Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

H azel took in the dimly lit study, the contents of which were in disarray, much like the rest of the Duke of Courtland's London home. She'd noted bare spots on each wall where paintings must once have hung as she was ushered inside by a decrepit butler. The empty spaces in the foyer now devoid of furniture. There weren't even any fresh flowers set out. No vases or knick-knacks. No maids or footmen.

The Duke of Courtland was in dire financial straits.

When the butler flung open the door to the study, August didn't turn. Instead he stood with his back to Hazel as she slipped inside. He seemed unaware of her presence and focused on something outside the window. She drank in the massive shoulders and trim waist. The pull of the leather riding breeches, worse for the wear, tugging at his hips and thighs. More beautiful to her eyes now because she knew the soul residing beneath all that heated muscle.

I could be wrong .

Her heart forced Hazel's heels into the carpet. Refusing to allow her to flee.

After the unpleasant conversation with Lady Eliza, Hazel had gone to the park and walked for several hours. The day was fine, and she hadn't cared to pace about in her parlor. Rigid and judgmental. Unable to see beyond the fortune attached to her skirts. Hazel was justified in her opinions, but Eliza had made several valid points. Of course, Eliza could have been lying, but there wasn't a reason to. Her dislike of Hazel was glaring, and while she hadn't admitted to leaving the newssheet, it couldn't have been anyone else.

August needed to wed an heiress. Not so that he could continue the excesses of an unrepentant libertine, as she'd once accused him, but because August had people who depended on him. Servants. Tenants. Eliza. An estate to restore.

He was happier than I'd ever seen him. At peace. Over you. And not because of your fifty thousand pounds.

It was only somewhat disconcerting that Eliza knew how much wealth lay at Hazel's disposal. But she supposed that was to be expected. August had been hunting an heiress. His solicitor had made a list.

Hazel had thought over every moment spent in August's company as she'd walked the park. But it was the look on his face as they'd stood in Maria's garden after the beach. The way he'd held her to his heart and called her Stork. She'd known then it was real and true.

It still was.

So here she was at this late hour, standing in the Duke of Courtland's home. She'd thought about sending a note, but Hazel needed to see him.

"Eliza," he said without turning. "I told you I don't want to be interrupted unless it is to bring me more brandy. I just…" There was so much sadness in his words. "I need another day."

Because August was waiting for her. Hoping she would come to him. Had he not been, Lady Coraline would already be the Duchess of Courtland. Eliza hadn't lied about that either.

Hazel took a tentative step forward. It was difficult to put aside her fears. But if she wanted August, and she did, she must trust him and the feeling in her heart. "I think you've had enough brandy, haven't you, Your Grace?"

August spun around but didn't smile at her, which was rather disappointing. One hand clasped a bottle of brandy by the neck, the other, a piece of paper. Taking a large swallow of the amber liquid he wobbled a bit and peered in her direction.

He was a large man. How much brandy did it take to make him unsteady?

"Miss Dartmont. Come to relay further what an utter cad I am? Decry my poverty?" He waved a hand around his study, the paper in one hand flapping about. "I assure you, it is not necessary." He shook his head and looked away, taking another swig from the bottle. "I am aware of what you think of me. Let us not belabor the point."

"I wanted to see you, Your Grace."

"Why?" August raised a brow, those turquoise eyes flashing over her with hunger for only a moment before becoming shuttered once more. "Don't pity me, Stork. Or offer me a bloody loan. I'll refuse it."

Hazel's pulse fluttered gently in her throat. Her entire body hummed with August so close. It had been right to come here. "I've no pity for you. Nor a loan."

"I don't need your mockery either. You can see yourself out." He gestured to the door, uncertainty creasing his features. August raised the sheaf of papers, his signature stark and bold at the bottom. "Unless you are offering congratulations."

Oh . Hazel inhaled sharply. That must be the marriage contract he held, though all she could see was his signature. Was she too late?

"You are—you have decided to wed Coraline." She wasn't sure what to say.

He shrugged and wobbled again.

"August, how much brandy have you had?

"It doesn't signify." His voice lowered to a rasp before he regarded her with an anguished gaze. "I'm so sorry, Stork."

"I know." Hazel took another step towards him. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you at Lady Talbot's. I was…distressed."

"I—I didn't think I would care for you when Branson gave me his bloody list. You were only a name to me, not a person. A desperate heiress worth fifty thousand pounds." He stopped and looked at her. "And when I realized you were Stork." He touched the place above his heart and swallowed. "I reduced you to nothing more than desperation and money. You are so much more to me. Forgive me."

"I don't believe I've ever been called a desperate heiress." Hazel inched closer.

"Spinster. I meant desperate spinster. I expected you to be shriveled. An Amazon of a woman." He sighed. "But you're perfect."

"I might be a little shriveled." She smiled.

"Still perfect. I have responsibilities, Stork. Ones I cannot ignore," he stated. "But that is not your concern. I only wish…I wasn't a duke. But a mere soldier. A foot soldier. Then I might have more appeal." He looked at her. "You like soldiers."

"I don't mind dukes either, as it happens." She tried to assure him.

