The Other Duke (3 page)

Emma shrugged. “If you insist upon changing the subject, I won’t stop you, this is your home, after all.”

Serafina laughed for the first time in what felt like weeks.

“This is why I adore you. Even in my worst moments, you make me laugh. And today was certainly a worst moment.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.” Serafina stopped, thinking of her meeting with Rafe Flynn, as he had introduced himself, despite his new title. “Well, almost all. It started out poorly enough. Cyril’s mother glared at me the entire afternoon. When I approached her to give my regards, she cut me down quite viciously in front of several people.”

“She’s always been a bitter one,” Emma said with a wrinkle of her nose, as if she had smelled something vile. “Nastiest woman in Society.”

“I happen to agree. It’s almost as if she thinks Cyril’s death is somehow my fault. Or at least that I’m gaining from it somehow. As if I ever wanted
anything
Cyril or his title had to offer in life or in death.”

“Certainly not!” Emma said, folding her arms in solidarity. “That is your father, not you.”

“Speaking of my father, you should see him. He is desperate now,” Serafina said.

“Why?” Emma asked, her eyes wide. They both knew what happened when Serafina’s father was desperate. Bad things.

“The new duke does not bend so easily,” Serafina explained with the slightest smile as she remembered how Rafe had spoken to her father.

“Yes, let us get to that subject. I am dying to know what this new duke was like,” her friend said. “You have been very vague.”

Serafina pondered the question for a moment. “If I have been vague, I suppose it’s because I have little answers about the man. He is…well, he’s terribly handsome.”

“That is an improvement,” Emma said with a smile.

“Yes, but I think he knows it too well.” Serafina sighed. “And he has likely never had a woman in his life turn him down. Not that I shall have that option soon enough.”

Emma pursed her lips. “Does he seem delighted to have the title, ready to use it and wield the power it brings?”

“No.” Serafina thought of the man again and his words and actions during their brief moment. “Quite the opposite, in fact. Some might very well be crowing and strutting and enjoying every moment of their new position. Rafe seems as troubled by this turn of events as I am. And he does not seem fully accepting that we will marry, either.”

Emma’s eyes went wider. “Do you think you will escape the altar yet?”

Serafina barked out a laugh. “No. No matter what the new duke thinks, there will be nothing for it in the end. My father will, as always, have his way.” Serafina shook her head slowly. “And this Raphael Flynn and I will both suffer for it.”

Emma was silent for a moment and Serafina sank back on the settee. Now that she had stated this truth out loud, it seemed to pile itself onto her shoulders and drag her deeper into the cushions. How she wished she could sink all the way inside and hide forever.

But if she had learned anything from her very long engagement to Cyril, it was that hiding was not possible. This was her fate, one way or another.

“What if you did not have to suffer?”

Emma’s unexpected question pulled Serafina from her maudlin reverie. She sat up and shook her head at her friend. “I already know my father won’t bend. You know him—he’s like a bulldog with a bone when it comes to earning a relationship to a title through me.”

“I don’t mean change your situation with you father,” her friend clarified. “I mean that if you and this new duke are both being forced into this situation, if he is as unhappy about it as you are, doesn’t that leave you with some opportunity to…to…”

Her friend seemed to struggle for an explanation and Serafina leaned forward. “What?”

“Negotiate, I suppose is the best word for it.”

“Negotiate what, exactly?”

Emma tilted her head. “Your future. With Raphael Flynn.”

Serafina opened her mouth to protest, but then she thought of what her friend had said. She’d been so focused on what her father would have done, she had never considered that
she
might have some control—not over the wedding, but the marriage. That was what Emma meant, after all.

She thought again of Rafe and how he had approached her before her father, of how he had included her in their discussion and even put her father down when he sorely needed it. Based on what she’d heard through gossip, but also on what she’d already seen of the man, Rafael Flynn believed he could have it all.

“I suppose he
might
be amenable to such a conversation,” she said slowly. “
If
he is not like his cousin.”

Emma bent her head. “I certainly hope he is not.”

“As do I,” she whispered.

Emma reached across and caught her hand, and they sat quietly together for a moment before Serafina shook her head and gathered herself.

“He is coming here tomorrow,” Serafina said as she shoved to her feet and paced the room. “So I will somehow manage to get him alone and discuss the future with him.”

“At the very least, you’ll learn more about his true character through the exercise,” Emma said.

Serafina nodded. “And even if he isn’t open, I will be in no worse position than I am now.”

She looked out the window into the darkness outside and found herself smiling. Because for the first time in years, she had begun to believe that she might actually be in a
better
position than she had ever been before.

Rafe stood in the parlor of Serafina McPhee’s home the next afternoon, pacing the floor as he awaited his host and his intended. Although he had only been left alone but a few moments, he found himself irritated and out of sorts.

