Page 6 of Secrets of a Duke’s Heart (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #25)

CHAPTER SIX

C larissa flung herself away from Mr. Montague with equal measures of alacrity and alarm.

“Mr. Bulloy,” she squeaked.

“Interrupting, am I?” The canny innkeeper winked. Her cheeks burned.

“No,” Mr. Montague all but snarled. “We weren’t doing anything worthy of interruption.”

Bulloy’s brow arched skeptically. Clarissa gasped. She didn’t understand how it was possible to burn with shame and fill with cold dread at the same time, but the combination effectively rid her of the dregs of pleasure.

“We were conversing. Quietly. The waves can be rather loud.”

How could he lie so calmly?

She was such a fool. She didn’t even know Mr. Montague’s first name and here she was kissing him—yet he wouldn’t even admit to the fact. That was fine, though, she didn’t need the headache of honesty.

An unwelcome thought clawed its way into her mind. He claimed he wasn’t married but men lied about that sort of thing all the time.

Despite his easy denial, Mr. Montague looked as disheveled and put out as she felt.

Clarissa had the entire climb back up the steep stairs to dwell upon what had just happened and the possible consequences. By the time they reached the inn’s taproom, calm clarity had settled over her.

Mr. Montague had kissed her. They had spent hours trapped alone together in a sea cave, where they were discovered by the local innkeeper. His wife and daughter, though both kind-hearted, were also the town gossips. By any rational assessment, her reputation was damaged beyond repair.

I have finally allowed my curiosity to lead me into a trap I may not be able to escape , she thought ruefully . She was not going to marry a near-stranger, no matter how well he kissed. Mr. Montague was full of secrets and she would not marry a man who would not entrust her with his heart. A temporary punishment was nothing compared to a life sentence.

Montague ushered her to a table laden with two bowls of stew and fresh bread with butter. Her mouth watered. Within seconds, all she could think of was food.

“I am starving,” he said. “I don’t know how you have managed all this time.”

She swept her skirt aside and sat, resisting the urge to tuck into her unexpected meal. Montague showed no such restraint. He ripped into the bread and slathered it with butter before dipping it into the stew. After a few bites, he halted abruptly and stared at her.

“Don’t tell me you’re still on a reducing diet.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks. Of all the things to say publicly. She laughed uneasily, for she was used to offhand, cutting remarks about her figure, and picked up her spoon.

“I gave all that up when I resigned myself to spinsterhood. However, we ought to devise an explanation for our inadvertent indiscretion just now.”

Her heart pounded and she could hardly take a bite of stew.

“There is no help for it. I shall marry you, if you want.”

Her heart plummeted. Clarissa didn’t know what she had been expecting, but a begrudging proposal was not it.

“I never said anything about wanting to marry you,” she said quietly, to keep from anyone overhearing. He stiffened.

“I see. All that pathetic backstory you shared with me wasn’t an attempt to gain my sympathy.”

“Why would I want sympathy from such a churlish companion? Never mind setting myself up for decades of discord.” She set down her cutlery with a precise click. “I find I have soured on your company, Mr. Montague. Good day, sir.”

She strode outside, scattering the geese in her haste.

* * *

Clarissa made her way back to the Prescott estate in the buggy, feeling not one qualm about leaving Mr. Montague to walk back alone.

To think, only a few hours ago, she had enjoyed being nestled on the bench seat with him. Their drive had felt a bit like courting.

That must be why she had lost her head and confided her pathetic life story to him, then kissed him back like a parched flower reaching for rain.

She was a sensible woman. Logical. Rational. Everyone said so. Until he came along.

What prompted her to lose her head over a surly grump of a man who clearly resented the prospect of marrying her?

In the courtyard, Clarissa flung her bonnet and gloves into her maid’s hand and stormed into the house.

“What has you in such a lather?” Her cousin had just come down the stairs and still had one hand on the balustrade. His brows arched in surprise.

“You should know that I have been publicly compromised. Mr. Montague has begrudgingly said he would marry me. I have told him off in no uncertain terms. I refuse to be shackled to that miserable?—”

“Should we have this conversation in private?” he asked, taking her elbow and gesturing in the direction of his study.

“What does it matter?” she huffed. “All of Cavalier Cove will know I spent hours alone with him trapped in a sea cave. If Caden Bulloy hadn’t come down to check on us, we could have drowned when the full tide came in.”

She didn’t mention the kissing.

Clarissa wasn’t precisely certain how much danger there had actually been. For once, she didn’t particularly care, either. Precision was less useful than venting her spleen. She would have preferred to die in that sea cave than be humiliated by Montague’s begrudging offer of marriage.

For the span of a morning, he had acted as if he genuinely liked her company. But just like her onetime beau, that only applied when no one was watching.

Tears burned her eyes. She swallowed. Nathaniel strode to the globe, tipped back the lid, and extracted a cut glass bottle of brandy. He poured half a finger and splashed water into it, then held it out to her.

“If you don’t want to marry him, you don’t have to. If a child results from your indiscretion, Montague can afford to set you up with a tidy property somewhere?—”

Clarissa took a long, burning sip of her drink and choked. Her vision blurred, but the brandy’s fire scorched her tears away. She laughed and coughed in equal measure, pounding her chest. When she could finally speak again, she croaked, “Too far, Thaniel. No clothing was removed.”

“Clothing doesn’t need to come off, Cousin.”

“I don’t need to know the details,” she snapped, though she did know from personal experience. “It was one kiss, and we were caught. Marriage seems like an excessive punishment for what was a minor error of judgment.” Her humor dissipated as quickly as it had come on. “I might have actually considered the notion if he had asked me with an ounce of enthusiasm instead of acting like he were being led to the gallows.”