"I did think to ruin you, but found I was far too late. Then I thought I would create a scandal when I raised your skirts. Put my mouth on your delicious quim. But I couldn't do it. I had more than one chance. That's when I knew."

August sounded so pained, so distraught, Hazel took his hand.

"I didn't mean the horrible things I said, especially about Quatre Bras. I don't know what possessed me to say something so awful." She touched his fingers with her own.

"Me. I forced you to say it. After everything I've done to you, Stork, both then and now, I deserve much worse." He shook off her hand and took another swallow of the brandy. "You should go. I suspect you are merely a brandy-induced hallucination, at any rate."

"I am not a hallucination." Hazel refused to back away. "Nor am I leaving."

"I've nothing to offer you, Stork."

"I beg to differ, Your Grace. Has it occurred to you that I don't want to be apart from you either? Admittedly, I had to give it a go. I've lasted an entire month," she said quietly, taking the brandy away from him. "Nor do you wish to be parted from me."

"I won't have you as my mistress. Not only would you eventually hate me for it but…I just won't . Even though once she gives me an heir, Coraline will immediately begin bedding Garland."

"I'm not asking to be your mistress, you idiot." Hazel gave him a look of disbelief. "I thought you wanted me as your wife. Did I mistake your intent?" her voice trembled just a little.

"You don't want to marry me. Or anyone. Especially not a duke."

"I've reconsidered," she replied.

"I'm not doing that to you, Stork. I love you too much to doom you to a life in the ton . You'd be a duchess, but that won't keep you from suffering the opinions of twits like Lady Leek who would gladly make your life miserable. You'd have to contend with my past lovers"—he gave her a look—"of which there are many. Also, everyone in London will assume I've wed you solely for your fortune, and I will not have you cheapened in any way." He pounded a fist on the desk. "I will not. All I've done is hurt you, and I can't bear to do so again. Nor will I allow anyone else to ever harm you, Stork. I promise. I've already taken care of Hough. He won't be bothering you."

Good grief. What had he done to Hough?

"But yet you'd rather wed Coraline?" August loved her. He really did. Every enormous, intoxicated inch of him. The revelation calmed her and soothed some of the fear threatening to rise up inside.

"No, of course not, Hazel. I'll never even like Coraline. She's a peahen with questionable taste. I love you." He gave her a confused look. "You really aren't paying any attention to me."

Good Lord, how much brandy had he had?

"How will wedding Coraline prove your love to me?" She took his free hand and laced their fingers together.

"You'll never believe me if I don't wed Coraline." His eyes pleaded with her. "You'll never trust that I want only you. It's everything else that needs your fortune. I'll adore you from afar. It is the only way."

"You are absolutely insane. And you reek of brandy. You can't possibly wed Coraline to prove your love for me. That doesn't even make sense. You'd only be punishing us both. Worshipping me from afar?—"

"Adoring," he interjected.

Hazel stood up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips, tightening the grip on his hand. "You are marrying me . I'm not completely comfortable with having a husband, especially not a duke. But for you, I will make an exception."

"I don't really want to marry Coraline," he whispered. "I find her annoying. You annoy me as well but in a good way."

"Then it is settled." She took the papers out of his hand and tossed them into the fire.

August made a sound. "Why did you toss the lease papers for this house, Stork? I've only just signed." He grinned. "The marriage contract is over there."

Hazel raised a brow, picked up the papers on the desk, and threw the thick stack into the flames. "There. Now, come sit with me."

She flopped down on the worn leather of the sofa, gasping as a spring poked her in the backside. August sat down on the cushions, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed Hazel's nose, muttering about freckles. He laid his head against her shoulder, curling his large body around her.

"Now that I have found you, it is difficult to be apart from you, Stork. This last month has been quite miserable. You can see what happens. I drink far too much and consider wedding peahens for their dowries." He swallowed. "I wish I could tell you that I don't care about your fifty thousand pounds, Stork, but I do. I have tenants who need me. Retainers older than Albert."

"Albert?"

"The elderly chap who ushered you in. I need a dowry for Eliza, though I think Everhurst will take her without one."

Hazel smoothed down his hair, pressing a kiss to his temple, deciding not to mention the discussion she'd had with Eliza. Nor what she'd done. It would serve no purpose. "You've had far too much to drink, terrible troll."

"I have. You really aren't a figment of my imagination? I'll be so disappointed if I wake up and you aren't here."

"I am not leaving. I want to be with you always."

"Why?" He nuzzled into her neck like an overgrown child smelling of brandy. "I need to hear you say it, Stork."

"I love you, Your Grace," she whispered, knowing the words to be true. "I'm not entirely pleased about it, but I do."

"Oh, good." A loud snore followed, which was fine. He needed to sleep.

Hazel held August close, comforted by the weight of him in her arms but terrified all the same to commit herself to marriage. She'd vowed never to wed, and here she was, her head turned by a lovely pair of shoulders. But she was also deliriously happy. Content in a way she'd never been before. August had been correct that day on the beach. There was a rightness to the two of them.

Pressing a kiss to the scar beneath his ear, Hazel was grateful for poor swordsmanship.