Chapter Twenty-Six

T he ring he'd selected the day before sat atop his bureau, its stone winking in the morning light with the fractal colors that had caught his eye in the jeweler's shop. If a gem could flirt, this one did.

Mounted in a halo of diamonds, the pinkish-orange sapphire reminded him of illustrations of flowers he's seen from India. It was a ring fit for a queen. Or a duchess. He slipped it into his pocket, where it would stay until he placed it on Caro's finger this evening.

Hopefully.

Once he knew her answer, he would respond to the letter from the palace. He wouldn't make the same mistake with her that he'd made with Juliet. If Caro married him, Dorian would say no to his king.

And that would not be well received. He swallowed around a lump of worry. The problem with King George and with Prinny was that one was mad and the other was petty. Petty and powerful. There would be repercussions for his refusal.

"Holland, I need to speak with you," Gloria called into his dressing room.

"I'll just be one more minute, Mother."

Except, she was there already, in the doorway, wearing an expression that said she'd seen the ring. "So that's the way it is, is it?" Gloria settled into the chair beside his dressing mirror and took a second to arrange her gown around her so the filmy material lay in perfect waves to the floor. "When were you going to tell me?"

"When there was something to tell. I don't know if she will say yes. Until she does, it isn't any of your business."

Lines around her mouth tightened. "Anything having to do with the duchy is my business."

"The duchy, yes. The current duke, no."

"They are one and the same, son."

He felt his jaw flex. "No, they're not. And it grieves me to hear you say otherwise."

Silence settled in the room, but not for long. "She's not beautiful like Juliet was."

Like hell she wasn't. Caro's face was a source of endless fascination, her body a landscape he wanted to lose himself in. Most beautiful of all was her mind, with its sharp intelligence and sly wit. The way her chin grew even more pointed when she was being stubborn, and the way her cheeks rounded when she teased him… Anyone who didn't see the absolute breathtaking essence of Caroline Danvers was missing one of the great wonders of the world.

However, his mother's tactic was obvious, so he kept these thoughts to himself.

"I suppose it has been five years. A man can't be expected to be without companionship. That doesn't mean you need to marry her."

Again, he let her statement go unanswered. Straightening cravat folds that didn't need straightening in the mirror, he smoothed all expression from his face and waited for her to say her piece. Depending on her final stance after his rebuttal, he might need to send his mother back to Bath for the foreseeable future. But he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"You've the look of your father. Whenever I broached a topic he didn't want to discuss, he'd make the same face you are right now. It was usually only regarding matters he felt so deeply about that he couldn't be swayed. Is that the case here?"

Would he end things with Caro if his mother stomped her perfectly shod foot and demanded it? Absolutely not. "I won't be swayed, no."

Gloria squinted and pursed her mouth tighter. "I see. Is she blackmailing you, or holding something over your head?"

A laugh shocked him when it rose hard and fast. "Blackmail? That's your first assumption?"

She lifted one shoulder in a delicate shrug. "You're a man of considerable means. And she is… I'm assuming she isn't from a notable family or money, or you would have said so by now. And you claimed you didn't need another love match."

"I thought I could marry for duty. Marry to sire an heir and put the dukedom first." Truth slipped from his tongue. The words felt right and, now that they were flowing, refused to stop. "But if the reason for doing so is because I might die young, doesn't it make more sense to make the best of the life I have? Whether it's for another month, or another fifty years? If I only have months left before fate intervenes, then I want to spend those months with Caro. And if I don't get more than a short life with her, I need to know if you'll help her navigate society without me here."

She heaved a sigh, but a softening in her expression gave him hope that he might not have to pack her into a carriage and send her to Bath after all. "If you want a woman who will be accepted in our circles, you are choosing poorly."

"If you knew her, you would understand. There's a presence about Caro, especially when she's relaxed. A confidence that puts everyone else at ease as well. She's an extraordinary woman."

"So are any number of women who are far more acceptable companions." Her tone was gentle but still made his teeth lock together.

