Page 13 of How to Capture a Duke

“D…d-on’t. When did you learn the truth?”

She shook her head. “You are mistaken. I never learned the truth until just now.”

“Perhaps you should have sought a career on the stage, my lady, for surely no actress performing at Drury Lane could compete with your talent.”

Her mouth sagged in shock. He thought she was lying about knowing his identity, that she’d known all along he was a duke. She didn’t care if he was far above her rank. Her temper flared, bright and hot in her chest. “You fool! I did not know. You’re the one who should receive applause for your acting ability, not me. Why would I claim I had spent the day with you unchaperoned if I had known?”

The moment the words left her lips, she knew. Sweet Lord, he couldn’t think…

He unfolded his arms and took a step closer. “Of course you knew my identity. Looking back, I now realize everything about you was c…c-ontrived. The interest in the black stallion. The desperate desire to go riding. The same afternoon Lady Samantha’s necklace went missing and was later found in your trunk. I could not have conceived such an elaborate and aggressive battle plan.”

“You cannot believe that I would—”

“I do, my lady. A duke is the ultimate prize, one step away from royalty, is it not? And this duke”—he pointed a thumb to his chest—“had told you that I was in residence but had no intention of making an appearance at the house. You had to do something to draw me out, to trap me.”

She numbly shook her head. “You are wrong. I won’t have you. Will that disprove your wrongful conclusion?”

“It isn’t just your reputation that will suffer, but my grandmother’s when the truth comes out. I do not c…c-are for myself, but I will not see her upset. We have no choice but to marry. But it will be in name only. I’ll be damned if I let a title-scheming woman into my bed.”

Fury made it difficult to speak. “I wouldn’t have you in my bed if you were the last man in England!”

His dark eyes blazed, and a shiver of alarm raced down her spine. Was she facing a powerful enemy?

“Then we agree on one thing.”

Do not let him intimidate you! She raised her chin. “Yes. You will stay far away from me!”

She turned and fled the stables. She didn’t stop running until she was in her bedchamber and the door safely closed. She threw herself on her bed, clutched her pillow, and stifled a sob. Thankfully, she hadn’t run into her mother along the way. Her parent was probably ensconced in the drawing room with the dowager duchess discussing wedding details. Now that the shock had worn off, her mother would be thrilled to have her youngest daughter betrothed to a duke.

Olivia was going to be ill.

It was bad enough she’d have to marry a man who thought her a liar, but a man who swore never to touch her left her feeling empty and desolate. What kind of marriage was in her future?

For as long as she could remember, she’d longed for the type of marriage her sister had with a loving and warm marquess who wasn’t intimidated by Ellie’s intelligence or her goals of running the notorious Raven Club. A man who cherished her. A man who was a wonderful father to their young son.

Olivia’s stomach sank, and a fat tear rolled down her cheek.

Her future husband may be a duke, but he was far from the loving man of her dreams.

…

“If you had met your guests as a proper host at your house party, this would not have occurred,” the dowager duchess said.

“As I’ve said, it was your house party. Wasn’t I clear that I did not want one at Rosehill?”

Tristan had met his grandmother in the library, where he now stood staring out on the manicured gardens below. Rosehill was lovely this time of year. Flowering bushes bloomed in an array of colors, hedgerows were meticulously trimmed, and stone benches were placed before artful fountains of mermaids and nymphs. The vivid blooms of the flowers reminded him of his gallop across his fields with Olivia. She appeared carefree and breathtakingly lovely.

How could he have fallen for such calculated deceit?

“You know why I insisted upon the party,” Antonia pointed out.

He turned from the window to face her. “To find me a bride. You have s…s-ucceeded.”

Her expression crumpled, and he immediately felt a stab of guilt in his chest. He was reminded of her frailty. She wasn’t the robust woman he remembered as a child, nor was Antonia his cold-blooded mother. Rather, she was the one who had stayed to comfort him as a child when he fell and skinned his knees, had a cold, or was teased.

“You know why I never sought to marry,” he said.

She nodded. “You don’t want children. It is an unfounded fear.”