Page 48 of The English Duke
“What?” Martha stared at her sister in shock.
“What a pity he’s a cripple. But I could always live in London like Maman did for a while,” Josephine said, turning to survey herself once more in the mirror.
“You think the duke will offer for you?”
How odd that the words were so difficult to say. They clung to her lips like a dying man might to a life raft.
“Of course. He’s a man. All I need to do is to be in the right place at the right time.”
“What does that mean?” she asked, hoping that what she was thinking wasn’t what her sister was planning. However, she knew better than to underestimate Josephine. When it came to getting what she wanted, she could be ruthless.
Josephine turned to face Martha. Her smile had disappeared.
“Gran would be shocked to find me in a compromising position, wouldn’t she? Angry enough to demand His Grace do something honorable.”
“You wouldn’t do that. It’s calculating and... wrong.”
Not, however, beyond Josephine’s abilities to carry it out. From the moment she’d seen Sedgebrook, Josephine had wanted it. She was like a spoiled child with a treat held just beyond her grasp. She was going to engage in a tantrum—in this case, shocking behavior—until she got it.
“You wouldn’t,” she said.
“Oh, I would,” Josephine said airily. “I don’t suppose he’ll send me away if he finds me in his bed. Cripple or not, he’s a man.”
She stared at Josephine, horrified.
“Hopefully, I can ply him with wine during dinner. We’ll both encourage him to drink. He’ll be a little confused when he finds me in his bed, but not enough to do anything about it.”
“You expect me to help you?” she asked, finally able to speak. “You haven’t thought this through.”
“Oh, my dear Martha. Of course I have. Are you afraid I’ll lose my virginity? That disappeared a year ago. However, I can always make the duke believe he’s deflowered me. He’ll have no other choice but to marry me, don’t you see?”
“Please. You can’t do this.”
“Of course I can.”
She moved to the door. “Then I’m going to tell Gran. She’ll stop you.”
“Go ahead,” Josephine said smiling. “I’ll deny it, of course. I may even cry. I’ll ask Gran why you’re being so cruel, how you can possibly say what you’re saying. I might even hint that you’re jealous and you want the duke for yourself. Do you, Martha?”
She’d never before seen that particular expression on Josephine’s face, almost as if her sister viewed her as an enemy.
“Come, Martha, we’ll be late. I’d hate to tell the duke it’s because you were so slow.”
She stared after her sister as Josephine left the room.
Josephine had always been interested in Josephine to the exclusion of anyone else. Nothing had ever stopped her from getting what she wanted. A stable of new horses? Fine. They’ll arrive next month. A wardrobe filled with new gowns? As soon as the seamstress could finish them. Whatever she wanted was granted to her.
Somehow, she had to stop her. Not entirely for Josephine’s sake, but also because it didn’t feel right to harm a man whose only sin had been to take them in and offer his hospitality.
Jordan didn’t deserve Josephine’s scheming. Or her greed.
At dinner Martha began to believe that Josephine couldn’t possibly have been serious. She had to be teasing—even if that teasing had bordered on cruelty—about seducing the Duke of Roth. Right now she was involved in batting her eyelashes at the duke, sending him simpering, idiotic looks, and generally making a spectacle of herself.
Did Josephine really think men succumbed to such behavior? Did she expect the duke to collapse on the snowy white linen and beg her to end his misery?
Oh, marry me, Miss York. Take my heart from its prison and set it free! Give me the peace only a look from your emerald orbs will grant. I beg you to release me from torment. Be mine!
True, Josephine had an effect on men. They tended to stumble around her. They stuttered. They fixed their gaze on certain portions of her anatomy and didn’t seem capable of wrenching it free. They bowed. They looked longingly after her as she passed.
