Chapter 4

H e had not kissed her.

As a matter of fact, he had left her with a rather shocked look upon her upturned face. Her eyes had been half hooded, her lips slightly parted, and frankly, it had been all he could do not to partake of her offer.

She was a siren.

No, that wasn’t correct. That made her sound like a nefarious creature. She was everything that someone like himself could possibly want, and that was, of course, why he absolutely had to stay away from her.

Plus, he was a gentleman. No matter what she said, he was not about to start kissing her in his friend’s, the duke’s , house. Whether she could understand it or not, the Duke of Westleigh was his friend. Perhaps Westleigh didn’t talk about him. He’d have to ask him why, but even so. He was not about to start ruining his friend’s generous hospitality, especially at Christmas, by doing such a thing.

He strode down the elaborate hall hung with silks and tapestries from the seventeenth century, depicting scenes from Shakespeare.

The beautifully done work shone with bright threads and all but glowed with epic scenes of love and history.

He was looking for the duke, which was probably an absolutely ridiculous thing to do, given the massive size of the castle and the fact that the duke could be anywhere at this moment.

He should seek out a servant and yet he had no desire to converse with anyone. He felt off foot, knocked off center, and not himself.

Lady Perdita had done that to him. And it was the sort of discomfort that was appealing. Very, very appealing. But he would not let go of his good sense entirely.

Given the riot of contradictions knotting his innards—desire and duty—he felt the need to walk with great long strides.

He would need to go back to the barn and get his falcon. Lady Perdita had led him on a merry dance. He had wanted to do the right thing. He thought he had done the right thing and, once again, he had been mistaken.

He should not have been surprised. His dratted desire to help often got him into situations he could not have imagined.

Finding oneself alone in a young lady’s chambers was the height of foolishness on a man’s part, but he had been foolish many times in his life. Some people prided themselves on the fact that they were not fools. He had long ago accepted that he was a fool, a great one, because he kept expecting people to behave in a different way than they did.

Oh, the dismay he felt at humanity! It rattled through him like shells in a tin box.

Good God. Did he always have to hope for better things? And be disappointed. It was a bitter draught. He thought he’d drunk it to the dregs, but it appeared there were still traces for him to consume.

Even now, he didn’t think poorly of the young lady for inviting him to her chamber. Clearly, she wished for a bit of adventure. All her siblings had had adventures, as far as he could tell.

Her mother had had adventure. Her father had had adventure before his death. From what he understood of her grandparents, they too had had adventures. And then there had been the mother of the first Duke of Westleigh, perhaps the greatest adventurer of all.

Most people of any significant import knew about the origin of the dukedom.

When one was the descendant of a mistress of a king and the king himself, as Lady Perdita was, perhaps one should be expected to act wildly.

Even so, he was not about to assist her in said wildness, lest he find himself shot by one of her many brothers, or just disdaining himself for being such a low rake. There were many kinds of rakes, and while he liked the company of women, he did not enjoy hurting anyone. He always found that such affairs, especially when the young lady was unmarried, led to hurt.

As he walked, much to his amazement, he heard the duke’s voice coming from a chamber. Gordon paused and felt a moment’s trepidation.

This entire trip had gone awry. He was half convinced he should go downstairs to the foyer, talk to the butler, get his coach drawn around, and depart for the North and peace. Even if peace meant Christmas alone, save for servants.

At least then he could cause no trouble and suffer no disappointment at the world or those inhabiting it.

But he could not run away. Not yet, in any case. He needed to at least speak with the Duke of Westleigh and let him know that while Gordon had spent time with his sister, nothing untoward had happened.

It wasn’t that he wished the young lady trouble. He did not wish his friend to draw mistaken conclusions about Gordon’s honor with said lady.

He stopped at the door. It was open and he peered in.

The duke stood in a long green dressing gown, embroidered with gold at the edges. It was positively sumptuous, something one would’ve seen with more common frequency just a few years ago.

He looked like a bloody Shakespearean king in it.

The duke turned left to right, gesturing with bold flourishes, and appeared to be contemplating something on the fireplace mantel.

“Come in, come in!” the duke bellowed. “I hear you there. Stop lurking like a ghost and get in here.”

With that rather powerful order, the only thing he could do was indeed enter.

One did not deny dukes, Gordon reminded himself again.

He strode in, watching the Duke of Westleigh peering with great seriousness at several pieces of greenery that decorated the fireplace mantel.

The fire was crackling heartily, and from where Gordon stood, he could see the snow falling with great rapidity through the windows.

His heart sank as a realization hit him.