“Have you ever known a man to be enthusiastic about the prospect of getting leg-shackled?”

“Yes. Most of them are more eager than the brides,” she said flatly. Her cousin’s lips twitched.

“Touché. I suppose that’s true. We complain and fuss about finding a wife but we’re rarely hesitant to claim our prize once we have found a lady who suits.”

A servant brought in a tray of biscuits and scones. Clarissa abandoned her brandy in favor of tea and helped herself to a currant scone.

“Despite his poor delivery, you might wish to entertain Mr. Montague’s offer for other reasons,” said Nathaniel.

“Such as?”

“They are not my secrets to divulge.”

“Mysterious. How am I to consider them when I don’t know what they are?” She tapped her lips with her forefinger.

“A fair point, and that is all I will say about the matter. This is between you and him.” He craned his neck to peer past her. “If you want to avoid the gentleman in question, you might wish to make yourself scarce. He’s coming up the drive now, on foot, and he doesn’t appear to be overly pleased.”

Clarissa stuffed the remaining pastry into her mouth and scooped up another one to take with her. She had had enough of Mr. Montague’s company for one day.

* * *

Jude strode into Prescott’s study where the footman had informed him that he would find the viscount.

“Calamity upon calamity befalls us,” he said by way of greeting. “I regret to bring you bad news for the second day in a row.”

“Clarissa says you have compromised her,” Prescott said without preamble.

Shame seared down his spine. He was unworthy of the Montague name. A duke courted ladies of great fortune and even greater beauty before selecting a wife who would be a credit to his coffers and uphold the family name. He did not accidentally get trapped in a smuggler’s sea cave with a woman of low birth and blurt out a proposal that she promptly rejected. It simply was not done.

“I have. We must therefore marry, and quickly.” His pulse quickened at the thought. There was more than one way to win a reluctant wife. Clarissa wasn’t immune to social pressure, and he wasn’t afraid to resort to such tactics if that was what it took to get her into his bed.

“That might not be possible. My cousin is notoriously hard-headed about these things. Perhaps tomorrow you will have better luck convincing her to be your bride. May I suggest asking instead of ordering her to the altar?”

Jude’s grinding teeth echoed hollowly within his skull. His had been a shite proposal by anyone’s standards. Especially his own. He wasn’t prepared, and he hated having to improvise on the fly.

“I don’t have time for this distraction. I am here for a fresh horse. I will accompany the Riders up the coast in search of the Spectre . Inform Clarissa that we must be wed at once upon my return.”

“That isn’t possible, even if she were amenable, which she is not. She is not a resident of this parish and neither are you.”

“She cannot refuse me,” he seethed. Harriet always hated it when he got his dander up, but Jude couldn’t help it. He was not the sort of scoundrel who ruined a lady’s reputation and then left her hanging. He had no respect for such men. There was no other option. “You must make Clarissa see reason.”

“Does she know you are a duke?” Nathaniel asked idly.

“No.”

“You might want to be more forthcoming with the truth if you want her to say yes. I am certain she would make an excellent duchess, but she should know before going into a union what she’s signing up for.”

“I don’t want her to marry me for the damned title!” he roared. “The reason I like her so much on such a short acquaintance is that she enjoys my company without having the slightest idea that I am a duke. I have courted with ladies and never once had the impression that they liked spending time with me for any other reason than the size of my fortune and my connections to the other Wayward Dukes.”

By now his hair must be thoroughly disheveled, he had spiked his fingers through it so often it must be standing on end like a porcupine’s quills. That was what he felt like: prickly and aggrieved, ready to stab anyone who came near. A good, hard ride might not accomplish much of anything but it would release some of the pent-up anxiety and anger boiling inside him, a witch’s cauldron of bad feelings and outrage.

How dare Clarissa refuse him? She, a commoner, and he a duke?

Which reminded him of the reason he had come here in the first place. This was a terrible time to give Prescott the news, but he might as well get it over with before he was beset by yet another calamity.

“Speaking of the Wayward Dukes, Cranbrook has asked me to convey this message to you personally.” He extracted a rather battered envelope from his inner pocket. The red wax seal remained intact, showing an entwined WW with the letter C, similar to his own signet ring, only his bore an M. Each signet ring was distinct and passed down to each new “duke” from the previous successor, and they were often used as a code when seeking assistance via written correspondence—as Cranbrook had requested of him do in return for the favor of keeping Pamela’s secret.

“What does this concern?”

“You have been appointed the guardian of an orphaned ward. A little girl named Estelle.”

“Why me?”

“He did not divulge his reasons to me. I presume he explains his rationale for naming you her guardian in that letter. I will not speculate why, though I can tell you he chose me to personally deliver the letter because he had been trusted with the secret of my niece’s birth.”

There had to be a sordid story behind little Estelle’s origins, otherwise there was no reason to involve the Wayward Dukes. Jude knew it was none of his business, and he was up to his neck in secrets already. He couldn’t summon a shred of curiosity about anyone else’s personal drama.

“I must be going. My horse is waiting, and Harriet won’t be found by me sitting cozily by the fire.”

“Wait.”

Jude stood stiffly, waiting for Prescott’s reproach. He was under-slept and confused and aching for his niece’s safety, but none of this excused the fact that he was being an ass, and he knew it. The habits of secrecy and self-protection were too ingrained.

“I’ll have a word with Clarissa, if you want me to try and change her mind.”

He bobbed his chin once, without hesitation. Relief cut through the knot of emotion binding his chest. He inhaled fully for the first time in what felt like days.

“Please do. I will have no other woman for my bride.”

One advantage of being a duke was that he nearly always got what he wanted.

But Jude had not counted upon Clarissa Penfirth’s stubborn force of will.