Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"I'm afraid, Your Grace, there is little else for it. Unless you can come up with a solution soon, you will have to sell Ashbourne House to cover the increasing debts. It rather seems that your predecessor burned through the last remains of the Ashbourne coffers."

Alexander sighed, rubbing the exhaustion from his face. The day so far had been a series of bad news, first from the bank about his mounting debts and his obligations to repay. And now, Mr. Whitmore, his longstanding solicitor, had told him there was nothing more they could do.

No more funds that could be shifted around, no further investments he could withdraw from. He knew that inheriting the title and the duchy would not be an easy ride, but he had not quite expected this.

He would do better to open a brothel. He'd earn a fair wage and get to enjoy a little fun with the ladies of the night. He'd satisfy both his yearnings—for wealth and for pleasure. He sighed, knowing that there weren't even funds for that.

"Surely there is another building we can sell? Or someone willing to invest in one of our businesses?"

Mr. Whitmore shook his head. "The only buildings left are those on the estate, Your Grace. And you have no businesses left into which someone could invest. Unless you think of something rather drastic and perhaps unorthodox, I'm afraid the Ashbourne Duchy will be a title alone."

At the age of three-and-thirty, Alexander Wentworth had never expected to become the Duke of Ashbourne. His dear old cousin, Norman Wentworth, had turned senile long before anyone had noticed, and in his aging madness, he had gambled and wasted away the money. The duchy itself was in a mess, the people unhappy, and the estate itself in near ruin.

Alexander's own family had had little to do with Norman, and so Alexander hadn't known that the previous duke had produced no heirs. He had something of a reputation as a lover of women, and so Alexander had secretly expected illegitimate children to come out of the woodwork.

But a year after he had unexpectedly received the title, the estate, the debts, and the headache that came with it all, still no one challenged his right to be there. Either the rumors were vastly exaggerated, or Norman Wentworth was somehow biologically unable to reproduce. And to make matters worse, Alexander now had to watch over Norman's care as well.

Alexander sighed again, his eyes roving over the papers on Mr. Whitmore's desk as though they might somehow contain the answer.

"I still don't quite know how this wasn't noticed—and stopped—years before it became this bad. I'm certain the crown isn't happy to see the decimation of what was once such a distinguished duchy."

"I'm certain you are correct, Your Grace," Mr. Whitmore said. He took off his spectacles and folded the arms down. "But asking why it wasn't noticed and dealt with sooner will not alter the fact that we need to act now—and you have very few options left open to you. If you wish to put the estate up for sale—"

"I do not wish to do that," Alexander said quickly and rather firmly.

"But it is in a state of disrepair, Your Grace. Perhaps it would be better to sell it to someone who has the means to return it to its original grandeur. And I am certain it would be a weight off your mind."

Alexander stood up, plucking his top hat from the desk in front of him. "I will have the means to restore it," he said. "I just… don't have them yet."

"But you are running out of time, Your Grace," Mr. Whitmore said, looking up at Alexander from his seat. "The bank will not wait forever, and as heir to the duke, the responsibility has been handed to you."

"I have not run out of time yet. I shall think of something, Mr. Whitmore. Good day to you."

Alexander swept out of the room, putting his hat on as he left. He heard the solicitor calling after him, but he ignored him. He couldn't take much more bad news today, and the man had a particular way of haranguing. Alexander had a solution to come up with and a spirit to raise.

I need some physical release , he thought, his desire reaching him even as he dealt with blow after blow. Some woman to please me. At least then I shall have some control.

He had always been a lighthearted, happy man. But between the hardships of the past year and his hardships in love, Alexander had turned cynical. His manner grew more detached and abrupt by the day, and though he preferred the man he used to be, his need for personal armor was more important for the time being.

He paused at the top of the steps down to the street, taking in the scene, his metal-tipped cane tucked beneath his arm. Spring was just around the corner but still the skies were gray, the clouds as heavy as Alexander's heart.

