Duke of Thorns (Heiress Games 1) (12 page)

“I don’t think it’s proper for us to be alone together. Are you going to trick me into marrying you?”

Callie snorted. “We aren’t hiding — anyone could join us. And I don’t need to trick you, do I?”

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

She coughed. “I don’t mean anything by it,” she said, trying to recover. “Don’t mind me — I rarely make sense before I’ve had my breakfast.”

“He asked you, didn’t he.”

Anthony’s voice was flat. Callie looked off to the side, not quite able to meet his eyes. “I thought you were in agreement,” she said.

His hand clenched over the back of his chair. “When did he talk to you?”

“Last night.”

She still watched his hand. His fist was the only sign of tension. His voice was calm, albeit cool. “And should I congratulate us on our good fortune?”

She finally met his eyes. “You should.”

“Damn him,” Anthony swore.

Callie carefully placed her fork on the table. “Do you not want to…accept our arrangement?”

Anthony finally took a seat. “What arrangement did he make? Did he already sign the papers?”

“No,” she said, making a mental note to get a contract from Thorington before progressing further. “But the agreement won’t be finalized until you offer for me yourself. He did say you are capable of pretty speeches.”

“Did he?” Anthony shrugged. “He never listens to them.”

That statement sounded resigned, not petulant. Anthony was three or four years younger than her, and the mix of bravado and uncertainty hadn’t settled yet into whatever mature face he might wear someday. Callie appraised him like she might a ship — he had good lines, a good record, and enough opportunity for improvement that he would be worth an investment. In a few years, with the right woman, it was quite likely he would be a very good man.

He didn’t make her heart swell. He didn’t make her cheeks flush. He would be stable like a merchant ship, not swift and risky like a sloop or caravel.

But she needed safe, not sorry.

“I would listen,” she said. “We can pretend that no arrangement exists, if that suits you. Then you can make your pretty speech whenever you desire.”

She saw him smile for the first time. “There is no need for that, Miss Briarley. But I appreciate the offer.”

“Are you sure?” she said. “I might prefer to listen to a pretty speech if it meant you wouldn’t leave me to eat breakfast alone. How do you find Devon?”

His mercurial smile faded. “I still don’t think you should be here.”

“Are you really that proper?” she asked.

He nearly snorted. “I don’t have to be. But with ladies it’s different. Your reputation is all you have, really. I wouldn’t want to cost you yours.”

“Your brother doesn’t seem to care for his. Do most people in the ton hold your view, or are they lax like him?”

Anthony laughed shortly. “Thorington is a duke. He doesn’t have to care. But ask anyone else — they’ll tell you the ton has no pity. And the lower your rank, the worse the risk. I must be more careful than Thorington is. And if you were to make a single social mistake, it would rapidly turn into complete disgrace.”

She stabbed her fork into a slice of ham. “Are you concerned about my well-being? Or are you concerned that I’ll embarrass you?”

He flushed. With his blond hair and fair skin, he couldn’t hide his discomfort as his brother could. “Your conversation is too forthright for a lady.”

Had no one ever been direct with him? “If it’s merely a matter of learning some archaic rules, I can learn them well enough to avoid disgrace. But you must tell me what I should know.”

“I am not a governess or a finishing school,” Anthony said. “I haven’t the first notion of what you should do. I merely recognize when you’re not doing it — such as now.”

She reminded herself that she needed safety, even if Anthony’s judgment was the cost. “How should I learn it, then?”

“Find someone to teach you,” he said, dismissal implied in his voice. “One of your cousins, perhaps.”

“Why should I trust them? We are in competition for Maidenstone. They might tell me that all proper young ladies practice calisthenics on the front lawn in the nude, just to make me ineligible.”

His smile returned, the one that made her think he might have some capability for humor buried beneath that starched cravat. “One of my sisters, then. Lady Portia and Lady Serena know their manners, even if they don’t always use them.”

“If I had known lessons were required, I would have asked for a better marriage settlement,” she said.