"None of them would ever forget I am a duke. Caro treats me the same as she would the butcher or the chimney sweep. Perhaps even harsher, to be honest. When I'm high-handed, she reminds me that my feet are made of clay."

"High-handed? You're Dorian Whitaker, fifth Duke of Holland. Of course you're high-handed. What utter rot."

He sat in the nearest chair and interlaced his fingers so he wouldn't fidget. Ink stained the inside of his right pointer finger, and he rubbed at it. After hours at his desk, there was always a blotch on that spot. Caro liked to trace the smudge when they were together. Smiling, he murmured, "I'm just a man. Blessed to be part of a wealthy, titled family. I could have easily been born to a blacksmith or a peddler. The title is a responsibility, Mother, one bestowed entirely by chance. England would be a better place if we remembered that more often, I think."

"She has you speaking nonsense if she's convinced you you're nobody special." She bristled.

Dorian shook his head. Gloria might never understand. After all, he was still learning this very thing. "On the contrary—I'm the most special man in her life. Besides perhaps her uncle."

"You're as stubborn as your father was." She sighed, and some of the steel disappeared from her spine. "He was also wise and kind and led with his heart. Please be careful, son. Your heart has already been through so much. It might not be the most reliable guide."

"True. But it's the only one I have. And I've worked very hard to rebuild it over these last few years. I need to listen to it if I'm to continue to be a man I can face in the mirror."

"There will be a scandal."

"Probably." Let them be scandalized.

"I suppose this answers one aspect of the problem, then."

He cocked his head. "What problem?"

"The reason I wanted to speak with you. Everyone is going on about that Blanche Clementine book, but despite the chatter, no one would speak with me directly about it. They kept saying I needed to read it and see what I thought about the hero."

Dorian groaned up at the ceiling. "Lord, this again."

"You've read it?"

"No. I started it and then set it aside. But yesterday, Lord Bixby told me what everyone is saying. It's utter nonsense, Mother."

She was silent a moment. "I don't think it is. I've just finished it, and I think there is truth to what they're saying. Dorian, this is a problem, and we need to get to the bottom of it. While I see and appreciate the fiction in the story, the ton is reading it, and they believe what they're reading is true. The hero is utterly depraved. A slave to his basest desires. The things he does to that heroine…" Twin flags of pink stained her cheeks. "That book is the result of a creative obsessed mind."

Dorian laughed ruefully. "What am I supposed to do about that? If the ton is so set on seeing facts where there's only fiction, I can't dissuade them otherwise."

"We must get the author to print a statement in the paper decrying your involvement in the book. This has to be why Lady Humphry gave you your walking papers. How many others will turn their backs on us, believing you're some kind of sexual deviant?"

Dorian shook his head. God, what was this latest hero doing ? Unbidden, the memory of the blonde woman at the Waterstone ball rose in his mind, when she'd pressed against his groin and propositioned him. Other things, moments he'd dismissed over the last month, began to make sense. Awkward pauses in conversations as he passed. The way the game room had fallen silent when he and Oliver entered, searching for Bixby. Hell, Bixby had practically foamed at the mouth when he'd asked about the book. Even Lady Agatha had made a sly reference to the talk, hadn't she? How had she phrased it? That they expected interesting things from him.

Well, shit.

"Unfortunately, the author is notoriously reserved. In fact, she's only signed one copy of her work, and I have it." She preened a bit at that, and he couldn't help but smile. "Your bookseller's shop was able to convince her publisher to have her sign a single copy. They are who can get us to the author. We need to go to Martin House and convince Blanche Clementine to clear your name."

"Eliza Matthews sent a message." Hattie waved a missive sealed with a blob of green wax.

Caro scrawled an address on the label of a signed copy of Ann Radcliffe's A Sicilian Romance and set it on top of the other books from the Holland library going out to collectors today. "Open it; see what it says."

