Page 32 of How to Win a Duke’s Heart

Evan froze in putting the glass down. “I beg yer pardon?”

“I’m dying. I shan’t deceive myself. Roni has no kin in America. Few friends either.” Slater reached for Evan’s hand. “I shall bequeath you half of my estate, including my horses, if you marry her. The other half is hers to do with as she wishes.”

Slater was a wealthy man. Exceedingly wealthy. It was vulgar to discuss such things in polite company, but people still talked. He’d invested in several successful ventures while in England too.

“Why me?” Evan loosened his neckcloth, practically gulping for air. The room suddenly felt too confined, and he couldn’t draw enough air into his lungs. “She canna abide me.”

The idea was absurd. Preposterous. Ludicrous.

It bordered on insane, in point of fact.

Had Slater hit his head when he fell?

“I dinna understand why ye are askin’ this of me, George.” Evan raked a hand through his hair. “Dinna ye want yer daughter happy?”

“I don’t trust any other man to take care of her or to honor my wishes. Too many men only care for her fortune. She’s unique, a wildflower amongst carefully tended blooms. She needs a man who won’t try to tame her wild ways.”

Evan granted him that slice of truth.

But he was not that man. He wasn’t ready to marry for wealth yet. He wasn’t that desperate.

Slater closed his eyes for several heartbeats, and just when Evan thought he’d fallen asleep, they popped open again. “Sophronie’s strong-willed and unconventional, Evan, but you already know that. Regardless, I’ve seen how she responds to you.”

Evan knew all too well how she responded to him. Usually piss and vinegar, though of late, there had been a pleasant moment or two. Their all-too-brief kiss had been very pleasant indeed.

The urge to vehemently deny George Slater’s last wish was on the tip of Evan’s tongue.

No. No. Bloody hell, no.

Slater studied Evan’s face intensely for an uncomfortably long measure. “Love and hate are opposite sides of the same coin, my boy. There is something between the two of you. Besides, you raise and race horseflesh. That alone will go a long way toward her happiness and contentment. You would do well to heed her advice on those matters. She, not me, is the reason our stables are as successful as they are.”

Evan flopped back into the chair, and it squeaked a protest at the rough treatment.

Half of Slater’s estate would pay off all of his debts, enable him to dower his sisters, allow him to buy prime breeding stock, and still have a fortune to make the improvements he’d longed to implement on his various properties. Hell, he could probably survive on the interest alone, and then there was the man’s many investments.

This was a wholly unexpected gift from heaven.

Except for one petite, blue-eyed, gold-and-fire-haired detail.

Sophronie would never agree to it. Never.

“What say you, Evan? Will you marry my daughter and allow me to rest in peace knowing she’ll be well cared for and that no philandering rascal will swindle her out of her money or abuse her?”

This opportunity was a miraculous answer to prayer.

Evan could do far worse for a bride than Sophronie Slater.

Leah Wesleyan’s beautiful face came into view.

Aye, far, far worse.

God curse him for a fool. Evan would do it and pray he wasn’t making the worst mistake of his life. He sighed and, leaning forward, rested his elbows on his knees. “If Sophronie agrees, I do as well.”

“Tonight, so that I can bear witness?”

Tonight? Bloody hell.

Slater shifted and groaned. “I’ve asked the doctor to send for a cleric and a solicitor. I know my time grows short.”

What exactly was he dying from?

An internal injury was Evan’s best guess.

“Aye,” he reluctantly acquiesced. “Tonight, but only if Sophronie is completely willin’. I willna have her forced. It must be her free choice.”

A marriage of convenience was distasteful, but a forced marriage was repugnant. Evan would have no part in manipulating Sophronie, no matter how much wealth he was offered.

“She’s a good girl—a loving daughter. She’ll grant…my last request.” Slater’s eyes drifted shut, and he slept.

“I wouldna bet my life on that.”