He didn’t take it or her conspiratorial smile as a joke. She saw a flash of steel in his eyes, just enough to make her wonder if he could someday turn into Thorington. “There won’t be a marriage if you embarrass me in front of my friends.”

When Thorington made a threat like that, she felt some odd sense of heat — some unwelcome but oddly appealing knowledge that she was dealing with a man rather than a boy. Perhaps Anthony hadn’t mastered his tone yet. She only felt irritation, the kind that made her want to rebel rather than roll over.

But before she said something regrettable, Anthony’s gaze flickered to a point over her head. “You’re awake early,” he said to whoever stood behind her.

“Not early enough,” Thorington said.

There
was that odd sense of heat.

Anthony scowled. “You should have sent a note informing me of my upcoming marriage.”

Callie resolutely refused to turn around, but she could picture Thorington shrugging. “I decided to give you my felicitations in person.”

“I’m not sure felicitations are in order,” Anthony said. “Not until I know she’s capable of behavior suitable for my wife. I told you I didn’t want to marry an American.”

Anthony hadn’t even bothered to look at her when he said it. “May I also have the opportunity to assess whether you are capable of behavior suitable for a husband? I hadn’t planned to marry a knob-kneed aristocrat,” she said.

“Children,” Thorington said sharply. “Mind your manners — anyone could walk by. If you cannot be civil, we must discuss something else.”

Anthony stood up. “No need. I was leaving anyway.”

Callie rose as well. “Please, stay. I’m sure the two of you would appreciate time alone together.”

Anthony snorted. “I make it a point to never be alone with him. Harder for him to order me about if I’m not nearby.”

She turned toward the door, but Thorington blocked her. He couldn’t have slept any more than she had, but he looked perfectly composed and completely unruffled. “The two of you will marry even if I must toss you into a locked carriage bound for Gretna Green. Coming to an agreement here would be far more comfortable.”

“She doesn’t know the first thing about society,” Anthony complained. “I could never host a house party with her, even if I did inherit Maidenstone. And if I become the Duke of Thorington someday, what kind of duchess would she make?”

“Rafe and I aren’t dead yet, my boy. But since you asked my opinion so nicely…” He looked down at Callie. His quiet scrutiny should have unnerved her, but she was too mesmerized by the flash of humor in his eyes to be uncomfortable. “Miss Briarley would make the very best sort of duchess,” he said.

That odd heat returned.

She dropped her eyes. “I’ve no desire to be a duchess. I want to marry a third son and run a shipping company.”

“A
shipping company
?” Anthony asked.

He sounded like he had choked on something — probably his own pride. Thorington’s lips thinned. “We’ll discuss it later.”

“No, I’ve a right to know what you’ve signed me up for. She wants to run a
shipping company
? She might as well say she wants to run a string of Cheapside brothels.”

Callie drew herself up. “The company was respectable enough for my father, and he was the son of an earl. I can manage it just as well.”

“An exiled son of an earl is a world apart from an unmarried granddaughter of an earl,” Anthony shot back.

Thorington intervened. “Anthony, go to your room if you are incapable of being civil to Miss Briarley. Miss Briarley, a word?”

“Do you plan to explain to me what you meant when you claimed your brother is willing to marry me?” she asked sweetly. “Because I begin to believe that he was not entirely informed.”

Thorington looked behind him, through the open door to the hallway beyond. “No. But if you don’t wish to be rescued, I shall leave you here. A fortune-hunter would be happy to find you alone, I’m sure.”

Callie thought of a number of setdowns for him — thus far, he was the only fortune-hunter who had found her alone. But Anthony didn’t let her talk.

“If she disgraces me, I shall never forgive you,” he said to Thorington.

She switched to thinking of setdowns for Anthony instead. But Thorington’s steady, assessing gaze drew her attention back to him — and she wasn’t sure she liked the direction her thoughts took as she considered the crystalline brilliance of his green eyes.

“She won’t disgrace anyone,” Thorington said. “I will make sure of it.”

CHAPTER NINE

He had retrieved her from the breakfast room before she’d clawed Anthony’s eyes out, but it was a near thing. The boy would have deserved it — even if he didn’t want to marry her, he could at least be charming — but Thorington wanted to leave him unmaimed.