He wasn’t going anywhere. There would be no retreat. No Christmas alone in the North.

Not unless he had a death wish for himself, his horses, and his coachmen. He wasn’t the sort of man to make his coachman and footmen ride outside in such weather.

The icy roads would be terrible and perhaps impassable now.

Damn and blast.

The spirit of Christmas was going to ruin everything for him. Everyone else would no doubt be glad that the land was blanketed in white.

Not he.

He ground his teeth. For now, there was no escape. He was utterly stuck. And what was he going to do with the duke’s maddening sister running about?

“Ah! You are here. I’m glad to see you,” the duke intoned with open arms. Striding forward with great enthusiasm, Westleigh pulled Gordon into his embrace and clapped him on the back.

Gordon stood still for a moment. What did one do when a duke hugged one? He supposed one hugged him back.

And so, though it was a bit strange, he did.

It was a strong, bold, powerful embrace before the duke leaned back and seized his arms.

Gordon was not accustomed to many embraces. His parents had been very affectionate, but they had been gone for years, and he did not have the experience of close siblings.

“You look dire,” the duke mused, his brow furrowing with concern. “Is my hospitality so terrible? The castle so dim? The food so bad?”

“I have not yet eaten anything,” Gordon replied, as always slightly overwhelmed by the duke’s eccentric personality.

The duke tutted, an odd sound for a powerful man. “That explains your grim visage,” the duke declared broadly, squeezing Gordon’s arms. “You are hungry.”

The duke strode to the long, embroidered bell pull, pushed his voluminous sleeves out of the way, and tugged it.

“We shall remedy that at once,” the duke announced, clapping his beringed hands together. “We can’t have you waiting to meet my mother on an empty stomach. She’ll make mincemeat of you.”

The duke closed his eyes for a moment as if envisioning heaven. “Pies. I shall have to request a dozen. Now, regarding my mother, it’ll be a terrible sight, the holes she’ll put in you if you meet her with no wit. And you won’t have the wit to stand up to her if your stomach is growling.”

“That formidable, is she?” Gordon asked, amused.

“And then some,” the duke replied, smiling as his eyes shone in that riveting way he had. “Benevolent, of course, but she enjoys making merry, and if you are not up to it and can’t stand up to her, she’ll be quite sad.” The duke put a hand dramatically over his heart. “And I can’t have that, don’t you see? My mother must be merry at Christmas. So the guests must be up to snuff, and I thought you were. One of the few who could fit in here, really.”

The duke arched a brow. “Now, truly what the devil is wrong with you, Hythe? And don’t tell me it’s just an empty belly.”

He wiped a tired hand over his face, dreading telling his friend the truth. “Aside from the usual things?”

The duke folded his arms over his chest, the green silk billowing.

“I must confess something to you.”

“Ooh,” the duke said brightly. “A confession. I adore them. Have you fallen in love?”

He fought a groan.

“You have!” the duke said, his voice deep with triumph. “Who is the lady? Do I know her—”

“Cease, Westleigh,” Gordon protested. “I have not fallen in love, but I must regale you with a tale that causes me great pain, and I worry that you shall think little of me for it.”

The duke’s brows rose an inch. “My goodness. Perhaps I shall think better of you for it. Now, out with it, my good fellow! Out with it. Divest yourself of your woes and guilty conscience. I cannot wait another moment.”

“Your sister,” he bit out. “I met her.”

The duke blinked. “I have several. Which one?”

And then the duke paused. “If one of them has caused you to feel this way, it can be only one. The rest are married and happily so. I have no fears there, or you shall be dead,” the duke said with sudden seriousness.

But then, just as swiftly, he beamed again, his dark brows dancing with merriment. “You met Perdita, did you not?”

“Yes,” Gordon managed through his tightening throat. For he now feared strangulation by the duke’s very powerful hands.

There was a note to his voice that did not denote resignation or frustration. He didn’t know what it was, but he didn’t like it, and he feared the duke might read something into it.

The duke waved his hand, his crest winking in the firelight, for the light outside had diminished to the blue-purple dusk of winter just before night. “No, matter. Perdita is not at all usual, so if she set you off in an odd way, think nothing of it. Did you meet her crow, her cat, and any other animals she might have in tow?”

Gordon swallowed, his heart beating rapidly. He could not keep pace with this family and its strange ways. “I did try to help her find a lost rabbit.”

“Did you? How good of you. Most gentlemen do not enjoy Perdita’s oddities, but they find her beautiful and so still choose her company. She finds it most amusing, their obvious shallowness.”

Gordon wanted to punch every one of those shallow louts in the nose. Didn’t enjoy her oddities? What idiots.

