T he Duke of Baxter was not easily surprised, but, by God, he was delighted to be surprised now.
He had not thought that when he entered the club this evening, he would find someone who would entice him and excite him and open up the possibility that he might actually find a woman who was as alive as him.
He had, of course, met many marvelous and magnificent women. He surrounded himself with the very best of all sorts of people. But it had never happened before that he had met an eligible young lady in his set who he could see himself choosing.
Now, it all was a bit precipitous, of course. She had only been in his presence for minutes. But he was a decisive man. She was the granddaughter of a duke. She was the daughter of a lord. What more did he need to know?
Well, he needed to know if she was made to handle someone like him and the way he lived. Many people could act with such passion for a little while, but they burned themselves out quickly.
And he would not do that to a woman.
It would be the height of cruelty. And it was, of course, why he had not yet found a wife. He’d seen the effect that his father had on his mother. His mother had been absolutely marvelous. She still was. She was a woman who knew how to step back and allow power to do what power needed to do.
Even so, the loss of his father had taken a toll on her, as had the way his father had lived.
He needed someone who did not simply allow him to live his life but could live it with him.
Still, Miss Cymbeline Briarwood appeared to be a strong, bold creature who would have a zest for living that surely could match his.
He just had to wait and see.
She cocked her head to the side. “You know, I think I’ve decided that I’m actually going to take offense at your commentary, as thrilling as all this is.”
“Oh?” he growled softly. “Do tell.”
“Keep up with you, is it?” she tsked playfully. “I think that might be the rudest thing that anyone has ever said to me. The sheer audacity and arrogance of it, Your Grace.”
He let out a low rumble of a laugh. How he dearly loved to laugh. And he had a feeling that, with her, he would laugh often. “You might think so,” he said, “but I don’t wish to burn you down.”
“You act like I’m some sort of candle,” she replied.
“You are like a flame,” he said.
“Am I?” she queried.
“Oh, yes. Flickering, bright, interesting. And I cannot wait to see how you blaze.”
“You make it sound as if you are going to put me to some sort of test.”
“It is like a test,” he said, opening the door slowly, guiding her back out into the hall.
“No,” a voice groaned.
“Bloody hell,” another exclaimed.
“Not like this,” the last cursed.
It was Calchas, Laertes, and Octavian.
“Fellows!” Callum called. “Well met, as Shakespeare is so fond saying.”
“No,” Laertes stated. “Not well met.”
Calchas let an even more bitter note fall from his throat, as if he’d swallowed a fish bone. “Not well met at all, Your Grace.”
Octavian plowed a hand through his hair, looking as if he had aged five years in the last minute. “We’ve simply got to stop allowing these mad little tête-à-têtes in our family.”
Cymbeline let out a peep of dismay. “Nothing has happened,” she said quickly.
“What do you mean nothing has happened?” Octavian demanded. “You’re in a room with the Duke of Baxter.”
“Forgive me,” the Duke of Baxter said. “Can your young cousin not be in a room alone with me?”
Clachas, Octavian, and Laertes exchanged a quick glance. Baxter couldn’t help himself. They had made a quick assumption that somehow he knew that she was female. Or perhaps they were just supposed to keep her under lock and key all the time, which made sense, of course.
Octavian cleared his throat. “Of course, Your Grace. Do forgive me. I did not mean to imply that our cousin is not capable of going off with you and having a—”
“He knows,” Cymbeline said quickly.
Baxter shot her a glance, surprised.
“We don’t do lies in our family,” she said. “Secrets just simply won’t keep.”
He let out an astonished sound. “Oh, really?” he said.
“Yes. So if that bothers you, you should hie off.”
Calchas let out a note of pure exhaustion. “I told your mother this was a bad idea.”
“Her mother?” let out Octavian. “Who cares about her mother? Ajax really is going to murder us.”
