The Duchess War (The Brothers Sinister) (12 page)

He blinked. He had the sense that he was lost in those quiet gray eyes, unable to look away from her. He was a duke. She was a—what had she called herself? A half-blind near-spinster. It shouldn’t even have been a fair fight.

“You think,” she said, “because you’ve identified one purpose of mine, that you know what I’m doing. But this inquiry among the printers was something of a discovered attack.”

Standing this close to her, he could begin to see the difference. She was still looking down, still acting shy and quiet so that anyone more than three paces away would have no idea what she was saying. But there was a little more excitement in her hands. Her lips twitched, on the verge of smiling.

“What do you mean, a
discovered attack?”

“A tactical term.” She touched her fingertips together. “When you make a move, you do two things. First, you move forward—and the space you now occupy has value. But you also vacate the spot where you once were, exposing your enemy’s flank to longer-ranged attacks. Be aware of where you are, and the space you’ll leave behind.”

“That’s not a sense of tactics you have,” he said, blinking down at her. “That sounds like actual tactical training. Where would a half-blind near-spinster acquire that?”

Where would
any
woman get that, for that matter? But Miss Pursling didn’t seem to be rattled.

“I have collected a stack of papers that
will
show you to be the culprit. What have you accomplished, Your Grace? You’ve pretended to flirt with me.”

He blinked, utterly startled. She wasn’t looking at him. Of course she wasn’t looking at him. She studied the pavement beneath her feet as if she were just another pale, downtrodden woman, unable to look him in the eyes.

“Pretending?” He felt almost dangerous. “You don’t meet my eyes. You whisper your clever responses. You shy away from any hint that you’re an intelligent woman. You’re the one who pretends, my dear.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “That—that is just conformity to the pressures of society—”

“Is it? Look up, Minnie. Look in my eyes. Let everyone on this street see what we both know is true. You’re not deferring to me. You’re challenging me. Look
up.”

She didn’t. Her head remained stubbornly bowed before him. He wanted to grab her and shake her. He wanted to tilt her chin up and force her to gaze in his eyes. He wanted—

He wanted a great many things after that, none of which he was going to get from her by force.

“I’m not
pretending
to flirt with you,” he said instead. “There’s no pretense in it. I want you. God, I want you.”

She let out a little gasp and then—almost involuntarily—she looked up.

For just one moment, he saw something he thought was not pretense—a hopeless yearning in the way her face tilted toward his, a flutter in her ragged exhalation. Her lips parted, and she seemed suddenly, devastatingly beautiful.

But she shut her eyes and looked down again. Her breaths came a little louder; her fists clenched at her side. She shook her head. “Lucky you,” she said bitterly. “Lucky you that you can plan and think and plot without pretense. That you can want openly, that you don’t have to stuff it all inside yourself to molder. Lucky you that you can lift your eyes to the sky without singeing your wings. Lucky you that you can consider the future without terror.”

Her hands were beginning to shake.

“I have looked high.” Her voice was an urgent whisper. “And I have fallen farther than you can imagine. So don’t
you
lecture me. All I want is to pretend that this is enough—that I can be satisfied by the scraps that remain to me. ”

He had that sense again, of a great beast pacing in its cage. He wanted to touch her cheek, to turn her face up to his. He wanted to whisper that all would be well.

“Minnie,” he said instead.

She winced. “Don’t say my name like that. Please, Your Grace. If you have any care for me at all—
pretend
to flirt. But don’t actually do it.”

“Minnie,” he repeated instead. “Who would you be if you didn’t devote three-quarters of your attention to hiding what you could accomplish?”

She shook her head. “Don’t tell me to look up. Don’t ask me to want. If I do, I’ll never survive.” Her voice was shaking. He would have thought her on the verge of tears, by the sound of her. But her eyes were dry and clear and fixed on the pavement.

In that moment, he longed to take her in his arms and hold her close, to make her safe from whatever it was she feared. If she’d looked up at him again for even one second, he would have kissed her, and to hell with everyone around them.

She didn’t. Instead, she seemed to gather in that unnatural, graceful calm with every breath.

“Marybeth Peters is waiting for me by the pump,” she said, her voice smooth once more. “If I might withdraw, Your Grace?”

It wasn’t a question. He didn’t have a choice.

And so he watched her walk away, letting her return to pacing the confines of her cage.

Chapter Seven

When Minnie arrived home, her great-aunts met her at the door, all aflutter. The reason for their excitement quickly became apparent when they told her that Walter Gardley was waiting in the front room. Alone.

Gardley. At this, of all times!

Minnie set her hand over her abdomen. It felt as if a fire raged inside her, as if she’d gorged herself on all the things the duke had said.

You’re an intelligent, brilliant woman.

Look up.

I want you. God, I want you.

She couldn’t go to Gardley feeling this way. But she had little enough choice in the matter. If she sent him away, he’d only return. And if he didn’t…

She smoothed her skirt and went in to see him.

He stood as she entered the room. “There you are,” he said—precisely as if he had mislaid her, and only now discovered her amidst the dust balls under the divan.

She tried to tell herself that he wasn’t so bad. He was handsome enough, as these things went. He was only a few years older than she, and didn’t look as if he would lose his hair.

