeserving now would I?”

“No you wouldn’t,” she agreed. Her mother pulled back then came to her feet. “Do not stay out here too long. It’s too cold still.” With those words she left Francesca alone with her thoughts once again…

Matthew Grant, the Duke of Lindsey stared out the window in his study at his country estate, Lindy Castle. He’d grown up there. His parents had left him to the nanny’s and governess’s to raise. He didn’t understand love, so it was no wonder he had been taken low by it when he was a green lad.

One lady, slightly older, and perhaps wiser had stolen his young heart and then crushed it cruelly. After that disastrous mistake he vowed never to give his heart to another. He had none to give either way, and now his heartless mother had decided it was time for him to marry. As if Matthew couldn’t make a decision of his own.

If he wanted to marry there was one woman… He shook that thought away. Beautiful red haired beauties didn’t belong in his world. He should never have had a taste of her innocence to begin with. He’d been a rotten bastard, and he laid awake many nights regretting making love to her. He couldn’t go back and change it, and hell, he didn’t really want to. She was the only good thing he’d had in his life and he wanted to cherish that memory.

“Are you listening to me?” Agatha, the Dowager Duchess of Lindsey demanded. His mother had finally realized that he’d stopped paying attention to her.

He took a sip of the brandy he held in his hand, then glanced briefly over his shoulder. “I do my best to never listen to you,” he replied drolly. Why wouldn’t she go away?

“You need to stop this roguish behavior. There are no heirs in the line of succession to the Lindsey title. If you don’t marry and sire an heir…”

“The title will die with me.” He rolled his eyes. “I know this and do not need you to remind me of it.” He turned around and strolled back to his desk, then lifted the decanter to refill his glass. “I don’t bloody care if no one inherits the title. That seems far better than tying myself to a woman I’ll hate.”

“Once you have an heir you can ignore each other at your pleasure.” His mother smiled. “It’s an age old tradition.”

“One you and my father did with aplomb.” If his father hadn’t died nearly ten years ago he’d probably be harassing Matthew too. “Forgive me if I do not wish to follow in your footsteps. I will not marry some cold society miss because you believe I need an heir.”

His mother gasped. “Please tell me you do not have hopes to marry for love?”

Mathew burst into laughter. God help him. His mother was absolutely too much. “There is an appeal to that if you find it so offensive.” He sipped more brandy. “However I believe in love less than I believe in marriage. It’s a fantasy or for the very lucky.” One of his friends was part of the latter. The Earl of Winchester had somehow miraculously found love over Christmastide. He didn’t quite understand it. Love wasn’t the norm, and as rare as it was, Matthew had no doubts he’d ever find it.

“Well at least you’re not foolish enough to hold out for it.” She brushed imaginary crumbs off her shoulder. “Now about your fiancée…”

“Bloody hell mother,” he shouted at her as he slammed his glass on his desk. Brandy sloshed out and spilled over his hand. “I do not, nor will I ever have a damned fiancée. Stop this constant harping now.”

“I’m not giving up on you marrying.” She lifted her chin in defiance. “But I will give you some time to consider what I’ve said. The dukedom is important and I do hope you’ll want to leave all of this to your son one day.”

He opened his mouth to yell at her again, but then reconsidered and closed it. Arguing with his mother would not help his situation. She believed what she did, and he had his own opinions. It was far better to put some distance between them. “I won’t change my mind.” The muscles in his jaws twitched. “And I am done with this discussion.” Somehow he managed to remain cool and composed.

“A duke doesn’t have the choice to refrain from marriage. If you don’t choose your bride, one will help you choose her. Mark my words.”

A flash of his red haired beauty came to mind again. He wanted her. Perhaps more than when he’d first met her. One taste hadn’t been enough. Maybe he would try to find her again. If he were forced to have one woman as his wife she might do. No. He shook that thought away. He didn’t want any bride…even her.

“You’re wrong,” he disagreed. “No woman will ever control me.” He’d made that mistake once. Matthew learned from his mistakes. Edith Whitcomb had taught him that valuable lesson. When she shredded him with her machinations, and false love. She’d had him wrapped around her finger, and convinced him she’d make a wonderful wife. He’d been ready to run away with her before his father had stepped in. He’d offered her a better prize—an old duke and the title of duchess sooner than if she’d married him. Of course she couldn’t have known Matthew’s father would have a fatal accident a few months later. She could have had a younger husband, and the title too.

She deserved the bed she’d made for herself, and Matthew was free from ever marrying. His father had done him a favor, and he appreciated it, but not enough to finding a different bride. Even one as lovely as his Francesca. She would be far better off finding a gentleman worthy of her. Matthew was rotten through and through, and he accepted that. “I’m happier alone.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” his mother said. “One day you might even believe it.”

He turned toward her. His mother was a lovely woman with hair the same black as his own, but she had light green eyes. There was some gray streaked through her dark locks, but only enough to make her seem even lovelier. She must have been quite the beauty in her day. “I already do believe it.”

With those words he left his unfinished brandy on his desk, then stalked out of the room. He would travel to London immediately. There at least he had his club for entertainments, and perhaps a whore or two to help him forget a woman he couldn’t erase from his mind on his own.