Falling Into Bed with a Duke (Hellions of Havisham) (25 page)

Marsden waved a finger. “Locke, he’s your man.”

Ashe wasn’t convinced. Quite possibly what he needed was a woman.

T
HE horse’s hooves thundering beneath him, Ashe rode hell-bent for leather over the moors, with Locke riding along beside him, his gelding keeping pace. Being out here brought forth memories of running wild, of spending days doing whatever he pleased, never worrying about estates, income, salaries, upkeep, expenses. Numbers, figures, tallies.

“Enough!” Locke yelled, bringing his horse to a halt.

Ashe drew his up short, circled about, and guided the black back to where Locke waited on a white. Heaving, the beasts’ nostrils flared, created puffs of smoke in the early-morning gloom.

“Let’s walk for a bit, shall we?” Locke asked, dismounting before Ashe had even given his answer. Locke might be merely a viscount and younger than Ashe, but this was his home, and he’d always reigned here, knowing that one day he would be master of it all. There was something to be said for growing up on the ancestral estate. It created an immense sense of appreciation, of understanding one’s place and responsibilities. Those had come late to Ashe. Probably to Grey as well. And never to Edward, as second son.

Holding the reins, he fell into step beside Locke, their long strides stirring the fog that lay low over the moors. Locke didn’t harangue, it wasn’t his way. Still, Ashe knew he was waiting for Ashe to speak first.

“I moved into Ashebury Place,” he finally said.

“Put the ghosts to rest? That’s good.”

“It’s more that I couldn’t afford to pay the lease on the other place. Edward’s taken it over.” Reaching down, he plucked up a tall blade of grass for no other reason than it gave him a moment to collect his thoughts. “I’m in a bad way financially.”

“Hence the decision to marry Miss Minerva Dodger.”

Ashe gave a curt nod. “Unfortunately, she doesn’t fancy fortune hunters and is rather put out with me at the moment for failing to acknowledge—or at least reveal to her—my impoverished state. She refuses to marry me even though . . .” He grabbed another sprig of grass.

“Even though?” Locke prodded.

“I compromised her.”

Locke stopped walking, grabbed his arm, and spun him around. “On purpose?”

Ashe glowered. “Well, I certainly didn’t accidentally fall into bed with her.”

Locke sighed with annoyance. “You know what I meant. Did you compromise her to force her into marriage?”

“No, I bedded her simply because I wanted to. I desired her as I have desired no other. Locke, she visited the Nightingale.”

The viscount’s green eyes widened, disbelief crossing his rugged features, but Ashe knew whatever was said here on the moors stayed on the moors. “Indeed?”

“That’s where she first came to my attention as desirable. She had decided to accept spinsterhood and thought she had nothing to lose. She quite charmed me.” He shook his head. “Charmed is too tame a word. She’s bold, courageous, goes after what she wants. She’s unlike any woman I’ve ever encountered. Why I failed to notice her before is beyond me. Why no man has taken her to wife simply demonstrates the foolhardiness of men. She is remarkable. So I began courting her through traditional means, within Society, at balls and such. She was agreeable to marrying me, and then she discovered I had no coins lining my coffers, and told me to go to the devil. My courtship was wasted.”

“I don’t see the dilemma,” Locke said and began striding forward again. “You simply need to begin courting a woman who doesn’t care that you want her for her dowry, one who is enamored of your title and good looks. Shouldn’t take overly long for you to snag another fish.”

“You’re right. I just need to find another dowry. It’s disappointing is all, after all the effort I put into the courtship and gaining her willingness.” And they were very good together in bed. He didn’t know if he’d ever been so well matched. He regretted that he wouldn’t have that. Or her smiles or her humility. “I’m not usually one to give up on a hunt, but I don’t know how I can make things right with her.”

“What if she had no dowry?” Locke asked.

“Pardon?”

“Miss Minerva Dodger. What if she had no dowry? You wouldn’t have gone after her, you wouldn’t be disappointed. You’d have never known what you were missing.”

“But I do know, that’s the hell of it.” He wanted to slam his fist into something, but there was nothing within miles except for his horse, which he would not abuse, and Locke, who wasn’t deserving of a fist to the face. “I know how stubborn she can be. How magnanimous. I know she can tear a lady down if she set her mind to it, but she sets her mind to not doing it. She could win a fight in a boxing ring. She smells of verbena. She’s brazen in the bedchamber. And she’s smart. Incredibly smart. She devises investment opportunities. She thinks like a man, which common sense tells me should make her unattractive, but all it does is make me want her all the more.”

“You’ve fallen in love with her.”