Callum cocked his head to the side. “Lord Ajax. Right,” he said, musing on this. “I didn’t really think about the fact that he would be my father-in-law.”
“Your father-in-what?” demanded Calchas. “You can’t be serious.”
“What do you mean?” Callum asked softly, surprised.
“Take no offense,” Calchas said swiftly. “Look, you are a magnificent duke, but I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you and Cymbeline to form any sort of alliance.”
“Why not?” Cymbeline demanded suddenly.
“He’s a lot,” said Octavian flatly.
Callum laughed, then shrugged. “There’s no denying it. I am indeed a lot,” he said.
“Not just a little a lot,” added Calchas. “A lot a lot,” he said. “You really don’t want him, Cymbeline. He’s a good fellow for fun, but…”
Callum arched a brow. “I feel like I should be taking offense at all of this. Besides, the three of you should have done a much better job of looking after your cousin. How could you let her go off like that? If I had been a man of far more nefarious purposes, as some people think that I am, she could have been up in a trice with the most shocking things happening to her.”
Calchas narrowed his eyes. “I could still call you out at dawn.”
“You could,” Callum said, “but the scandal would be terrible.”
“Our family quite likes a scandal,” Octavian reminded him.
“It’s true,” Callum agreed, “but I’d kill you. And then that would be terribly awkward.”
Cymbeline threw out her hands. “None of this ridiculous male peacocking, thank you. And I am suddenly reminded why I truly have no wish to be an actual man. This season of going out as a man has been most fun, but now I am reminded how absolutely idiotic men can behave when a woman is present. I would like to point out that I am more than capable of defending my own honor. Nothing happened. The Duke of Baxter has merely suggested that because of my adventurous spirit, I would be a good candidate for his duchess. He plans to call tomorrow, and I’m sure we can all sort it out as a family. ”
“As a family?” Callum quarried. “Surely, you’ll make the decision.”
Octavian, Calchas, and Laertes all swung a shocked glance at him.
“You’re not even going to ask the Duke of Westleigh, her uncle?” Octavian demanded.
Callum narrowed his eyes. “Why in God’s name would I do that? I’m not marrying the Duke of Westleigh. I’m going to marry her, if she suits.”
“You can’t say things like that,” Cymbeline pointed out. “It’s getting very close to a proposal, which could then result in a breach of promise if I wish to press it.”
“But you wouldn’t,” Callum replied easily, enjoying this exchange immensely. “I can already tell you are not that sort of person. You wouldn’t want to be married to someone that didn’t want to be married to you.”
It was her turn to let out a laugh. “Dear God in heaven. You’ve known me for minutes and yet you seem to know me well.”
“It is our spirits that know each other, Miss Briarwood,” he said.
“Oh dear,” she rushed. “Best not call me that at present.”
“Perhaps we should not all congregate here in the hall,” Callum said. “Unless, of course, we should like to go out to the park and make merry by moonlight. There is another party after this. We could all go.”
“You’re mad,” Octavian said.
Cymbeline nodded. “It’s why he’s going to fit in with the family.”
“Stop,” Calchas begged. “Don’t you even dare say it.”
“Why not?” Cymbeline said.
Laertes let out a groan. “Because everyone knows that he’s…”
“What?” she asked.
“Exhausting to be around for any particular length of time.”
“He sounds like a Briarwood,” Cymbeline said.
“He’s not like a Briarwood,” Octavian cut in.
Callum happily watched the banter. He did not have siblings. He did not have much family. But he thought this was terribly fun, and he loved the idea of suddenly being involved with so many people. Especially such unique people.
“I promise you, if this is a good fit, we shall have the merriest of times together. I always have a merry time,” Callum said.
“Yes, we know,” Calchas drawled.
“That’s why we’re not really sure that you’d be a good fit for her,” Octavian put in.
Laertes nodded. “They do say rakes make excellent husbands. But you, Your Grace, make rakes sound like, well, infantile sporting fellows.”