Since his cousin’s death, Rafe had been somewhat numb to the consequences of inheriting the dukedom. Yes, it had been the only subject of discussion within his family for days, but despite every conversation and analysis, the endeavor had not fully hit home with him until he met Serafina.

So his evening after their encounter had consisted of a great deal of alcohol and a sleepless night in his bed. A bed he would soon abandon for the ducal home, he was told by a thin-nosed solicitor who seemed to relish giving Rafe the news. The other man simply couldn’t understand why someone would loathe the idea of inheriting a title. No one could.

Behind him, the parlor door opened and he turned to watch Jonathon McPhee enter with Serafina trailing behind him. Her eyes were downcast as she stepped into the room, but she lifted them for a moment and her gaze caught his and lit up with…well, he wasn’t certain what emotion it was that flitted across her face, but it was not an unpleasant one.

Suddenly his upset faded a fraction.

It returned almost immediately as McPhee slammed the door behind his daughter and strode up to Rafe without the barest of preamble.

“Your solicitors have reviewed the contracts, I’m certain, Your Grace,” he said, his face reddening as he hurtled himself onto the settee and folded his arms.

Rafe arched a brow at the blustering older man and promptly turned his attention to Serafina. “Good afternoon, Miss McPhee.”

She nodded. “Your Grace.”

“I hope you are well after a difficult day yesterday,” he continued, loving how McPhee had begun to clench and unclench his fists.

Serafina seemed to take pleasure in that fact, as well. “Thank you for your kind concern. May I get you something to eat?”

“That would be quite nice, thank you,” Rafe said, retaking his chair and watching as she walked to the sideboard across the room and gathered up plates. She chose two biscuits and then turned to him with eyebrows lifted in question.

“Chocolate, thank you,” he said in answer to the unspoken question about which biscuit he would prefer.

“Your Grace, I must insist upon—” McPhee began again.

Before he could finish, Serafina turned toward them again. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, might I trouble you for some assistance?”

Rafe glanced over to find her motioning toward one of the plates. With McPhee still sputtering on the couch, Rafe got up and joined her across the room. As Serafina handed him his plate, she leaned in.

“Ask me to go driving,” she whispered, her gaze darting to her father surreptitiously.

Rafe stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”

She pursed her lips in apparent frustration. “I saw your fancy phaeton in the drive. Tell my father you wish to go driving in the park with me,
now
.”

Rafe blinked a few times, uncertain how to respond to her wild-eyed insistence. His hesitation seemed to spurn her forward. She stepped toward him until they almost touched and he got a faint whiff of the honey essence of her skin. The fragrance seeped through him, warming him, making him want her just as he had in those few shocking moments when he’d first seen her from across the room at his cousin’s funeral gathering.

“Do you understand?” she snapped, still whispering, even though she seemed to be utterly exasperated with him.

“Yes, you are very clear,” he said with a laugh he could not smother. He turned to move across the room and set his plate down next to a chair.

“Mr. McPhee, I would like to take a drive around the park with your daughter. I have an open rig for two, and the park is so close by. I hope you will allow it.”

McPhee, not surprisingly, stared at him in disbelief. “Right
now
? When you have only just arrived and we haven’t even had a moment to discuss the very important matters at hand?”

Serafina stepped forward to pass her father his own biscuit, which he took in what seemed to be stunned silence.

“Papa,” she said, her voice suddenly all sweetness and light. “Perhaps if His Grace and I get to know each other, you will not have to bellow your points at him so.”

McPhee shot Serafina a glare so dark that for a moment Rafe wanted to place himself between father and daughter. But when he looked at her, she didn’t seem to be bothered in the slightest by her father’s angry expression. Which made Rafe wonder how much worse she endured in this house with this grasping little man who would use her to obtain his own desires.

“Do you promise you will not try anything untoward?” her father asked.

Rafe turned back to him in surprise. “Untoward?”

“Your outrageous reputation with women precedes you, young man,” McPhee said. Rafe almost smiled, for it seemed McPhee cared a little for his daughter yet. But the smile fell when McPhee added, “Until your obligations have been laid out and agreed to, I cannot risk you spoiling her.”

Serafina blushed as she turned away from the men. “I promise you, Papa, there will be no spoiling today,” she said softly.

Rafe nodded in agreement and McPhee waved them toward the door. “Go then. But this conversation is not over.”

“No, it is not,” Rafe agreed as he walked to Serafina and offered her an arm.

She hesitated a beat before she took it and there was no mistaking the tightness around her mouth and eyes as she marched them into the foyer. There she spoke a moment to a servant and then said, “They’ll bring the carriage right away. Come to the drive and we’ll wait.”