He fastened his cloak around his shoulders and frowned. The street was bustling with people going about their business, the noise of the everyday filling the air. Across the road, Alexander's carriage awaited him, his horses stomping on the cobbles in frustration at its stillness, their breath plumes in the air.

With another sigh, Alexander trotted down the stone steps and slipped between the people to reach his carriage.

"Wake up, Jenkins," he snapped, tapping the side of the carriage loudly with his cane. The coachman jumped from where he lounged on the trap, his cap lowered over his eyes. He looked wide-eyed at the duke, who merely threw him a disapproving glance and sprang lithely onto the pavement opposite.

Alexander could feel the eyes of the passersby upon him, as was often the case. He was naturally an imposing figure. At over six feet tall, he stood above even many of the gentlemen of the ton , and his muscular, athletic frame made him all the bigger. He raised his shoulders, his chest puffed out to belie his true feelings—that he wanted to hide away from his seemingly insurmountable problems.

It wasn't only his size and his self-assurance that drew the eye. He was a handsome man, and he knew it, though his arrogance presented itself as endearing rather than pompous. His hair was as black as a moonless midnight, and it hung an inch or two below his earlobes. It was almost always tousled with a gentle wave that needed no iron to curl, and it was somewhat softer than the short, wiry hair of his whiskers.

"Yes, Your Grace," Jenkins said, clearing his throat. "Back to Ashbourne House, is it?"

Alexander turned to him and blinked as if newly remembering he was there. "Yes," he said shortly. "And let's be quick about it. I have work to do."

"Well, well! If it isn't the Duke of Ashbourne himself!"

Alexander didn't need to turn around to know who it was, and his smile grew, his spirits instantly lifting. Perhaps all he needed was a friend after all. He spun around, a grin on his face.

"Stewart Stanhope, as I live and breathe! I didn't realize you were in London. It's good to see you, old friend. It's been—what? Two? Three months?"

"More like six," Stewart replied. "You know how it is. Business is just that—busy."

Alexander groaned. "I'm glad someone's is," he muttered.

"That bad?" Stewart asked with a wince. "I mean, we all knew about your cousin's propensity for the card tables but…"

Alexander put on a bright smile. "I shall find a solution soon enough, I'm sure. Perhaps you'd care to join me for dinner? Maybe you've got a suggestion or two. I shan't deny that I am in need of a little company as well as sound advice at the moment."

"That sounds like a great idea," Stewart said. "It would be good to catch up with an old friend."

"Then that's a…" Alexander trailed off as he caught a flash of blonde hair across the road. Blonde hair that would have once set his groin stirring, a visceral reaction that would have him leaping across the road to pull her into his arms. Blonde hair that he, for so long, lusted after.

He remembered the night of the masquerade ball, when she had led him out onto the balcony. It had been dangerous—very much so—but she had pushed him against the wall and cupped his manhood, all while whispering lewd words into his hot mouth. He should have known better then, realized what a witch she was, but he had wanted it.

Goodness, I had wanted it.

But no more. She had broken him in more ways than one. He squinted, his body frozen and tense as he waited to see if it was truly her or if his mind was playing tricks on him again. It wouldn't have been the first time. The woman turned, her blue eyes glittering like the ice that was in her heart.

Yes, it's her!

Wide-eyed, Alexander gasped then dived quickly into the waiting carriage. He slid down on the seat, his hand raised against the side of his face in the hope that she wouldn't see him—and if she did, that she wouldn't recognize him. It felt as though his heart would burst from his chest, and he tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. But thankfully, his loins remained distinctly unstirred.

Stewart ducked his head, his hand leaning on the roof of the carriage, and he frowned. "Are you all right?" he asked. "Whatever's the matter?"

Alexander carefully lowered his hand, peering over the top of his fingertips. Yes, she was still there. With a look of consternation, he nodded in her direction, hoping he would not have to explain himself. She might hear his voice across the way. Stewart followed his gaze.

"Ah, I see." With a nod of understanding, Steward climbed into the carriage after Alexander, and the coachman shut the door behind him. "You're still hiding from her then?"