“No, no. I just—” He spun around, paced three steps one way, three the other. It was just that he adored her. Every inch. From the top of her head, to the tips of her toes, inside and out. He adored the challenge of her. He adored the times when he was with her. He liked talking to her, listening to her opinions. He liked that she had opinions. He liked everything about her, even her stubborn belief that she deserved a man who loved her. He stopped pacing, removed his hat, and tunneled his fingers through his hair. “I may very well have, yes. But she’s not going to believe it. I can pen love letters, write poems describing my feelings. She’s not going to believe them. Not when no man before me has ever wanted anything other than the fortune that comes with her.”

“Then I ask you again, what if she had no dowry?”

“If she has no dowry, then I remain an impoverished lord.”

Locke met and held Ashe’s gaze, his intense green eyes reflecting a myriad of questions, the possibilities of answers.

Ashe looked out over the moors. “But if I asked for her hand in marriage under those circumstances, she would have no choice except to believe, to understand, that I wanted
her
.”

“Well, then, that seems simple enough, doesn’t it? I’ll race you home.”

Locke mounted and was off, before Ashe completed deliberating all the consequences of what he was considering. With a laugh, he climbed into the saddle, urged his horse into a frenzied gallop, and sprinted after the man who fate had deemed would become one of his brothers.

Chapter 20

“M
R. Dodger.”

“Ashebury.” Off Jack Dodger’s tongue, the name sounded like an insult. Not that Ashe blamed him. On the way back from Havisham, he’d given a lot of thought as to how to approach the former gambling-house owner. He’d been surprised that the butler had shown him into the man’s library. He was grateful that Minerva, as of yet, didn’t know he’d come to call. “You’re a brave man to show up here after breaking my daughter’s heart.”

“It was not my intention to break her heart.”

“Yet you did it all the same. I’ve killed men for less.”

“Not recently I hope.”

A corner of his mouth shifted up. Minerva had not inherited the shape of her mouth from her father. Perhaps her mother. Otherwise, it was all hers. “Whiskey?”

At least Ashe was assured he’d live long enough for a drink. “I’m a scotch man.”

“I think I have some on hand.”

Ashe watched as Dodger poured scotch into two tumblers. There was nothing delicate in his movements, nothing polished. Every inch of him spoke of a man who had begun his life in the streets. He might have risen above them, but they still clung to him.

He turned toward Ashe and extended a glass. “Have a seat.”

“I prefer to stand.”

“I prefer to sit.” He dropped into the chair behind his desk, took a sip of his scotch, studied Ashe. “So why did you come?”

“To ask you to take away Minerva’s dowry.”

Arching a brow, Dodger slowly set his glass on the desk. “It’s not often I misjudge a man’s purpose in meeting with me. I must say your request has taken me by surprise. Why would I not honor my promise to provide her with a dowry?”

“Because it will always come between us. Because she will always doubt the reason I married her.”

“I don’t recall giving you permission to marry her.”

“But you will because her happiness means everything to you.”

“And you’ll make her happy?”

“Ecstatically so. But she has been hounded by fortune hunters, and she believes it is her dowry that drew me to her.”

“And it wasn’t?”

“No.”

“What was?”

Ashe wondered if, when he heard the answer, Jack Dodger would break his jaw or blacken his eye. He was likely to do both. “Her legs.”

“And how is it that you happened to see her legs?”

“That’s between her and me. Her legs drew me, but her boldness, her spunk, her cleverness, her character held me. She is quite simply the most remarkable woman I’ve ever known. I love her. Beyond all imagining, beyond any capacity that I thought I had to love. But she will always doubt my veracity if, when she gives me her hand, it holds a pouch of coins.”

“Her dowry is much more than a pouch, boy.”

“I’m well aware. It was a figure of speech.”

“I’ve made inquiries. I know your financial situation. She’ll do without.”

“Never. I can sell a good many of the treasures that I amassed during my travels. They’ll provide us with a tidy sum. Not as much as her dowry, but it gives us a start. Working together, we can build it into something grand for our children. I want her to be my partner. Equal.”

“To come to you with nothing?”

“Dear God, how can you possibly believe there is any part of her that is equal to
nothing
?”

Ashe saw newfound respect and admiration enter Jack Dodger’s dark eyes, eyes he’d passed on to his daughter, and he knew on this matter at least, he’d won.

M
INERVA was sitting in the morning room scribbling down an array of notes when her parents entered.

“We’d like to have a word,” her mother said.

