Page 50 of A Deviant Spinster for the Duke
“I doubt Amelia knows,” Duncan replied with a shrug. “Valeria wanted discretion.”
“But she tells her friends everything.”
“And Amelia tellsyoueverything?”
Lionel tilted his head to one side. “I assumed as much.”
“Well, you must not tell her what I have told you,” Duncan urged. “It is Valeria’s secret. She will tell Amelia when she is ready. Maybe not at all, if things go well. Indeed, I suspect Valeria has not mentioned it to her friends because… well, would you consider it a good idea if you were her?”
Leaning back against the shelves, Lionel squinted as if trying to imagine the scene. “I do not see why not. You are well connected. There is nary a gentleman in society who you do not know in some capacity. In terms of matchmaking, you are a veritable encyclopedia.”
“Think harder,” Duncan said. “Consider my reputation.”
Lionel’s eyes widened. “Ah… I see.” He pushed off from the shelves. “Of course, there is an obvious solution here.”
“Hmm?” A tremor ran through the center of Duncan, a shivery feeling that he did not like.
A stilted chuckle escaped Lionel’s throat. “Forgive me, but do you not think that Valeria would make an excellent duchess? You said you were seeking a wife, she is seeking a husband with some urgency—is the solution not right in front of your eyes?”
Duncan cast his friend a mock-withering look, mustering a stiff laugh of his own. “For another duke, I do not doubt she would be exceptional, but she would not do well as mine, nor would she want to be mine.” He shook his head. “I could not be so cruel as to put her through that.”
He was not capable of changing his ways; he had proven that time and time again. For now, he could not stop thinking about her, yearning to be close to her again, but he did not trust himself beyond that. He would not be the cause of her hurt when he inevitably lost interest; she was worth so much more than that,deservedso much more than that.
If he was to marry, he needed a duchess who barely cared about being married—a woman who cared more about her freedom than anything else, who wished to do as she pleased, who was identical to him in behavior. That was the only way that no one would get hurt.
“You care for her,” Lionel said softly, a sly smile upon his lips.
Duncan snorted. “I care about paying my debt and getting her married as swiftly as possible. Now, if you are done here, we have a horse to look at.”
He headed for the door, unwilling to continue a conversation that led nowhere. No, he would not even entertain the idea of marrying that enchanting, exciting, incredible, rare bird of a woman. He would not be the one to cage her.
I must put an end to it…
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Aknock at the bedchamber door frightened Valeria out of her skin, her hand closing around the note she had been poring over. She shoved it under the coverlets, just as the door opened and Beatrice poked her head around.
“What are you doing in here?” she asked, stepping into the room.
Face hot with panic, Valeria fixed a smile onto her face. “I was trying to decide if I should read or go to bed early. As such, I have done neither.”
“I thought we were supposed to be attending a dinner party tonight?” Beatrice wandered over and perched on the end of the bed, flopping backward. Her hands folded over her stomach, eyes gazing up to the draped canopy.
Licking her dry lips, Valeria shook her head. “Papa is still not feeling well, and I lack the strength to indulge in tiresome conversation for another evening. Tomorrow, though, we shallattend Lady Wexborough’s soirée. So, do not be too dismayed; it is just one evening without amusements.”
“Oh, I was not bothered about the dinner party,” Beatrice replied, tilting her head even further back to stare at her cousin. “I was worried about you. I thought, perhaps, you had caught uncle’s cold, or that I had… upset you with my silly chatter last night.”
Guilt pinched at Valeria’s chest, for shehadbeen rather distant with her cousin throughout the day. They had taken a walk that morning, and though Beatrice had talked eagerly about everything and anything, Valeria had been less than verbose in response. It had been the same at luncheon and in the parlor throughout the afternoon, and as Valeria had taken dinner in her room, it stood to reason that Beatrice thought something was wrong—thatshehad done something wrong.
“My dear girl, I promise you have not upset me,” Valeria insisted. “It has been so long since I have endured such a busy Season, and it has exhausted me. I had quite forgotten what was expected. And… I suppose there has been some anxiety, considering no gentleman called upon me today.”
Papa knows it is now becoming a desperate situation.Thatis the source of his illness, dear Bea. It is the stress of losing everything, making him sick.
Valeria’s eyes pricked with tears, though she turned her face away so that Beatrice would not see. Indeed, Valeria had already penned a letter to a respectable matchmaker. All she had to dowas send it, but she had not yet mustered the courage… and the receipt of someone else’s letter that evening had given her pause.
Beatrice rolled over onto her stomach, peering up at her cousin. “They will come, Valery. They are likely suffering sore heads today, but I am certain they will call tomorrow.”
“I wish I had your optimism.” Valeria smiled tightly.