“That is not the only thing that happened,” he vented.

The duke cocked his head to the side. “Oh, I must hear it all then, my friend. Do relay each nuance.”

He drew in a fortifying breath. “She found me in the barn.”

The duke’s brows drew together. “What the bloody hell were you doing in the barn?”

“I wasn’t looking forward to meeting everyone, if you must know, and I thought a few moments alone in the hay loft would help.”

The duke stared at him for several moments. “Did you have your way with my sister in the hay loft?”

“What?” Gordon choked.

The duke cocked his head to the side and offered, “Hay lofts are notorious places for men and women. And Perdita? Well, she is bold, and you are good looking and in a vulnerable spot. She might’ve decided to cheer you up.”

“Is your sister in the habit of cheering gentlemen up?” he asked, his voice shooting up significantly higher than its usual register.

The duke’s lips twitched. “No. But you are standing here before me regaling me with a tale of Perdita that clearly makes you uncomfortable. And so I know where this is going.”

He groaned, then let out in a rush, for really there was nothing else for it, “I’m very sorry. I’m so sorry. I never should have gone with her. I decided to help her find the rabbit and then she took me up to her rooms and—”

The duke nodded, clearly feeling like he knew where the tale was headed. “You and she had a most marvelous exchange.” The duke smiled again. “From what I understand, a marriage will take place soon.”

Gordon jerked his chin in. “What? No,” he choked again. “Cease. Please, devil take it, Your Grace—”

“You must call me Leander,” the duke said affably. “We are to be brothers, after all.”

“No!” Gordon exclaimed. “We are not to be brothers. I did not take the lady up on the offer.”

“Nothing happened?” the duke queried in a surprisingly disappointed tone. “Not a bit?”

Did the duke wish he had deflowered his sister?

The duke blew out a long breath, then shrugged. “She needs a husband, and you’d do wonders. I don’t like all the suitable fellows who have sought her out. Marriage between the two of you, if amorous activities did occur, would be perfectly—”

“I stopped anything before it could happen,” Gordon rushed, again feeling completely off foot.

“Did you?” the duke said ruefully. “That’s rather disappointing.”

Disappointing?

“You can’t be serious, Leander,” Gordon ground out, though the familiarity of the duke’s given name did almost stick in his throat.

The duke peered at him for a good long moment. “Fair warning. If she’s picked you, there’s really no point in resisting, old boy.”

This sounded most strange.

“ No point in resisting? ” he echoed.

The duke gave a rather elegant yet masculine shrug. “Briarwoods cannot be denied once they’ve made a decision where… How can I say this? Once we find our mates, we cannot be put off.”

Gordon’s gut tightened with horror and a hint of… No. There was no hint. There was truly nothing but horror.

The duke crossed to the fire and leaned against the mantel. “Think of yourself as a goose, or a swan, or a wolf. You’ve been mated, my friend.”

“No,” he replied swiftly but quietly, as if all the air had been knocked out of his lungs. “It’s not possible. I have only come here to tell you that my intentions are good and that I warned your sister off.”

The duke’s eyes danced again. “You warned my sister off? I see. How noble of you. Good man. I admire your sense of gentlemanly honor.” Leander paused, then said cheerfully, “All the more reason that you should be my brother. We need people like you in the Briarwood family.”

“Truly,” Gordon insisted, quite alarmed by this whole conversation, “I am not marrying anyone.”

“Then what do you want to tell me?” the duke asked with surprising intensity.

Gordon swallowed. “I just wanted you to know that your sister had suggested that I kiss her. Perhaps you should speak to her about not approaching strange men, hoping for the best.”

The duke rolled his eyes. “I don’t need to do that.”

“Why?” Gordon exclaimed. He did not want to fear for the young lady.

The duke gazed at him as if Gordon had lost his wits before intoning, “My sister is very sensible. She never would’ve asked you to kiss her if she thought you were dangerous. And obviously, you are my guest. You cannot possibly be dangerous. I do not invite dangerous people to be around my family. I only invite the best people.”

Westleigh said this with such cold steel that Gordon realized the duke was absolutely serious.

It was a compliment, of course, but at the same time he found himself unsure of how to proceed. “Should I have said yes to her?” he demanded without thinking.

“Of course you should have. Why not? You’re going to get married.”

“We are not.”

“How sad.” The duke sighed. “Well, you may try to resist your fate, but she’s a very determined young woman.”

“I don’t want to get married,” Gordon gritted.