“Now is an absolutely perfect time as I need to speak with you as well. I’ve given it a good deal of thought, and I’ve decided to go to Texas to look more closely into this cattle venture that I want to convince the fellows is worth investing in with me. I’ve worked it all out. I’ll hire a companion and—”

“Minerva,” her mother said, settling onto the sofa beside her while her father took a nearby chair. “Texas is so far away.”

“I’m not moving there forever. I shall be home by Christmas. It’s just that based on my numbers, it’s a wonderful opportunity to branch out, to not be so dependent upon what we can earn here in Britain.”

“You’ll have to talk with your father about that. He’s the one with the head for business.”

She looked at the man lounging in the chair as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Jack Dodger had never been one for formality. “Would you be interested in investing, Father?”

“Will it make money?”

“It should, yes. A good deal, as a matter of fact.”

“I’ll think about it, but first I need to speak with you about a decision I’ve made—with your mother’s blessing.”

She released a laugh that didn’t sound quite like herself. “All right, but you both look so deadly serious. Has something happened?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” her father said. “I’ve decided to rescind the offer of a dowry.”

It felt as though he’d punched her. “Why?”

“Well, for one thing, you said you weren’t going to marry, so it’s not as though you need it.”

“That’s true enough. Don’t suppose you’ll see your way clear to loan me some money so I can invest in this cattle venture I’m so set on?”

He waved a hand. “If you want it, you can have it. I’m talking only about your dowry.” Leaning forward, he planted his elbows on his thighs. “I may have done you a disservice by offering it, by making it so large. I’m afraid men haven’t been able to see beyond it to you.”

“We don’t like the notion of your not marrying,” her mother said. “Of being alone.”

“I’m not alone. I have friends. And I have family. I don’t need a husband to complete my life. So take the dowry. I have no problem with that. It’s not as though a man will marry me without it. And I don’t want to marry a man who”—she swallowed hard, the words difficult to say—“needs it.”

“Like Ashebury?” her mother asked.

“Like any number of men,” Minerva said impatiently. “As for Ashebury, I’m quite over him.”

Smiling, her mother squeezed her hand. “I’m glad to hear that, as he’s joining us for dinner this evening.”

Traitor
was her first thought, but she didn’t voice it aloud. After all this was her mother, the woman who had brought her into the world. “You can’t be serious.”

“I thought it would be nice to hear about his travels to Africa.”

Unbelievable. Minerva scoffed. “If you want to hear about Africa, invite one of the other hellions. But I see no reason to burden us with a deceiver such as Ashebury.”

“Yet Ashebury is here, isn’t he.” It was a statement, not a question.

Minerva had heard through the grapevine that Ashebury had left the city. “You mean in London?”

“No, well, he’s in the residence, so he’s technically in London. He’s waiting in your father’s library.”

Minerva leaped to her feet and glared at her father. “You let him in? You welcomed him? Knowing that I despise the man, that I find him despicable?”

“He brought his photographs,” her mother said as though that made everything all right. Why were mothers—including hers—so willing to forgive the hellions all sorts of bad behavior?

“He will not be staying for dinner.” In a rush, she pushed past her mother and headed for the door. “He will not!”

“I don’t think she’s as over him as she thought,” she heard her father say. She seldom was out of sorts with her parents, but at that moment, she was furious. She was not only going to travel to Texas, she was going to move there.

Seething, she marched down the hallway. How dare he show up here! In her home, in her sanctuary.

The library doorway was open. She swept through and staggered to a stop at the sight of him standing at the window. He looked awful, completely, absolutely awful. As though he’d gone without sleep, as though he’d lost weight.

Yet at the same time he somehow managed to look wonderful, completely, absolutely wonderful. Immaculately groomed, his clothing pressed to perfection, everything in order. And he smelled wonderful. Sandalwood mixed with his own unique scent. She had not stopped as soon as she should have because she was near enough that she was able to detect its presence, could see the crystal blue of his eyes, could see not a whisker. He’d shaved before he came over.

“So I understand you’ve been invited to dinner,” she said tartly.

“It was kind of your mother to ask.”

“I’m rescinding the invitation.”

“I thought that you might.”

“If you were any gentleman at all, you wouldn’t have accepted it.”

“Except that I wanted to see you more than I wanted to be a gentleman.”

She slammed her eyes closed. “Don’t.” Opening her eyes, she glared at him. “Don’t say all the right things that are designed to make a woman lose her head. They won’t work on me, and they are a total waste. I’ve just been informed that my father has withdrawn my dowry, so you will need to search elsewhere for your funds.”

“I know about the state of your dowry,” he said quietly. “I asked him to take it away.”

In confusion she shook her head. “Why would you do that?”

