Now Theresa did look surprised. “He will never raise a hand to you, my lady.”
Ariana licked her lips, shaking her head emphatically. “I know that. That’s not what I meant. It just occurred to me … that is, I only just realized …”
“Ah, your wedding night.”
“My wedding night.” Ariana repeated the words slowly, stunned by the ambivalent feelings they aroused. She did have some idea of what to expect. Along with Winsham’s brightly colored gardens, her favorite refuge was the stables. And, having spent half her waking hours among dogs, horses, and chickens, she’d certainly seen animals mate. “Do people follow the same procedure as animals?” she blurted out, then blushed at her own outrageous question.
Theresa didn’t flinch. “More or less. With one addition: If they choose, people can mate with their hearts as well as their bodies.”
Ariana tried to imagine that sort of intimacy and her flush deepened. Could she actually do that with him?
Calmly, as if they were discussing the weather, Theresa continued, counting off on her fingers. “We’ve established the fact that the duke appeals to you. Physically, that is. We’ve also concluded that he does not intend to hurt you. So what is it you fear?”
“I’m not sure. It’s just that I don’t know how to … I’ve never …”
“He does and he has.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Ariana shifted uncomfortably. “I really should be repelled by the idea or, at the very least, opposed to it,” she reasoned aloud. “Which I am, of course,” she was quick to add.
“Of course.”
Ariana was too caught up in her worry to pick up on the hint of amusement in Theresa’s tone. “But, if I am to be totally honest, I have to admit that I also feel … well, curious.”
“And that surprises you?” Theresa’s eyes twinkled. “The duke is a very handsome, compelling man. He is obviously drawn to you as you are to him. The rest will come naturally.”
“You make it sound so simple.” Ariana sighed. “But what if he really is dangerous?”
“As I’ve said before, I’ve never known your instincts to betray you. Heed them well, my lady.”
Ariana squeezed her eyes shut, picturing the bitter, enigmatic man who would soon be her husband. “God help me if my instincts are wrong,” she whispered.
Baxter tossed off the last of his drink and lowered the empty glass to his desk with a triumphant thud. So Kingsley thought he had won, did he? He would soon learn otherwise.
Reflecting on the countless times in the last fourteen years Trenton Kingsley had bested him, Baxter’s mouth twisted sardonically. Their long and disagreeable history had started in 1859, when they were both still in their teens. Baxter’s parents had just died, leaving him guardian of his sisters and overseer of Winsham, while Richard Kingsley’s deteriorating health had forced Trenton to assume the running of the Kingsley estates and numerous family businesses.
They met in London through a mutual business associate and, though never friends, they had, at first, felt a grudging respect for each other.
The respect had rapidly dissipated.
Their first business clash should have served as an omen to Baxter of what lay ahead, the defeats he would suffer at Kingsley’s hands. Outbidding Baxter for a minor ownership stake in Bryant’s and May’s small manufacturing firm in Tooley Street, Trenton saw his investment multiply tenfold in value when the company, utilizing Kingsley funds, developed an award-winning line of revolutionary safety matches.
Trenton prospered and Baxter seethed.
After that, it seemed their paths crossed constantly; every venture Baxter pursued found Trenton one step ahead, every bloody wager they placed Trenton won, every woman Baxter coveted preferred Trenton’s bed.
The bastard’s luck never seemed to run out.
Even with Vanessa.
Baxter lowered his head, determined to submerge memories long since buried away. What was done was done. Vanessa was gone, and no amount of vengeance could bring her back. All thanks to Trenton Kingsley. He’d robbed Baxter of everything: his dignity, his money, his sister.
All but Ariana.
And now he thought to strip Baxter of her as well, to emerge the victor once again?
Not this time.
Baxter pressed his clenched fists to the desk, evaluating the implications of the day’s startling event. A royal edict commanding Ariana to become the Duchess of Broddington. He still couldn’t get over that interesting twist of fate. He had planned to use Ariana?