They had walked outside for five minutes — two minutes longer than he expected — before Callista finally balked. “Say what you wish to say,” she said. “I’ll go no farther. And if you need a reminder of how business is conducted, sirrah, know that even though we have an agreement, it does not give you leave to treat me like a child who must be contained.”

They were somewhere in Maidenstone’s vast ornamental gardens, which were large enough that it was easy to find a spot where they could talk without being overheard. Callista’s maid, whom he’d forced her to call as a chaperone, walked behind them, out of earshot but adding a thin veneer of respectability in case anyone saw them from the windows of the house. He glanced around the vicinity and pointed to a nearby bench. “You may be assured that I do not see you as a child. Please, be comfortable, Miss Briarley.”

She stayed standing. “You have one minute, sirrah.”

“Am I keeping you from something more important?” he asked.

She lifted her chin. “My correspondence is very important.”

“I’m sure your needlework is as well,” he said drily. “But humor me for a moment while we discuss the more mundane topic of your future.”

She walked to the bench, holding her hands behind her back as though she was being walked to the gallows. When she sat, her shoulders rounded — not quite a slump, but not the fortified posture he was accustomed to seeing from her.

“Are you feeling well, Miss Briarley?” he asked.

Callista nodded. “What do you wish to tell me?”

He sat beside her. The stone bench was still cool, although the morning sun had burned away the worst of the dew. “Are you warm enough?”

She waved her hand impatiently. “If you are going to go back on your word, please do not keep me waiting. Say what you came to say.”

Thorington shook his head. “That is not what I came to say. I take my vows seriously.”

“Is that so?” she asked. She lifted her head, and he sensed the moment when her fire came back to her. “Then if you intend to uphold our bargain, you should be talking to Anthony, not me. He is the one who is likely to put everything at risk.”

He should have talked to Anthony as soon as he’d left her room the night before, even if it had meant waking his brother up. He hadn’t anticipated that the chit would reach the breakfast room before him — he hadn’t anticipated that she would be there at all, since the women of the party would take trays in their rooms. And so he had indulged his rare desire to avoid a confrontation and chosen to delay his conversation with Anthony until morning.

His self-indulgence had cost him, as it always did. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

And so even though there was a disused part of him that wanted to see Callista remain exactly as she was — an impulse he refused to examine — he crushed that desire and replaced it with determination. “I will talk to Anthony. But the boy has a valid concern. You must develop your social graces if you are to survive the ton.”

“If this is because I have refused to call you ‘your grace,’ do not fret. I will behave myself with other dukes.”

“What will your title be if you marry my brother?” he asked.

She looked at him blankly. “I beg your pardon?”

“Excuse me. What will your title be
when
you marry my brother?”

He had slipped, just a bit. But that wasn’t what she had taken issue with. “It is your question that surprises me, not how you phrased it.”

“Do you know the answer?” he asked.

Callista frowned. “I don’t see how it signifies.”

Her hesitation told him all he needed to know. “I will give you three choices. Will you be Mrs. Anthony Emmerson-Fairhurst, Lady Callista Emmerson-Fairhurst, or Lady Emmerson-Fairhurst?”

She watched his face carefully as he said all three, as though she might be able to read the answer there. “Lady Emmerson-Fairhurst?”

Her voice tilted up at the end, questioning. He smiled. “You need me, Miss Briarley. I will teach you all you need to know.”

“I wouldn’t think you’d have patience to play the governess,” she said.

“I have infinite patience when it suits the situation.”

She nipped at her bottom lip with her teeth. He thought, briefly, that he might be able to have infinite patience for her. But he stabbed that thought in the heart and laid it to rest with all his other inconvenient emotions.

“I will admit that my education wasn’t designed to make me a lady,” she said.

“I’m sure you were educated to foment revolt and lead rebellions, not waltz and pour tea.”

She laughed. “Is that what you think of American educations?”

“I’ve no idea. But I would not be surprised if you told me that you’d only learned how to shoot muskets and skin rabbits.”