“Because as long as you had it, you wouldn’t believe that it was possible that I wanted you more than I wanted the fortune.”

“But you need the fortune.”

“I need you more.”

“You can’t mean that. Your estates, your legacy—”

“Can go the devil.” He grimaced, shook his head. “They won’t. I’ll make sure they don’t. You were wrong when you said that I didn’t care about my responsibilities, that I squandered my inheritance. The estates were not bringing in the income they once were, so I made some investments that, unfortunately, proved to be unwise.” He walked to the desk, placed a slip of paper at its edge, picked up her father’s pen, dipped in an inkwell, and held it toward her. “Write down three numbers, small ones, in a vertical line that I can tally.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”

“Just do it. Please.”

With an impatient sigh, she walked to the desk, snatched the pen from between his fingers, and redipped the pen in the inkwell. She looked at him askance. “You seem to have recovered from my knee’s causing you to double over.”

“I’m surprised you were able to maneuver so well.”

“I’d left my petticoats at the dressmaker, so I had more room to maneuver. I was hoping for a chance to deliver a decisive blow.”

“You’re a bloodthirsty wench.”

“You shouldn’t be surprised. I told you that first night that I would take joy in killing a man who hurt me.”

“So you did. Three numbers.”

She did as he requested.

5

7

9

Putting a finger on the edge of the paper, he dragged it closer to himself and stared at it. Closed his eyes. Opened them. Squinted. “I can’t tally them. In my head, all I see is chaos. I know they are numbers. I know they form a sum. But I can’t understand them. And I can’t explain why I have such trouble with them. Lord Marsden told me my father was the same way. Numbers made no sense to him. He trusted Marsden. I only found out a few days ago when I went to Havisham. I’ve been too proud to admit that I have this difficulty. So when my man of business gathered information on various investments, I had him explain the risks verbally, I listened to his recommendations, and I made what I thought were the best choices. What he considered an acceptable risk, had I been able to analyze the numbers, I might not have. When I returned to England, I discovered the investments were losing money and, with very little income at my disposal and a ghastly amount of upkeep needed on my estates, I had very little left in my coffers.”

“How can you not understand numbers?”

“I’m at a loss, Minerva. Although I feel stupid, I’m not. I master other things. But numbers baffle me.”

She sighed. “So you lost your fortune and decided you needed to marry a woman with a substantial dowry. And you pursued me.”

“Not exactly. I met a woman at the Nightingale who intrigued me. Then I discovered her at a party and was further taken with her. The fact that she had a dowry hardly mattered. I wanted to get to know her. Then I fell in love with her. I didn’t realize it until she walked out on me.”

With his declaration, Minerva’s heart slammed against her ribs. She had longed for a declaration of love, and yet she was hesitant to believe them. He’d studied her book. He knew the correct things to say. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to toss them back into his face. Rather, she needed to remind him of the reality of the situation. “Except now she doesn’t have a dowry.”

He grinned. “But she knows how to invest. I have a little capital. Whether or not she marries me, I want her to help me rebuild my fortune.”

“Perhaps we could stop talking about her as though she weren’t in the room?”

His smile grew. “Will you help me figure out what I need to do to get back on my feet?”

“I suppose I could see my way clear to do that.”

“When I have no need of a dowry, will you marry me?”

She cradled his jaw. “Ashe—”

“Tell me what I must do to convince you that I love you.”

“I want to believe you. It just seems too incredible to me that someone like you could love me.”

“Because you don’t see yourself as I do. Here, I want to show you something.” He reached into his pocket, withdrew a small rectangle, and handed it to her.

It was a photograph of a woman sitting near a pond. Her face revealed such strength, such character, such invincibility, and yet there was a vulnerability to her as well, a delicateness—

It took Minerva a moment to realize that it was her, the photo he’d taken of her beside Lovingdon’s pond. “I’m actually quite pretty. How did you manage to make me look pretty?”

“You are pretty. You’re more than pretty. But I used shadows and light to reveal what I see when I look at you. True beauty can’t exist without both.”

“What about the photo you took of me at the Nightingale?”

“I didn’t take it.”

“Why?”

“Because it was just for me. Sometimes, something is just so perfect . . . perfect isn’t the right word. It’s more than that. Transcendent. It feels as though it would be a sin to capture it. But whenever I think of charred remains or mangled bodies . . . I think of you, with your long legs and your small feet, stretched out on the bed waiting for me—it overpowers the images that have lived with me for so long. It makes them nothing. They fade away quietly, no longer screaming for attention because they won’t get it, as I have something so much better. Or at least I did before I botched things up. I had you, Minerva. And I desperately want to have you again.”