No matter what it contained, it couldn't be better than the royalty check she'd received from her publisher that morning. It had been well above anything she'd made thus far with her writing. On top of the stack of outgoing mail, along with the books, was a letter to the Adamses informing them she didn't need to lease after all. She could pay the asking price for their cottage. Just in time too. The last letter she'd received said the couple wanted to move at the end of April, which left a little over a month to put everything in place.

She ran a finger over the delivery direction. Home. Hers.

Joy and satisfaction nearly brought tears to her eyes. She'd done it. Gerard would help guide the legalities of purchasing the cottage. But in this letter was her promise to buy her new home, and she was a woman who kept her promises.

Thank God for Gerard. He'd certainly been busy lately. Between dealing with Dorian's situation and negotiating the next contract with her publisher, it was a miracle he had time to sleep. Last night, he'd dropped by on his way home. Even tired after a long day, he'd been so excited to share Dorian's offer to sponsor his solicitor's office. When she saw Dorian tonight, he would be on the receiving end of her most effusive thanks. A ripple of anticipation coursed through her at the thought.

Nothing could ruin this day.

Hattie broke the seal on Eliza's note, then let out a soft whoop. "Sherman took the bait. He's meeting us in the back room of the Matthews Bookstore at six o'clock."

Just like that, Caro's palms started to sweat. She was supposed to have dinner with Dorian tonight, but not until seven. If their plan went the way she hoped, they could meet at the Matthews Bookstore, deal with Sherman, then retire to Bloomsbury in time to dine and celebrate.

"Our game of cat and mouse is officially in play, then."

"Meow, meow, darling pussycats," Hattie said, and Constance laughed somewhere outside the office.

A moment later, Connie appeared at the door. "Caro, the silver dragon and your duke are here." Though Connie whispered it, Caro desperately hoped the dowager hadn't overheard their nickname for her.

She capped her inkwell, then brushed her hands on her apron as she left her office. "Your Grace," she said, curtsying. Should I have said, "Your Graces," because there are two of them? "This is an unexpected but welcome surprise."

That little bubble of happiness she felt every time she saw Dorian popped when she noticed his expression. Dark eyebrows pinched into the V she hadn't seen in weeks, and his mouth was firmly set in the implacable line she used to associate with him. Before her eyes, the man she'd grown to love slid on the mask she used to believe was real. "What's wrong? What happened?"

Dreadful scenarios filled her head. Someone had died. Or maybe something less drastic, and he'd decided to take back the donation for some reason.

She glanced at her cousins to see twin looks of confusion.

"Have you been selling many copies of the new Blanche Clementine book?" he asked, not helping her confusion one bit. And yet, a tremor of unease sent a warning through her. Like the expectant silence before a boom of thunder, when you knew a storm was coming but you didn't yet know how bad it would be.

Caro stepped around the sales counter and looked between Dorian and his mother. Was this about how much they'd charged the dowager for the signed copy? She exchanged a look with her cousins and saw her worry reflected there. "Yes, we've sold out our stock several times over. Shops all over town are enjoying the interest readers have taken in the book."

"Everyone's talking about it. Patrons are clamoring for copies," Constance said.

"While I'm glad your shop is benefiting, I find myself in the middle of an embarrassing situation." Dorian's voice was as grim as she'd ever heard it. He removed his hat and spun it in his hands, running the rim through his fingers. It was what he used to do when he visited the store. He'd once confessed that Lord Southwyn teased him about his tendency to turn icy and ducal when nervous. Despite that composure, some part of him always fidgeted.

"I'm sorry… I don't understand." Sure, people were talking about her book, but that was outside her control and ultimately a good thing. The last few releases had met moderate success. Through random chance, this was the one that ended up circulating through drawing rooms and groups of friends who didn't usually read that kind of book. From there, they probably discussed the naughty bits behind their fans, until everyone was talking and no one wanted to be left out of the conversation. It was how publishing worked.

