The Duchess War (Brothers Sinister #1)(72)

From his words, she might have thought him uncaring. But that catch in his voice and the way he tilted his head toward her again, gave the lie to his indifference. He looked at her like a thirsty man gazing on an oasis, trying to decide if it were an illusion brought on by the heat.

It made a sudden, impossible sense of everything. He doesn’t want a loveless marriage. He’s just resigned himself to one.

His mother had said that Robert had the heart of a romantic. Minnie had been overwhelmed by other worries at the time, but perhaps the duchess had the right of it. He championed those who had no voice of their own. And for some reason, he had long since convinced himself that he would never be loved.

She was so close to falling in love with him that she almost opened her mouth and told him so. But that light in his eyes—the way he’d looked at her when he said it would be unobjectionable—it would be cruel to say it before it was true.

It will be true soon enough, she thought.

Ever since her father’s betrayal, she’d scolded herself, saying that she’d brought what happened on herself for wanting too much. For daring to think that at twelve—as a girl—she could challenge grown men and walk away unscathed.

But maybe her mistake had been not trying hard enough.

“There is a great deal,” he said, “that a duchess can do that a young, unmarried lady cannot. Come be lucky with me, Minnie.”

The moment to open her wings was when she plummeted to the ground. If she didn’t try, it would be no surprise that the ground rose up and struck her.

For so long, she’d told herself that it was stupid to hope. But maybe it wasn’t. She couldn’t see how her future would work out. But she could hope for love and safety, and maybe, maybe she’d not be slapped down for reaching for it with trembling hands.

“Oh, God,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’m really going to do this.”

He let out a shaky breath of relief. “Good. Good.” His arm tightened around her, crushing her to him. He held her close and whispered in her ear. “I hope I’m good in bed.”

It was as close as he’d come to admitting that he wanted her to love him. Minnie smiled and kissed him. He tasted like salt spray from the sea. Her heart fluttered in her chest like the wings of a flock of birds.

“I hope you are, too,” she said shyly. And then she kissed him again, their hands locking together. She kissed him until the afternoon sun filled the room, until she grew light-headed from the feel. She held him and kissed him until Great-Aunt Caro stood by the door and cleared her throat.

Minnie blushed, but he stood.

“You must be one of Minnie’s great-aunts,” he said smoothly. “I’m Robert Blaisdell, the Duke of Clermont, and I should very much like to marry your niece.”

Chapter Twenty

ROBERT RETURNED TO HIS HOME and found his brother and his cousin both present, sorting through sheaves of foolscap, scribbled over. Part of Sebastian’s upcoming paper, from the notations on them.

They didn’t see him enter the room.

“So here’s another thing,” Sebastian was saying. “Why is it that tortoise-shell-and-white cats are nearly always female? Short of running a massive cat breeding program—”

He looked up as Robert came to stand by him.

“You’re going to become a purveyor of cats?” Robert asked with a smile.

Sebastian gestured widely. “I was just telling Oliver about my collection of curiosities. You know, things that I’ve observed that I can’t yet explain. There’s an eighty-year-old woman in London who starts every morning by feeding stray cats in an alley. I had her make sketches of the cats, along with descriptions—weight, sex, eye color, number of toes. All that interesting information. I thought something might come of it.” He cocked his head at Robert. “You look different.”

“I do?” He felt different. It was a newfound sense of wonder, a pleased confidence.

“You do,” Oliver said. “To be perfectly frank, over the last few days you’ve looked…”

“Like something that the cat dragged in,” Sebastian put in. “A six-toed cat. Did you know that six-toed cats have seventeen percent more claw?”

Oliver shrugged. “Like something that was dragged in by all of Sebastian’s strays. And then there was the staring off into space.”

“And the distressed sighs.” Sebastian demonstrated, heaving mightily and then deflating into a sad, stricken ball.

“Distressed sighs!” Robert protested. “Not once did I stoop to distressed sighs! I might have emitted a manly huff of oppression.” He demonstrated, folding his arms firmly and pressing his lips together with a half-grunt.

“Oh? Then what did you call this?” Sebastian stared off into the distance, a look of misery on his face. He gave a little sniffle and then let out his breath in a long, drawn-out sigh.

“I call that exaggeration. I call it perfidy! Death to any man who says such things!”

Oliver laughed. “You are feeling better, I see. So what brings on the change of mood? Did she agree to marry you after all?”

Robert blinked. “How…? But I didn’t even tell you I had asked.”

Oliver’s smile widened. “Ten pounds, Malheur.”

Sebastian gave what could best be termed a distressed sigh.