Make Me Love You (17 page)

“Don’t look at me! You know my uncle is afraid of him, too.”

“Do I need to hire a rider? Find someone willing.”

“He gets exercise. Anytime anyone enters that pasture, he gallops around in a threatening manner.”

Dominic chuckled. “Does he?”

“And he’s been prancing a lot, showing off for the new mare.”

“What new mare?”

“Lady Whitworth’s.”

She actually brought a horse with her? She
did
plan to stay. She’d come here with no idea what she would find, yet she came prepared to stay and marry no matter what—or long enough to kill him.

He’d thought that, at least the first day when she’d offered to help him. It was illogical for her to do that when he’d tried to kill her brother. Illogical for her to accept marriage graciously to her brother’s mortal enemy no matter that they had no choice. She should be as furious as he was at the Regent’s interference, not offering smiles and ridiculous truces. Yet she’d been playing the angel of mercy when she didn’t have to. For some other reason?

On the surface she didn’t appear to be as vicious as her brother, but Dominic wouldn’t put it past Robert to force his sister to play a more subtle game. The Whitworths’ guilt would be too obvious if she killed him right away. Perhaps Robert had counseled his sister to cultivate the appearance of a caring fiancée so that no one would suspect her of poisoning him once they were married.

He didn’t doubt that the only honest thing she’d told him so far was that she was more accustomed to hiding her feelings than revealing them. So she might well be a liar, too. In either case, he’d be a fool to trust a single thing she said or did until
he could figure out what she was really up to on her brother’s behalf.

Robert Whitworth was a decadent scoundrel without conscience or morals, and his sister had been raised with him. That ridiculous tale she’d spun about why she didn’t like her own brother, they’d probably concocted it together
and
devised a lethal plan to get her out of this forced marriage and back to
their
plans for her. And those plans would have aspired high. She would have been introduced to society this year. Her family would have had much higher expectations for her than a viscount from Yorkshire.

His eyes drifted back to her in time to see her put the book down and enter the maze not far from the willow tree. He glanced back at the pendulum clock on the wall of his sitting room to time how long it would take her to give up going too far in, or to get hopelessly stuck as had happened to Ella the first time she tried to find her way through the maze. A wooden bench was at the center. Ella had later carved
I win!
on the seat and challenged him to a race to the center of the maze so she could show him.

He and his sister had spent a pleasant hour just talking that day and sharing a few secrets. He’d told her he was worried about his friend Benton, who had gotten too fond of gambling after they left school the year before. She’d confessed she’d decided several years prior that she would marry Benton one day, but now she wouldn’t! They’d laughed.

He was surprised he could remember that without getting furious. Had enough time passed for fond memories of Ella not to end with thoughts of the man who’d ruined her life? Thoughts of the man’s sister came instead this time, and he glanced back at the clock again. Fifteen minutes had passed. He
was about to tell Gabe to go rescue the Whitworth chit when she walked out of the maze, returned to the bench, and began reading again.

He was annoyed and realized it was because she’d gotten in and out of the maze much faster than he had his first time in. He snorted at himself. As he gazed down at her, he doubted she was even reading, was more likely plotting. He couldn’t deny he’d thought that potion she’d offered him her first night here had been poison.

Poison was a woman’s weapon and so hard to detect if administered correctly, but he had to concede now that his suspicion had been wrong. Nonetheless, as he looked out on her reading in the park, appearing so beautiful and innocent, he would have to remind himself frequently that appearances could be deceiving. And he should have made her drink that potion just to see if she would.

Disgruntled by hindsight, Dominic forgot to favor his wound when he walked back toward his bed. When he realized it barely hurt, even that annoyed him, because she’d obviously succeeded in hurrying the healing along, and he’d be damned if he would thank her for it.

He yelled in the direction of the dressing room, “Are you not done yet, Andrew!”

The valet quickly appeared around the corner of the room with a shirt, a cravat, and stockings draped over his arm as he held up a pair of Dominic’s butchered trousers for his inspection. “The hem still needs hemming, sir.” Indeed, one leg of the trousers had been cut off.

“Never mind the hem. I’m not going to town in them, just get me dressed.”

Gabriel raised a brow. “And why are you suddenly making
yourself presentable . . . well, partially presentable? You aren’t thinking of hobbling downstairs, are you? Opening your stitches again will only delay—”

“You’re going to make a good mother one day, Gabe, but do stop practicing on me. I am expecting a visit from Priscilla Highley today. Show her to me when she gets here.”

“What the deuce is
she
coming here for? And how do you know she’s coming? I brought no missives up from—”

“I had Carl send for her.”

“Why?!”

Dominic waved Andrew away with the rest of the clothes; a shirt and pants were enough. He got back in bed and only draped the sheet over his bandaged leg this time. Presentable and covered enough for Priscilla. He didn’t want her thinking she’d been invited for prurient reasons.

But Gabriel was still waiting for an answer, so Dominic said, “Why not? Lady Whitworth needs to know what she can expect from a marriage to me.”

“That you won’t be faithful? Or that you’ll flaunt your mistresses in front of her?”

“Ex-mistress, though Lady Whitworth doesn’t need to know that.”

Dominic and the widow Highley had ended their affair last year when she’d made it clear she wanted to marry again. He didn’t, at least not to her. She’d merely been convenient, living in York, not so far away. However, she’d been unfaithful to him twice during their brief dalliance, not that he’d demanded faithfulness from her when she cost him nothing, being independently wealthy herself, but marriage wouldn’t change her roving eye.

“You’ll just be spiting yourself if you open this can of
worms,” Gabriel warned. “Jealous women are not pleasant to be around.”

“A jealous woman might walk away from a marriage, too—before it happens.”