"Whoever read one of the first copies seemed to think the novel is about me, and the idea has caught fire. I'm sorry—"

The dowager interrupted. "The hero character is also a duke, looks like Holland, and is grieving the loss of his wife. Like my son, he served as a diplomat. Unfortunately, the methods he takes to move on from his loss are extremely graphic in nature and unflattering to a man of Holland's status."

Caro stifled a wince. The dowager wasn't going to be a Blanche Clementine reader, then. The events in the book could describe any number of people. Except the dukedom, of course.

Dorian's tone was more conciliatory, obviously trying to balance his mother's indignation. "The character bears an eerie resemblance, according to the chatter. However, the chatter is abundant and doesn't seem to be quieting."

"My friends and enemies delighted in laughing at us to my face. All the while refusing to tell me why. I had to purchase my own copy to understand that my son is the subject of an erotic novel detailing sexual escapades lurid enough to have everyone in society reaching for their smelling salts."

"But not before turning the next page," Constance quipped, then bit her lip when no one laughed. "Apologies. Misplaced humor."

Two of the customers milling about headed over to the display of Blanche Clementine books in the window, probably to see what everyone was going on about. Caro counted five others eavesdropping on the drama unfolding in the middle of the store, and only one of them was trying to be subtle about it.

"Dor—I mean, Your Grace. You're familiar with this author's work. We all are. Surely any number of us can and do imagine themselves or specific people in the roles of characters. It's a work of fiction. From an author you've appreciated in the past, I might add."

Her cousins watched silently, waiting to see how she would handle this. She'd planned to tell him about her writing that evening at dinner, where they'd be private and she could explain everything. How she'd needed to create a happy ending for someone, since she'd believed it impossible for herself. That she'd started with sweet romantic tales, until realizing erotic stories made more money. And by then, her dream of a cottage had taken root, so she'd written the fastest route to freedom. This wasn't how or where she'd imagined that conversation taking place.

"Blanche Clementine is clearly well educated, evidenced by the craftsmanship she displays in her writing. That means she's likely from my social set. If this book is about me, she's been nursing a fascination or even an obsession for God only knows how long." Dorian lowered his voice and she leaned in to hear. "I've already had one reader attempt to take liberties. How much worse would meeting the author herself be? People with obsessions can be dangerous."

A reader had done what? She bristled. Why hadn't he said something?

"It's pathetic, is what it is," his mother said. "She hides behind lurid penned fantasies about someone who is likely beyond her social sphere, rather than settle for a relationship in the real world."

A thread of truth made the words sting. That Dorian didn't know he and his mother were talking about her in such disgusted tones wasn't a consolation.

The bell over the front door tinkled, and a group of ladies walked in, then stopped. Judging by their fine gowns and beautiful hats, they were society women. Caro's pulse pounded in her ears. This was becoming more public by the minute, and knowing the silver dragon, there'd be no stopping the conversation until she was satisfied.

"Your Grace, it's fiction. People will eventually realize there are more differences than similarities, and all this will pass," Hattie tried.

"Everyone I know, as well as anyone who reads the papers, believes the Duke of Holland is having a licentious affair with some unknown woman who recorded their bedroom exploits for the world to read." The dowager would not be swayed.

With a shaky hand, Caro brushed a curl of hair off her face, and part of her was gratified to see Dorian track the movement with concern. "Would it be such a horrible thing to be someone's inspiration for a hero in a novel?"

"If it means the whole world reads a dirty book and believes I did everything detailed inside, then yes."

At the frost fair, he'd stood in their stall and corrected Oliver for describing her books as dirty. She might have fallen in love with him a little at that moment, hearing him champion her work. Now the closing of her heart was an unmistakable feeling. Like a door slamming and being locked from the inside. All the tenderness and devotion she'd fostered for him scurried behind that barrier and hid.

Later, she would cry and rage and probably curse the day she met him. But right now, Caro took a moment to look at Dorian—perhaps for the final time.

Because of their affair, the pieces of Blanche Clementine she'd needed most were woven tightly into the fibers of her being. Despite knowing Blanche would separate her and the duke, Caro couldn't reject those parts of herself again.

