Page 10 of Tantalizing the Duke (Wayward Dukes Alliance #22)
CHAPTER TEN
A pounding on her door seemed to rattle even the windowpanes as it invaded Milly’s sleep and sent the tail end of an unremembered dream flying like startled pigeons. She blinked, momentarily puzzled by the tendrils of hair that clung to her cheek, until another rapid thudding called her from beneath the bedclothes.
“Milly!” her father roared from outside, with all the grace of a bull battering a gate. “Open this door!”
She stumbled toward the sound as she tightened her wrapper around her, a sliver of unease threading through her drowsiness. Opening the door, she found the Earl of Kingsland standing there, red-faced and breathing hard, the morning paper clenched like a weapon in one hand.
The words “Parham and Miss M. N.” loomed in scandalous boldness above the fold, the letters nearly vibrating with the old man’s ire. He barged past her into the room, the scent of expensive wool mixing with his perspiration. “What is this nonsense? You are engaged to Crampmoore! I told you to stay home and keep your scandals to a minimum.”
She clutched her dressing gown closed, taking stock of his fury. Though the words were meant to alarm, it was the crumpled state of his usually immaculate coat that convinced her of his true distress. She closed the door with a quiet click and turned to face the whirlwind that was her father.
“There will be legal repercussions, Milly!” The earl’s voice pitched high, almost comical against the gravity of his claim. “Crampmoore could sue us for breach of promise.”
“You mustn’t fret so,” she said gently, though her heart wasn’t entirely settled. “It is only an announcement. Besides, marrying Parham is the perfect solution. I’ll be a countess rather than a baroness, and your grandson will be an earl someday.”
She hadn’t realized Parham would announce the wedding before the fact. She should have discussed their scheme more fully.
The earl waved her reasoning aside with a dramatic flourish, as if her words were no more substantial than a morning mist. “That is not the point, girl! You are still promised to Crampmoore.”
His vehemence stunned her, though she knew it shouldn’t have. Even in his disheveled state, the earl was the picture of insistence, pacing her sitting room like a general plotting war.
“Perhaps the baron will feel relieved at his narrow escape,” she countered, keeping her voice steady.
Kingsland’s expression darkened as he stalked to the window. The morning light caught the silver threads in his hair, making him appear almost regal in his exasperation. “And have you forgotten the scandal you created? All of London remembers it.”
“You arranged for me to marry a murderer. It seems only fair that I take matters into my own hands.” She kept her voice calm, but laced with defiance.
Her father took a deep breath, his face flushed with anger. For a moment, she thought he might relent, might see the reason in her decision. Instead, he turned sharply on his heel, marching to the door with a sense of purpose. “I will call on Crampmoore in person,” he declared, the paper crackling in his fist. “I must make amends before he decides to act.”
The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Milly in a state of disheveled calm. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, a wild contrast to the refined order of her thoughts. She sighed, allowing herself a moment of indulgent relief before summoning the resolve that had carried her through countless storms.
In an odd way, her father’s reaction had emboldened her. Going to her bedchamber, she slipped out of her nightclothes, the fabric whispering across her skin as she dressed for the day. The earl’s last words still echoed, but their power diminished as she tied a ribbon about her waist.
By the time she smoothed the folds of her skirt and regarded her reflection in the looking glass, the confidence had returned to her eyes. She would marry Parham, on her own terms, and find a happiness that neither scandal nor stubborn fathers could diminish. Milly raised her chin, a subtle yet unmistakable declaration, and moved to the dressing table to fix her hair.
Her hair had taken on a will of its own while she slept, flying this way and that beneath her impatient fingers. She wrestled it into submission, weaving pins through curls with all the tenacity of a warrior rearming after battle. The earl’s morning intrusion had left her shaken, though she would have died before admitting it. To her surprise, she found the very admission brought an unlooked-for sense of relief, a lightening of the spirit. She’d just fixed the last pin in place when a soft knock and the maid’s hesitant voice startled her anew. “A visitor, miss. The Duke of Dainsfield.”