He nodded, saying nothing about the subject he so desperately wished to broach. In fact, he said nothing as his gig arrived, nothing as he helped her into her place, nothing as he urged his horses into the street.

He was about to speak when the horses suddenly jolted and the mare on the driver’s side leapt, slamming the carriage forward and nearly sending them both flying.

“Whoa!” he called, yanking back on the reins with all his might. His heart pounded as the horse stilled.

“What is wrong with them?” Serafina asked, her voice shaking as she gripped the edge of her seat.

“I don’t know,” he said, handing over the reins to her. “Hold them if you can.”

She didn’t hesitate, but gripped the reins without argument. She watched as he climbed down and approached the skittish mare on his side of the carriage with gentle words.

“Steady, steady, Moonfire. What spooked you?” he asked, running his hands up her side.

The animal stiffened and sidestepped slightly as his hand approached her bridle. Carefully, he slid his fingers beneath the woven bridle and drew his hand back in surprise. There was a broken piece of metal there. He extracted it from its place digging into Moonfire’s flesh and drew it out to stare at it in disbelief.

“The poor animal!” Serafina gasped as he held it up to the light. “Is she injured?”

He felt beneath the bridle again, but this time the horse didn’t skirt away. When he withdrew his fingers, he saw no blood and shook his head.

“She doesn’t appear to be hurt,” he said and moved around to examine the other horse, Sunbeam. But there was nothing to find beneath her bridle and she only kept a worried eye on the other horse rather than react to his touch.

He put the shard in his pocket and shook his head as he returned to his driver’s seat.

“I’ll have to show this to my stable master,” he said. “And have my equipment inspected.”

Serafina surrendered the reins to him and drooped against the seat momentarily. “That was certainly an unexpected beginning to our ride.”

Rafe nickered at the animals and the horses began to move, this time with no dramatics. “This entire outing is unexpected,” he said with a laugh.

He maneuvered the vehicle onto the street and toward the park just a short ride away. It wasn’t until he turned through the huge gate marking the park that he spoke again.

“All right, Serafina McPhee, tell me—what are you up to?”

Serafina shifted slightly at both the direct question Rafe asked her and the pointed stare with which he snagged her. She had made this plan the night before with great relish, but now it was…more difficult.

“I—” she began, then stopped herself to draw in a deep, calming breath. “Since we very nearly died a similar death as your cousin together, I feel I must be honest with you. I do not wish to marry you.”

His eyebrows lifted and he shook his head. “You wound me.”

The flat affectation of his tone and the dancing expression in his eyes told Serafina that he was teasing her. It was odd how that easy interaction made her stomach flutter and her cheeks heat. Rafe Flynn was certainly an exasperating man.

“Please don’t play, I’m being very serious,” she said, folding her arms and looking away from him. It was easier to think and breathe when she did so.

“I realize that,” he said.

“And I don’t believe you wish to marry me either.” She glanced at him again and could see he was struggling with a gentlemanly way to affirm her assertion. “You don’t have to say it. It doesn’t really matter anyway.”

“No?” he asked. “You don’t think it could all be changed?”

She shook her head at his repeated belief that things would work out for him. It must have been a remarkable life he led before Cyril ruined everything for him. She almost felt sorry for the man.

“We will be forced to do so. Certainly you must have read over the contracts.”

He turned the phaeton down a little-used lane and parked it so that they looked out over the lake. Once he had secured them, he turned to face her.

“I did. As did my solicitor and, perhaps most importantly, my sister Annabelle. Your father is quite thorough.”

Serafina tilted her head, taken aback by his comment about his sister reading over the contracts. She had never heard of a man with such wealth and power giving anything over to a female relative, but apparently he trusted this Annabelle a great deal.

She shook her head to clear those thoughts. “With Cyril, there was something he wanted—money—and something my father wanted, a closer connection to the power of the title Hartholm. But with you it’s different.”

“How so?” he asked, lazing back against the vehicle like he was lounging at his club.

For a moment, his expression distracted her, for it made her realize what a position they were in. Although there were a few others in the park, they were actually very secluded where they were.

And she knew very well how men could take advantage. In fact, Rafe’s reputation said he would very likely attempt just that. But somehow the old fear, the tension that always accompanied being alone with Cyril, did not dog her now.

“Serafina,” he said softly.

She jolted at the sound of him saying her name. “I’m sorry. You must know why it’s different—you have more money than King Midas.”

Rafe tilted his head aback and let out a great bark of laughter that froze Serafina in her tracks. God, but he was attractive. His teeth were white and straight and there was a dimple in his right cheek that gave his grin a lopsided element. She didn’t think she had ever seen such a well-favored man before.