Gabriel sighed. “Why don’t you just admit it’s not going to be all that onerous having this lady as your wife?”

“Because I will never be able to trust her,” Dominic said simply.

“Because of her brother?”

“Exactly because of him.”

The widow had arrived after all and didn’t bother to knock as she was quite familiar with Dominic’s room. “What am I doing here, Dominic? You and I parted amicably, but you were clear you were done with me.”

He ignored the pouting tone. Lady Priscilla looked exceptionally pretty today in a dark violet pelisse and gown, amethysts glittering at her neck and ears. The colors went so well with her blond hair and violet eyes, but then she knew that. Her beauty had never been in question, and she’d been widowed young. She was a few years younger than he was. And rich. It’s too bad he’d only been attracted and not quite smitten by her.

He offered Priscilla a smile and patted the side of his bed to beckon her forward. “You’re looking splendid as usual, Cilla.”

She grinned slightly. “Yes, and just for you, though I don’t know why I would bother.”

“I could use your company for a week or two, if you have no pressing plans.”

“Well, that’s a shame. I do have plans, the first grand ball of the Season, which is next week, and I’m not about to miss it. I intended to leave for London tomorrow. But I suppose
I could stay one night if you’ve missed me. And you’re already in bed.” She grinned. “I can take a hint.”

She came over to the bed, sat on the edge of it, and leaned forward to kiss him. He put an arm around her waist to keep her there, but ended the kiss before it encouraged her even more.

“You didn’t hear of my last duel with Robert Whitworth?”

“London gossip takes a while to reach York.” Priscilla leaned back. “You refer to the second duel?”

“There was a third.”

“Goodness, what did he do to warrant so many? He thinks you’re unhinged, you know, at least that’s what he’s telling anyone who asks. He says that you imagine he committed some slight. No one really believes that.”

“What do they believe?”

“That it’s some woman, of course, that you two are fighting over. Who is she?”

“Let’s not discuss that, but rather the results of the duel.”

“Fine,” she pouted. “That’s such a bad habit you have of never giving me anything juicy to pass along. What results?”

“I was wounded. It was serious, but I am already on the mend. However, because of it I’ve been ordered to marry into that despicable family by the Crown Prince, to end the animosity, as it were. And the only way to make it not happen is if Whitworth’s sister refuses me and leaves.”

“Leaves? She’s
here
?”

“Right here,” Brooke said from the open doorway.

B
ROOKE SHOULD HAVE HAD
lunch first. She should have refrained from finding out why Dominic’s door had been left open. That reason was eyeing her curiously. The young woman sitting on the edge of Dominic’s bed with his arm around her was beautiful, elegant, and had a worldly air. Brooke felt as if she were fresh out of the schoolroom, and in fact she was. And out of her depth.

“You must be Brooke Whitworth?” the young woman said. “I’d heard Robert had a sister who would be enjoying her first Season in London this year, but this is a far cry from London, isn’t it?”

“You know my brother?”

“Who doesn’t know your brother? Such a handsome young man, quite dashing, though he’s considered a bit of a rakehell.”

Brooke was surprised to hear that, but not by Dominic’s scowl when he corrected the lady, “A blackguard is all he is.”

“Yes, yes, your sentiments are well-known”—the woman patted his cheek—“but the mystery is why? Why do you
harbor such virulent antipathy toward Robert Whitworth?” She glanced at Brooke again. “Do you know why?”

Brooke didn’t know the full story, but even if she did, she wouldn’t reveal it to this young woman, and Brooke’s expression must have confirmed that because the lady sighed before offering Brooke a bright smile. “But how forgetful of me! I’m Lady Priscilla Highley of York. We would have met in London if you had gotten that far, but you’ve come here instead. What a marvelous tidbit to share when I reach—”

“Must you, Cilla?” Dominic cut in.

“Oh, indeed, I must, darling.”

“I would as soon not be gossiped about,” Brooke said coldly as she crossed the room to grab the herb pouch. “And unless you would like to tend to his wound instead . . . ?” She gestured toward the door, not caring how rude she was being. Dominic could wait until
after
he was healed before he romped with his mistress. She almost said so. Almost.

“Goodness, no!” Priscilla laughed, then whispered to Dominic as Brooke marched to the bathing room, “She already treats you like a wife? Lucky you.”

Bristling over that whispered remark that she couldn’t help hearing, Brooke put a little more of the herbal dust in the bowl this time than she ought to. It was going to sting him. She knew it would, but she didn’t start a new batch. It only occurred to her belatedly that she had no right to evict anyone from his room.

Returning to the bedroom, she gazed around the entire area to make sure the woman had left. Everyone had left, even Carl. Only the dog remained, curled before the fireplace.

She wasn’t going to apologize for her rudeness. Dominic
shouldn’t have received that woman in his bedroom no matter what she was to him, not when his soon-to-be-bride was in the house. If he thought she would tolerate . . . Her emotions spiraled down until only despondency remained. What choice did she have in the matter? None.

“Jealous?”

Her eyes snapped to his, and she couldn’t stop the words that came out of her mouth. “Of a gossiping harlot? Hardly.”

She lifted the sheet off his leg, relieved to see that his wound was still easy to get at and not covered by the pants he’d donned. If she’d had to stand there and wait for him to remove his trousers . . .

Some pink rose up her cheeks. She might have seen a lot of his skin since she’d arrived at Rothdale, but watching him undress would be her undoing. He was watching her, though, too closely as usual. It was unnerving how his eyes rarely left her when she was in his room. Was he gauging reactions? Searching for something to use against her?

“I notice I didn’t have to yell today,” he pointed out.

“What?”

“You can hear again?”