Milly’s hands stilled, her heart racing anew with the unexpected news. She caught her reflection in the small looking glass, watching the emotions chase themselves across her features: surprise, anxiety, then a determined calm. Dainsfield, of all people. What could he possibly want? “Very well. Please tell the duke I shall be with him shortly.”
She moved to the sitting room as if in a dream, each step weighed by anticipation. She took a breath, her hands clasping together in a bid to quell their trembling.
Dainsfield stood with the rigid grace of a soldier called to unwelcome duty. His athletic frame seemed out of place among the fragile chairs and embroidered cushions, and the air around him felt charged, as if the very atmosphere were attuned to his presence.
She inclined her head, her voice sweet and sincere. “Thank you for calling, Dainsfield. I owe much to your assistance in arranging the match with Parham. You were more help than you know.”
His expression remained as unyielding as the rest of him, though a flicker of something indefinable—was it remorse?—passed over his features. “I am pleased you think so.”
“Will you sit?” She gestured toward a chair. “Some tea, perhaps?”
“No, thank you.” His refusal was polite but final, as if refreshments and comfortable seating were at odds with his intentions. He did not move, and she was reminded of a statue, handsome and imposing but strangely devoid of warmth.
“Then how may I help you?” She met his gaze, striving to keep her curiosity from turning into a demand.
His posture remained rigid, yet there was an underlying tension, a crack in the marble. “I’ve heard something about Parham,” he said, the words landing heavily between them. “Something… concerning.”
Milly’s eyes widened, but she resisted the urge to react with more than polite interest. “And what is it you’ve heard?”
Dainsfield hesitated, a sure sign of the weight he placed on his information. She could see the struggle within him, a clash between loyalty and truth. “That he already has… an attachment. His secretary.”
The silence that followed was palpable, a living thing that pressed in on all sides. “I know about Peter,” she said at last, her tone light and unaffected.
His reaction was almost comical, the shift from self-assured savior to flustered confusion. “You… know?”
She nodded, a soft smile playing at her lips. “I do. And I’m quite pleased with the arrangement.”
“But how?” The question was not just of how she knew, but how she could possibly find satisfaction in such a marriage.
“It’s an old attachment,” she explained, the conviction in her voice a testament to her resolution. “And one that requires a wife in name only. We understand each other, Parham and I.”
Dainsfield’s composure wavered, the mask slipping as surprise gave way to something closer to desperation. He paced the room, his agitation clear. “This is madness, Milly. A woman as passionate and sensual as you deserves a husband who will embrace that part of you, nurture it, and treat you as the treasure you are.”
She took a breath, the words resonating within her in ways she both longed for and feared. “Dainsfield?—”
“You must see reason,” he interrupted, the controlled demeanor all but gone. He stepped toward her, closing the distance with a suddenness that stole the air from the room. “I can see it in your eyes, Milly. You don’t want this. Not truly.”
His nearness made her heart race, yet it was more than physical closeness that affected her. She felt the depth of his longing, the heat of his sincerity, and it was nearly her undoing. But she would not let it be. Not this time.
“You had the chance to treasure me,” she said, her voice steady though her heart trembled, “but you didn’t want it.”
The finality of her words was a wall, one she raised with painful precision. She stepped back, creating a distance both physical and emotional, and looked at him with a mixture of sorrow and resolve. “Please leave, Dainsfield. I’ve said all there is to say.”
He stood, momentarily frozen, the full impact of her refusal sinking into him. His jaw set, the only betrayal of his inner tumult, and then he turned. The door closed with a heavy click behind him, the sound echoing through her.
Milly’s composure held only a moment longer, crumbling like sand in the wake of a tide. She collapsed onto the nearest chair, the tears falling hot and unchecked. Her shoulders shook with the sobs she had withheld, her defenses gone as she admitted the truth that lay buried in her heart.
“I wish you could love me,” she whispered to the empty room, her words a plea and a lament all at once.
The storm of emotions subsided slowly, the tears drying against her skin as she breathed in the air of her new resolve. She straightened her posture, the remnants of the past shaken loose as she looked toward a future she would make her own. She would find happiness with Parham. She had to.