Page 7 of Stolen By the Cruel Duke
“I’m here to see His Grace,” she announced. Her voice came out thin, and she cleared her throat and tried again. “Can you tell him that Miss Iris Crampton needs to speak to him urgently?” she demanded, handing him her calling card.
The butler’s eyes widened, and his tone turned deferential. “Miss Crampton, this is highly irregular! You are without a chaperone, after all. His Grace will?—”
“Want to hear what I have to say.” Iris fixed him with her most imperious look. “I demand to be taken to him at once.”
The butler hesitated a moment longer, then ushered her inside, snapping the door shut behind her. He led her to a small receiving room.
“Please wait here, Miss Crampton,” he murmured, before disappearing back into the hall.
Iris looked around. The room was modern and elegant, more so than she’d expect for a house without a mistress. The centerpiece was a grand fireplace, above which hung a portrait of a man and a woman. The woman was very beautiful, with wavy chestnut-brown hair and a warm, dimpled smile that made Iris like her immediately. The man had pale blue eyes and an athletic build, and he was gazing adoringly at his wife.
Iris had never seen a married couple look at each other with so much love, and she was still staring up at them when the door behind her opened and then closed. Turning, she foundherself face-to-face with the exact replica of the two people in the portrait.
The Duke of Eavestone was tall, broad-shouldered, and very handsome, with wavy chestnut-brown hair and icy blue eyes that seemed to cut right through her. He could have had a warm smile, had he not been frowning. In fact, Iris suspected he had not smiled in a long time.
“Your Grace,” she greeted, sweeping into a low curtsy.
She had seen the Duke before from a distance, but up close, she was shocked by how much he towered over her. In comparison, she felt tiny and delicate. It suddenly occurred to her how this must look—showing up at his house in the middle of the night. Would he think she was as wanton as the gossip sheets had made her out to be?
“Miss Iris Crampton, I presume,” the Duke said. His voice was deep and rich, and she was reminded of drinking hot chocolate at Christmastime with her mother—a long, long time ago. “You should not be here.”
“I know.” She took a deep, steadying breath. “But I had to see you. It seems that our fates have been tied together, and while I cannot change what has been said about us, I am determined to take my future into my own hands.”
The Duke stared down at her, unblinking and stony-faced. “And how do you intend to do that?” he asked.
“By asking you to marry me,” she said simply. “I heard you speaking with my father this morning. I cannot pretend to understand everything you spoke of, but it seems you asked for an exorbitant dowry, and he refused you, calling off any potential arrangement in the process.”
“I asked him only for the amount he owes me,” the Duke corrected. “I would not call that exorbitant. Nor do I look kindly upon young ladies who eavesdrop outside of doors.”
Iris flushed but didn’t look away. “This is my life, Your Grace, and I will not have it decided by men behind closed doors.”
The Duke blinked, then inclined his head. “Please continue.”
“I came here to beg you to reconsider my father’s offer. Your Grace, if we do not marry, my reputation will be ruined forever. I will have no hope of ever making a good match. And while I have never desired marriage, I have two sisters to consider. This scandal will ruin them, and then they will never be able to escape my father’s clutches. Or worse…” Iris hesitated. She had to be honest if she were to change his mind. “My father will marry them off to men he knows they’d hate out of vengeance.”
This, at last, seemed to penetrate the Duke’s mask. His eyebrows knit together, and his frown deepened. “Why would your father want to exact revenge on you?”
“He wants me to spy on you,” Iris admitted bluntly. From the startled look on the Duke’s face, she suspected he hadn’t seen this coming. “He started the rumor about the affair so that youwould marry me and I could report back to him. If I do not cooperate, or if you refuse the match, then he will ensure my sisters suffer for it. Please, Your Grace. I beg you, do not resign my sisters to that fate. They are sweet girls and innocent in all of this.”
“And what about you?” the Duke asked. His eyes were searching her face, as if looking for clues as to what lay underneath. “Are you innocent in all this? Or did you conspire with your father to start this rumor so that you could at last secure yourself a husband?”
Iris bristled. She had been expecting some sort of accusation, but it still stung. “I would never conspire with my father for anything,” she spat. “I have never desired a husband, least of all you. Your reputation precedes you, Your Grace. What kind of woman would want to marry a man known for bankrupting multiple members of the ton?”
The Duke looked amused at this. “Believe me, they only got what they deserved.”
“So you really are heartless?”
His jaw tightened. “You say you don’t desire a husband, and yet here you are, begging me to marry you.”
“It’s that or watching my sisters’ lives be ruined,” she said sharply. “What did you think? That because I’m a spinster, I’d be grateful for the opportunity to marry you? I’m not as desperateas you imagine. I enjoy my quiet, simple life. But I will do anything to save my sisters. Anything.”
A moment of silence passed, during which Iris held her breath. Then the Duke turned away and walked to the sideboard, where he poured himself a glass of amber liquid from a crystal decanter.
Gesturing toward the decanter, he asked, “Do you want one?”
“What is it?” she asked tentatively as he handed her a glass.
“Whiskey.” The Duke brought his glass to his lips, then downed it in one gulp. She couldn’t help but notice how strong and thick his neck was as he swallowed the liquor. Looking back down at her, his eyes glittered. “I’d suggest you sip yours.”