You’re the one that’s pretending,
she could hear the duke whisper behind her back.

“Mr. Gardley,” she made herself say, with all the warmth she could muster. “How can I help you?”

He fixed her with a nonchalant look. “Well, Minnie,” he said. “My mother’s pushing me to settle things. I’ve done what’s pretty. I’ll call the banns this Sunday for a December wedding.”

He was so sure of her that he didn’t even wait for a response. He adjusted his coat and sat down again, before she could take a seat.

“Middle of the month, I think, would be best for us.”

Who would you be if you didn’t devote three-quarters of your attention to hiding what you could accomplish?

It was stupid to compare the ever-possible Walter Gardley to the unattainable Duke of Clermont. Still, Minnie couldn’t help doing it. Gardley paled in every way. There was that hint of a paunch just above his belt, the lazy way he’d thrown himself back in his chair without waiting for Minnie to sit down first. There was what he’d said about her. He thought her a quiet little mouse who would stay where she was put. Who wouldn’t complain about his mistresses.

And then there were the things he
didn’t
do.

He didn’t make her belly flutter. He didn’t make her catch her breath. He’d never even pretended to flirt with her.

That’s not just a sense of tactics. That sounds like actual tactical training.

It was her entire future at stake. She couldn’t afford to be irrational. Every woman in her position would have to put up with imperfections in a mate. A bit of a paunch, a few women on the side—these were not things to trouble herself over. He wanted her because he believed she would be pathetically grateful. And he wasn’t wrong. She
was
grateful. She
was
pathetic. Wasn’t she?

“No,” Minnie heard herself say.

Gardley shrugged. “After Christmas, then—I assume you want to spend the holidays with your great-aunts? I suppose I can allow that much.”

She had spoken aloud in answer to her own question—
No, she wasn’t pathetic.
But speaking those words aloud brought clarity to the endeavor. He wanted her because he believed she was pathetic. And if she married him, she would be.

“You’ll allow me to choose the date of my own wedding?” she muttered. “How permissive of you.”

His head came up at that. “Permissive? Don’t think that because I grant you this that I will be an easy husband. I won’t, not in the least. If you try any tricks once we’re married, Minnie, I’ll toss you out. And we both know you have nowhere to go.”

She couldn’t breathe.

God, she couldn’t breathe.

Nothing he said came as a surprise. But she’d imagined that marriage—even to a man who made her skin crawl—would bring safety and security. In her own mind, marriage lasted forever. It had never occurred to her that someone else would see it differently.

If she married him, she would only become
more
desperate, not less. If the truth about her ever came out, he would turn her out, and never mind the marriage.

Minnie smoothed her hands on her skirt. “Mr. Gardley, that was a no to your entire proposal, not just to the wedding date. Thank you, but no.”

He frowned and rubbed his forehead. “Why would you say no?”

After that little speech of his? “You think I am quiet, meek, and biddable.” Even now, her voice was low, scarcely enough to fill on corner of the room. He moved; his seat creaked loudly. She could feel herself drowning in the noise of him.

He let out a forced little laugh. “Your womanly character, Miss Pursling, is your highest recommendation.” He leaned in. “Never think yourself weak because you are bendable.”

“Mr. Gardley, you are not listening to me.”

“The woman bends like a reed in the storm,” he continued, talking over her. “The man breaks like an oak.” He frowned. “Or is it supposed to be a beech tree? Yes, that’s it. In a strong wind, a man breaks like a beech.” He reached for her hand. “I chose you because you would understand my requirements, and because I believe you have the ability to execute them.”

Look up? No, the Duke of Clermont had it all wrong. She needed to look down. She’d allowed herself to believe that this man offered her some measure of safety. She suffered from too much optimism, not too little. Gardley had made it perfectly clear that he felt no loyalty to her. Where was the safety in that?

“That’s ridiculous,” Minnie said. “Women break like beeches, too. Why on earth do you imagine that I am so flexible, when I am refusing to marry you?”

“You’re…you’re refusing?” He frowned. “You can’t refuse. That was the whole point—” He coughed, grimacing.

“That was the whole point of telling your mother that you were courting me?” Minnie finished for him. “That you’d pick someone she approved of, someone so desperate she could not say no, even if you never bothered to exert yourself to win me over?”

He was silent. He wasn’t even man enough to look her in the eye and admit it. Finally, he shrugged sullenly. “What do you want? Should I take you driving a few times?”

Stevens still suspected her. The threat of exposure was as great as ever. But if she married Gardley, she’d never be safe. That realization terrified her more than ever. For so long, marriage had seemed a talisman. But it wasn’t enough. She wasn’t sure what was enough any longer.

She reached out and turned Walter Gardley’s face to hers. He wouldn’t look her in the eyes, and since his gaze kept shying away from her scar, it left him staring at the corner of her right cheek.

“No,” she said quietly. “I will not marry you.”

He looked utterly flummoxed. “But…but…what will you do?” he asked.

“B
UT WHAT WILL YOU DO?”
A
UNT
E
LIZA ASKED,
not quite thirty minutes later.

Minnie sat in the front parlor, her great-aunts seated on the sofa across from her. Eliza’s needles clacked as she carefully darned a stocking. Caro simply watched her with folded arms.