Perhaps this was what Gerard and Leo had praised that night in the theater—this feeling of unsentimental inevitability.

She was always going to choose the path that would be truest to herself. As painful as it was to hear the duke's response, this was where she'd have arrived anyway when the time came. No matter when that secret came out, Caro would remain Blanche Clementine, and she would still be proud of her work.

"Your Grace, while I understand the situation in which you find yourselves, I'm not sure what you expect Martin House to do about it." Practical Hattie to the rescue.

"I expect you to approach the publisher with a request as you did before. Blanche Clementine must publish a public statement in every paper in London denying she took any inspiration from the Duke of Holland. If she does not comply within the week, we shall sue for defamation."

The threat fell in the room, and everyone went silent.

If the Hollands sued, they only needed to claim the book had damaged his reputation. Unfortunately, it would fall to Caro to prove she hadn't been writing about Dorian. And given their relationship, those would be murky waters to navigate.

Tremors rocked her hands, so she folded them at her waist. It felt as if her heart were going to beat from her chest. In some ways, this was like that day with her father all over again. At least she would not be homeless or alone when it was over.

But a suit could destroy her career and steal her livelihood, and it would probably impact her family's shop by extension.

Playing innocent was an option, of course. Agree to contact the publisher, then write a notice to the papers. Continue to hide, then leave this whole affair—and Dorian—in the past.

For two heartbeats, it was tempting. Safe.

Caroline glanced at her cousins. Hattie had moved to stand beside Connie with a composed expression that couldn't quite hide the sympathy. Regardless of what she chose, they were here, and God knew they'd seen each other through worse.

Despite the silver dragon's threats, Caro couldn't believe Dorian would bring a lawsuit against her if he knew she was Blanche. He might never speak to her again after making his feelings clear regarding her work, and God knew she wasn't inclined to trust him with her heart after this. But at his core, he was a good man. That's why she'd fallen in love with him.

Funny that in the end, it wouldn't be his title that stood in the way of their relationship but hers. Just as he couldn't give up his dukedom, she wouldn't give up being an author.

No matter how much someone loved a man, that emotion could not survive denying or losing parts of oneself along the way. Isn't that what she'd been hoping Constance would realize before her wedding day?

No more hiding. "Contacting the publisher won't be necessary."

"I insist—" the dowager began, but Caro continued, addressing Dorian as if his mother hadn't spoken.

"Your Grace, allow me to address your hypocrisy first. They're not dirty books. They're erotic novels. Novels you've enjoyed and encouraged your friends to read."

He had the decency to appear slightly abashed at that, but she could not soften now or she would cry in front of everyone. "I am truly sorry that my actions have placed you in this position. I never meant to cause harm. You didn't ask to be a muse, after all."

His beloved face wavered from confused to betrayed, then to lost within a blink. "Caro…"

"I am Blanche Clementine." Around the store, several gasps filled the silence. She allowed herself one last look at the planes of a face she'd kissed countless times. "I love you." Lifting her chin, she continued. "But I also love me. And I'm proud of my work and my success. When faced with the choice of losing you or loving myself, I will choose to remain my own woman."

"Caro, what are you—"

She cut him off with a hand in the air. "By speaking your mind without knowing whom you were discussing, you allowed me to hear the truth of the matter." She turned to the dowager. "If it will make you feel better, I will have a statement printed in the papers. I'm confident I can write something convincing. After all, that is what I do."

Dorian appeared frozen in place. She stepped closer to ensure her next words would be just between them—and unfortunately, his mother. "Thank you, you beautiful man, for letting me into your life for a short while. You have been my hero in so many ways. I put too much of my heart on the page without realizing it, and I'm sorry that has caused you grief. I hereby release you from hero duty." A trembling in her belly threatened to unravel all the parts she'd only recently knit together, but she forced her body into a curtsy. "Goodbye, Your Grace."