“It doesn’t really matter,” the duke said. “But what I suggest is that you go ahead and kiss her, and see how that goes. And if you enjoy it, and Perdita says that she’d like to go a bit further, then it’s perfectly fine. We had a similar situation with my sister, Juliet. We all encouraged the affair because we knew it would be good for her and that it would show her the proper path.”

The proper path.

Gordon had never felt thus before, but suddenly he was certain he was about to swoon, and he was not a small man. He’d hit the ground like an oak in the forest.

“I say,” the duke said, concerned. “Do I need to call for smelling salts? You look quite piqued.”

“I feel piqued,” he groaned.

“At the idea of being a Briarwood?” the duke said with great drama. “How can you say such a thing?”

Gordon let out another sound of dismay.

“Sit down. Sit down, my friend,” the duke urged. “I’ll get you a brandy.”

“No, thank you,” Gordon groaned. “I have no wish to be inebriated when the circumstances about me are so confusing. It would only make it worse.”

The duke nodded. “Look here, what I’m saying is whatever Perdita wants, she gets. So, you might as well enjoy yourself. Don’t resist with your honor too hard. It’ll be terrible for you.”

At this, Gordon did stumble to a chair, collapse into it, and thrust his hand through his hair. “You want me to have an affair with your sister?”

The duke snorted. “I didn’t say that exactly. I said what Perdita wants, Perdita gets. I certainly won’t kill you if you do as she wishes. I just want you to know that should you give in, it won’t be an affair. You’ll be my brother. I’m sure of it.”

“This is all utterly…”

“Mad?” the duke declared.

Gordon nodded.

“I don’t do things like regular people,” the duke said. “I’ve no time for that nonsense. I couldn’t even if I tried.”

“But…she’s a young lady—”

“Is her judgment very terrible, do you think?” the duke asked. “Are you an awful person?”

Gordon covered his eyes with his hands. Was he dreaming? Had he been invited here to be driven to the edge and not pulled back from it? “It would be easier if I was.”

At that, Leander crossed over to him and clapped him on the back. “How true, Hythe. How bloody true. It’d be much easier to live life as an awful person, I think. But I’ll tell you this much, awful people are not happy.”

“Nor am I,” he whispered.

The Duke of Westleigh grew silent, then said quite seriously, “All the more reason to spend time with Perdita. She’s marvelous. Now, let’s get something in you. Take you down to dinner and see how things go.”

Gordon did not know what the devil was going on, but he’d certainly never expected the Duke of Westleigh to suggest that he have an affair with his sister.

And suddenly, much to his shock, the idea seemed quite delicious, if he was honest.

But he could never do it.

No, his honor stood in the way of that, didn’t it?

Didn’t it?

He stood. “I think I need to go and be by myself.”

The duke’s eyes rounded with alarm. “No. Absolute worst thing for you. Sit down again. My wife will be here at any moment, and she can tell you a few tales about this family and how marvelous it is to finally just give in.”

“Mercy,” the duke bellowed.

And with that, a beautiful dark-haired woman came in, wearing her own dressing gown, and Gordon nearly shot straight up and headed for the door.

“Oh, do sit down,” she said in a rather fascinating American accent. “None of us stand on ceremony here. And the sooner you get used to that, the sooner you’ll be happy—”

“To join the family,” the duke cut in with a grin as he took his wife in his arms.

“Shush, my love,” the duchess instructed, gazing at her husband with so much love it seemed to change the color of the room. “Shush. You’re going to frighten him off.”

The duke gazed down at his wife with just as powerful a dose of love. But then he winked. “The only reason I think he’s still here is because of the snow.”

Was the duke a mind reader? It was quite true.

“We all need him to understand that he’s here for Perdita,” the duke said as if Gordon wasn’t there at all.

“Didn’t he know that’s why you invited him?” she asked, swatting at her husband’s arm.

The duke smiled. “I don’t think he did know. Terrible of me.” Leander then turned to Gordon. “Forgive me, old chap.”

“Have I come here because you arranged a marriage between myself and your sister?” he rasped.

“Oh, no, no, no,” the duke assured, pulling his wife into a deeper hug, as she rested her arm upon his shoulder. “Nothing like that. I merely wanted to see if I was right.”

“About what?” Gordon whispered.

Mercy grinned. “If you were the one.”

“The one what?” Gordon felt as if he had been thrust into a story and had no idea of the plot.

“It doesn’t really matter,” Mercy said. “We’re delighted to have you here. It’ll be absolutely marvelous, but you must gird your loins. We’re quite a bunch. And as you clearly know, there’s no escape.”

The duchess looked to the window with the falling snow and beamed.

No. There was no escape. Not now.