Callum cleared his throat. “That is a bit of a strong accusation. I’m certainly not a libertine.”
“We didn’t say that,” Octavian allowed.
“Yes, you’re not a bounder,” Calchas agreed. “But we are definitely of the same mind that you are not for our cousin.”
Cymbeline, to her credit, eyed them all in silence. “Men are absolutely ridiculous ponces,” she said at last. “The four of you think you can converse as if the lady has little say.”
“I protest,” Callum stated. “I suggested that it was you who should give me an answer. Not the head of your family.”
“So you did.” Cymbeline turned to Callum and said, “Baxter, present yourself in the morning if you truly are interested. If not, hie off to this party that you speak of, have a marvelous time, and find someone else this Season. My father will be most interested to hear what you have to say.”
“There is a chance that Lord Ajax might actually kill me if he learns all the details of this night, though I have acted with excellent behavior, if I do say so myself,” Callum suddenly said, beginning to really consider what such a conversation could look like.
He frowned. “The truth is that, of all the Briarwoods, he’s the one who makes me the most nervous in all this. ”
Callum’s lips twitched. “And I find it ironic that it’s his daughter who I like the best.”
“You haven’t met the rest of my cousins,” she drawled. “Perhaps you will choose one of them. There are many of us.”
“No, no,” he rushed, realizing his faux pas. “I’m not like that. I don’t go shopping for a wife. When I see what I want, I generally know, and I take it.”
Her eyes flared at that, and the three of her cousins looked as if they might suddenly all launch themselves at him at once, tear his head off, and then tread upon him.
It sounded like a great deal of fun, and he loved fun. And it was difficult to find people who knew how to have fun like he did.
“This is simply going to be marvelous, chaps,” he declared, taking them all in with a great deal of enthusiasm, feeling as if he had finally found his people. “I cannot wait until the morning. Is dawn too early, Mr. Marlowe ?”
All attempts at pretending she was a man now seemed lost, but he did enjoy teasing her with that name.
He loved that she had seized her life with her hands and dared to go out into society for a bit of excitement.
She hadn’t been a fool about it. She’d taken precautions.
She had her cousins. Yes. She was quite a wonder to behold.
She stared at him, quite astonished. “It is not. Most of us are up that early, no matter how late we stay out.”
“Right. I shall immediately consult my solicitor, see what I can say to your father, and I… Well, I think that you and I are about to have a very good time indeed.” He nodded, feeling quite pleased with the whole mad affair. “A very wonderful time.”
With that, lest he drive all her cousins into fits, he gave her a bow, stared at the three cousins, who were clearly aghast, gave them a bow, then sauntered down the hall.
With a spring in his step, he headed out into the night, eager to wake up his solicitor to see what his options were if he and Miss Cymbeline Briarwood did decide they were a good fit.
But he knew something deep in his core. He’d only need her family’s permission because she hadn’t reached her majority, a young lady about to have her first Season, though it would be her choice in the end.
But if all went well, she’d be his wife in mere weeks.
He felt it. She’d already chosen him. It was evident in her eyes.
He was not surprised. A woman like that?
No. She wasn’t indecisive or milquetoast about life.
And he loved it to bits. Because he did not want a wife who hesitated, or a wife who batted her lashes and demurely did as she was told.
No. He wanted a wife who was bold enough to go out in breeches, give chat back to her cousins, and tell them all off.
Because as he was, he needed a woman who would be able to look at him and tell him the truth.
He might not always listen to her. Oh, no, he might not listen at all.
But by God, he wanted a woman who was on fire.
And there was one thing that was absolutely and irrefutably true: Miss Cymbeline Briarwood was a lady who was about to set the world alight, and he wanted to watch it happen. He wanted to be a part of it.
And she would be the only one who could match his own fire. And when they blended, they could take the world by storm. He was fairly certain of it. And when he was fairly certain of something, well, nothing stopped him.