The Duke Is Mine - Eloisa James [135]
His father snorted. “You think her mother will understand? My old friend Saxby didn’t know what he was getting into when he married that woman. She’s a dragon, a positive dragon.”
In the seventeen years since Mrs. Saxby and her infant daughter had joined the duke’s household, they had managed to maintain fairly cordial relations—primarily because Ashbrook never threw anything in the widow’s direction. But James knew instantly that his father was right. If Daisy’s mother got even a hint that her daughter’s guardian had embezzled her inheritance, she would be battering on the door of a high judge before evening fell. Nausea drove James’s stomach into his throat at the thought.
His father, on the other hand, was cheering up. He had the sort of mind that flitted from one subject to another; his rages were fierce but short-lived. “A few posies, maybe a poem, and Dora will fall into your hand as sweetly as a ripe plum. After all, it’s not as if the girl gets much flattery. Tell her she’s beautiful, and she’ll be at your feet.”
“I cannot do that,” James stated, not even bothering to imagine himself saying such a thing. It wasn’t a matter simply of not wishing to say such inanities to Daisy herself; he loathed situations where he found himself fumbling with language he found tedious in the extreme. The season was three weeks old, but he hadn’t attended a single ball.
His father misunderstood his refusal. “Of course, you’ll have to lie about it, but that’s the kind of lie a gentleman can’t avoid. She may not be the prettiest girl on the market—and certainly not as delectable as that opera singer I caught sight of with you the other night—but it wouldn’t get you anywhere to point out the truth.” He actually gave a little chuckle at the thought.
James heard him dimly, concentrating on not throwing up as he tried to think through the dilemma before him.
The duke kept talking, amusing himself by laying out the distinction between mistresses and wives. “In compensation, you can keep a mistress twice as beautiful as your wife. It’ll provide an interesting contrast.”
There was no human being in the world he loathed as much as his father. “If I marry Daisy, I will not take a mistress,” he said, still thinking frantically, trying to come up with a way out. “I couldn’t do that to her.”
“Well, I expect you’ll change your mind on that after a few years of marriage, but each to his own.” The duke’s voice was as strong and buoyant as ever. “Well? Not much to think about, is there? It’s bad luck and all that rot, but I can’t see that either of us have much choice about it. The good thing is that a man can always perform in the bedroom, even if he doesn’t want to.”
The only thing James wanted was to get out of the room, away from his disgusting excuse for a parent. “I will do this on one condition.” His voice sounded unfamiliar to his own ears, as if a stranger said the words.
“Anything, my boy, anything! I know I’m asking for a sacrifice. As I said, we can admit amongst ourselves that little Dora is not the beauty of the bunch.”
“The day I marry her, you sign the entire estate over to me—Ryburn House and its lands, this townhouse, the island in Scotland.”
The duke’s mouth fell open. “What?”
“The entire estate,” James repeated. “I will pay you an allowance, and no one need know except for the solicitors. But I will not be responsible for you and your foolish schemes. I will never again take responsibility for any debts you might incur—nor for any theft. The next time around, you’re going to prison.”
“That’s absurd,” his father spluttered. “I couldn’t—you couldn’t possibly—no!”
“Then make your good-byes to Staffordshire,” James said, rising to his feet for the last time. “You might want to pay a special visit to my mother’s grave, if you’re so certain she would have been distressed at the sale of the house, let alone the cemetery itself.”
His father opened his mouth, but James raised a hand.
“If I let you keep the estate, you’ll fling Daisy’s inheritance after that which