"And everything else," Alexander muttered, sliding even further down in his seat. If it were only her he'd had to worry about, life would have been a lot easier.

He reached blindly for his cane and tapped the roof to signal his readiness, and then he kept a wary eye on the beautiful woman through the window as the carriage slowly rolled forward, the horses preparing themselves for their work.

"Oh dear. You are in a bad way," Stewart said. "Seems to me that you need more than a little dinner."

"Several thousand pounds should do it," Alexander said and then immediately regretted it. It was uncouth to discuss money so openly, but he and Stewart had been friends since their first day at Eton all those years ago. He felt more an extension of himself than a peer. "But let's not discuss that. I have a few… er… investments to follow up on. Some property options."

"You'll sort it, old boy," Stewart replied, shifting with discomfort at Alexander's frankness. "If ever there was a man who could get a duchy out of a sticky situation, it's you, my friend. Among the best and brightest at Eton, you were."

"And always with you by my side," Alexander reminded him.

"Well. Us wonders of nature need to stick together, don't we?" He laughed at his own joke, and Alexander felt a touch of the lightness that had once made up his being. He smiled at his friend, grateful that he had bumped into him at all.

"Your humor knows no bounds," Alexander retorted.

Stewart gasped, his hand to his chest in mock horror. "You mean to say you don't think of me as a wonder?"

Alexander chuckled but didn't reply. Instead, he turned and looked out of the window, watching the world pass by. Now that they were safely out of sight, he had straightened.

He rested his chin on his hand, his thoughts once more consumed by how drastically his life had changed since he became duke. He had always known it would be a challenge, and he'd always enjoyed a challenge. But now he worried that this might be the first challenge to break him. The first challenge he would lose.

"Alexander?" Stewart said. "Wentworth? Are you listening?"

"What? Oh!" Alexander turned, pulled out of his doldrums. "Sorry. I seem to find myself lost in thought more and more often these days. What were you saying?"

"You remember my cousin, Lady Chelsea Hurtle?"

Alexander narrowed his eyes, sifting through the list of names he had stored in his mind. "I… think so," he replied. "Red head? Button nose? Pretty little thing? I think you pointed her out once, though I haven't actually met her."

"That's the one," Stewart said with a nod. "Though she far prefers strawberry blonde ."

"What about her?" Alexander shifted to look more directly at Stewart, his interest piqued.

It was not the woman herself that interested him, of course. He'd been far too scorned by love to even think of the fairer sex in that way. He couldn't deny there were dark times, when he was alone, that he missed the touch of a woman. It had been too long since he'd felt soft hands against his bare flesh, and the memory of it stirred something within his loins. But this was not one of those times.

No, his curiosity was more thanks to the sparkle in Stewart's eye. The man was excited about something, and Alexander wondered why.

"She's getting married. To Lord Leming."

"The short one?" Alexander replied, his eyebrows high on his forehead, not quite believing what he had heard.

Stewart snorted with laughter. "That's the one, but she likes him regardless of his stature. And he's a pleasant chap by all accounts. I approve of the match, certainly, as does her brother."

"That's good," Alexander replied. "But what does this have to do with me?"

"Well," Stewart began. "I am heading to Hampshire for a few weeks to help with the preparations."

"You mean to help with the celebrations," Alexander corrected.

Stewart snorted again. "And isn't that better?" Alexander shrugged, conceding the point. "My point is that perhaps you ought to join me. I'll wager it'll do you good. Chelsea and her friend have already been there a week—you know what brides are like, so very excitable—and my aunt and uncle will be joining them shortly. I'd like to arrive before them if possible, so that we can enjoy a little peace and quiet. What do you say?"

Alexander fell silent for a moment while he considered Stewart's suggestion. He was sick of London and all the bad news it had to offer. Some time away might give him the time and space to think and plan his next move.

Eventually, he turned to Stewart with a smile. "Yes," he said. "I think that's an excellent idea."