The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons (70 page)

“This was a pointless trip,” she groused.

“If you wanted to buy cows,” Duke said, acknowledging the men he knew as they passed, “then why insist on restaurant reservations?”

“You’re as dumb as a turkey.”

Duke laughed. Some strange creature had possessed Eliza Rayburn.

She muttered under her breath then gave him a sideways glance. “I once watched a turkey stare straight up into the sky when it was rainin’ to get a drink, and it drowned itself. That’s how oblivious you are to seeing what’s in front of you.”

Duke looked around. He couldn’t see a thing he was missing.

Eliza stopped at the white-railed fence framing the lush lawn in front of the Exchange building. “We should clear the air between us,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact.

Duke felt his head jerk with surprise when he realized she was talking to him instead of one of the nearby cattlemen. He turned his back to the building and focused on her. “What are you talking about?”

She pointed at him. “Listen here, cowboy, I only agreed to this ridiculous courtship because I figured—and I figured correctly like I knew I would—that your father would spend so much time with my mother, he’d realize he couldn’t live without her.” She rambled on without any regard to the half-dozen people milling near. “Drag Mr. Baker to the edge and shove him over was my plan, and now he’s wallowin’ in the river called Love. Watchin’ him and Mama make gooey eyes at each other—it rather makes me sick, actually. However, I—”

“Whoa, there,” Duke cut in. To his shock, she didn’t continue. “My father isn’t interested in marrying again.”

“Wasn’t,” she corrected. Her dark-eyed gaze shifted to the Exchange building behind him. She looked back to him, smiling, gloating. “He is now, thanks to me.”

“It’s been five years since my mother passed away. If Dad had wanted to marry again, he would have.”

She whacked his arm with the back of her hand. “How would you know? You’ve been too focused on grieving your beloved wife to see that your father is in love with my mother.”

“Not true.”

“It’s not? Did you know they’ve been attending the opera together for months? Did you notice our parents take a leisurely stroll through the garden last night? Oh, of course not,” she said before he could answer. “You don’t notice what doesn’t concern you.”

Duke flinched.

“Hey, sometimes it’s a good thing. More people need to mind their own business and deal with their own planks first. But you—” She shrugged apologetically. “You need to be dragged to the edge and shoved over, too.”

Duke shifted his stance. “Supposing you’re right—”

“I am.”

“Are you this annoying to everyone?”

Her gloating smile blossomed again. “Said like a true future stepbrother.”

Duke gritted his teeth. What had possessed him to ever consider marrying this woman? He pitied the man who married a woman who always thought she was right. But if their parents married, then he’d have another female in his life to protect. He couldn’t let just anyone marry his sister—stepsister—even a Jekyll-and-Hyde Eliza.

He leaned against the fence. “What’s in this for you?” he said, not caring if he sounded blunt or rude.

She gave him a pointed look. “Once Mama has a new husband to dote on—and I will not let you ruin this—she will give up on turnin’ me into some society girl who always has to mind her p’s and q’s.” Her voice changed into the breathy, high-pitched one he was used to. “This Cinderella is going back to the ranch where she belongs.”

He stared at her, unsure. If everything she’d said was true—

She stared back at him. “Work with me on this, cowboy. You don’t want me for an enemy.”

That
he knew for a certainty. He removed his Stetson and tapped it against his thigh. “How do you know this mythical marriage will take place?”

“After breakfast this morning, Mr. Baker asked for my permission to marry Mama. He will propose tomorrow night at the cotillion, and she will say yes. They glow when they talk about each other.” Her gaze shifted to the Exchange building then she took a step closer to him, lowering her voice. “The twelve of us girls know how you glow when you talk about Irie. You’re not interested in any of us. Why don’t you marry her? I can tell she’s in love with you.”

Duke nearly reeled from shock. Irie in love with him? If that was true, he would have noticed. Oh, who was he fooling? He hadn’t even noticed his own father’s interest in Mrs. Rayburn. His father had been right: seeing and noticing weren’t the same thing. The awkwardness he’d sensed in Irie when they first began discussing The Twelve made sense. Images of things she had done and said flittered through his mind. His chest clenched, tightened. She
did
love him. He was a turkey for not noticing.

“She’s leaving next week for San Francisco,” he murmured.

Eliza nodded. “To start a future without you.”

Without him.

He felt out of breath. She had a future
without him.

Which meant he had a future without her to be there to whisper in his ear a name he’d forgotten, or to have tea parties in the garden with Tabitha, or be the one every employee in his home went to when they needed help. She had even taught his chauffeur how to bake a cake. Since her return from Boston, she’d grown to be such a part of the household; he couldn’t imagine her not here. She was the closest friend he had. He needed her. He relied on her—he liked being able to rely on her. She loved him.

His heart pounded. He loved her. When it started, he had no idea.

If he was going to marry anyone, it should be her.

“Have you figured out you love her, too?” prodded Eliza. “Oh! Better hold the thought—” She grabbed his arm and turned him to the right.

There strolled Irie, in the alluring blue dress, her arm looped around Julian Parish’s, her gaze intent on her escort. Duke narrowed his eyes. Gritted his teeth. Parish looked at Irie in a way no man should look at a woman not his wife, certainly not at the woman Duke intended on marrying. Why was Irie’s smile so bright? She loved him—Duke, unless… Dread filled his belly. Irie and Parish were courting. And why not? He’d been courting The Twelve. Like a blind fool, he’d been courting The Twelve instead of the one God had given him to love.

He slapped his Stetson back on his head. He wasn’t about to lose Irie to Parish.

Eliza waved frantically. “Irie,” she yelled, “what a surprise!”

Irie’s head jerked toward them. Her beautiful eyes widened, and the color in her cheeks paled as if she were a child with her hand caught in the cookie jar.

Duke knew, for the first time ever, she wasn’t happy to see him. Didn’t Parish have a fiancée? He could have sworn the man was engaged. Or had been. With his jaw clamped in a vise, he watched as she and Julian Parish neared.

Eliza eased closer and whispered, “I’ll distract the fireman. This is your moment, soon-to-be-brother-of-mine. She may not be in love with Parish yet, but if they keep courting like they’ve been…” She sighed. “Don’t be a turkey and drown.”

“I have this all under control.”

This was all Eliza’s doing.

Irie kept her hand light on Julian’s arm lest he sense her tension. Why did she feel guilty? She had nothing to feel guilty about. She’d done nothing wrong. She wasn’t beholden to Duke.

They stopped next to Duke and Eliza, whose eyelids fluttered.

Irie kept her gaze on Eliza as Duke made introductions.

Eliza gave Duke’s arm a playful slap. “Oh, don’t be silly. I’ve met Mr. Parish before,” she said in a coy tone. Her lashes fluttered again.

Julian looked confused yet had the good grace not to contradict a lady. “What brings you two to the stockyards?” he said, more to Duke.

“Lunch,” Duke answered. “We have reservations—”

Eliza gasped. “Mr. Parish, you don’t believe we’ve met! Pardon me, Irie.” She stepped in between Irie and Julian, grabbing his arm, pulling. “Follow me, and I’ll show you exactly where we first met. Last June. This’ll take but a moment.”

Julian allowed Eliza to drag him away, but not without an apologetic glance over his shoulder.

Irie twisted her gloved hands together, her gaze on the departing pair. She had nothing to say. Certainly wasn’t going to apologize. From what she could see out of the corner of her eye, Duke seemed stiff, jaw tight. The last time she’d seen him this way he had defended her against his father’s reproach.

“When did you two start courting?” he ground out.

She stayed focused on Eliza leading Julian through the maze of cattle pens. “I hardly think that’s any of your business.”

“It’s not?” he demanded.

“No, it’s not,” she said, sweeter than she felt. She kept her voice lower than the nearby cattlemen bartering deals. “I’m not one of your twelve cattle to choose from, Duke. I have a life outside of yours.”

“You don’t have to.”

Something in his voice—pain, maybe—caused her to turn.

Duke was staring at her with an almost pleading expression. “If you’re going to marry someone, marry me.”

“What?” He couldn’t be serious.

He removed his Stetson and knelt before her. “Irie LaCroix, will you marry me?”

Irie glanced at the dozen or so nearby cattlemen now silent and watching them. Duke reached for her hand, and she took a step back. “No.”

“What?”

“I said no.”

He stood and dusted his knee with his hat. “Why not? It makes sense if you think about it. Our lives wouldn’t have to change. We can keep going as we’ve been.”

Irie stared at him. Stared. This was not the proposal she’d yearned twelve years to hear. Maybe he wasn’t the man she wanted to hear it from anymore. She had options. She didn’t have to settle. She was worth more than an
‘If you’re going to marry someone, marry me,’
and that’s what she wanted.

“I want more,” she whispered.

His eyebrows rose. “More?”

Irie drew in a deep breath. “I want a man who invests in me, not spends money on me in expectation I’ll do his bidding. I want one who views me as a helpmate, not a slave. I want a man who believes I am a gift from God to him, not that I’m lucky to have him.” Her voice tightened. “The first time I married was for the wrong reason—because I was desperate to be loved. The next time I marry it will be because I
know
I am loved. As Christ loved the Church and willingly sacrificed Himself—His wants, His desires—for her. That’s the type of man I can honor and respect. That’s the type of man I will say yes to.”

Duke opened his mouth.

“Shh.” She took a step closer until they were a hand’s breadth apart, lowering her voice. “You once asked me why girls kiss frogs. It’s because we believe in the power of love, and if a man loves us enough to change, then it’s a magical thing. But—” Without speaking or thinking about the eyes watching, she closed the gap between them, cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him. She kissed him as she’d dreamed for the last dozen years. She kissed him not to keep the taste of his lips on hers forever, but long enough to let go of the foolish girl she’d been. She kissed him to prove her point.

The moment his hands clenched her waist and his lips became possessive, she drew back. “Nothing’s changed, Duke. The truth is, no woman can change a man. Not with a kiss. Not with love. Not with persistence. That’s only something God can do because the man has a willing heart.”

His expression turned to stone. He stared at her as if he was at a loss for words, which she, for once, quite appreciated.

“Good-bye, Duke,” she whispered. Her heart didn’t ache as much as she’d expected.

With her head held high and without a backward glance, Irie left him standing on the dirt road separating the cattle pens from the Exchange building. Automobiles and horse-drawn buggies passed by, continuing on their journeys despite the oddity of a lady walking alone down the avenue toward the trolley stop. She wasn’t going to cry. She’d shed enough tears over him.

Julian would find her before she stepped onto the trolley. If he didn’t, that would be all right, too. It had taken her twelve years to go from being a young girl experiencing first love, to a whirlwind romance with an abusive man who used flattery and money to lure her in, to a godly man who treated her with gentlemanliness. Neither childish infatuation nor blind belief in a “soul mate” was true love. Who knew if she had a future with Julian? What she did know was he deserved to be loved.

And she did, too.

Chapter 8

Day of the Harvest Cotillion
Baker House garden

T
his is the last one.” Irie handed Tabitha a shortbread cookie, which the girl snatched and dunked in the last bit of milk in her china teacup. She turned to her mother, who was enjoying an hour’s break from cotillion preparations. “Would you like one, too?”

Mama shook her head before taking another sip of coffee.

A cool midafternoon breeze blew a leaf onto the table. Autumn was upon them. Soon it would be winter.

As they sat at the cast-iron table Irie had moved into the gazebo for her tea parties with Tabitha, Irie looked at the rose vines growing on the trellis and circling the octagon-shaped structure. Help the Bakers, then leave. Three weeks ago it had been a simple plan. Now? She had the money Mr. Baker had agreed to. She didn’t need to go to San Francisco for her heart to heal.