Positioned in a high wingback chair by the fire, Alexander swallowed the last of his brandy, schooling his expression into impassivity. “My nuptials? To whom?”
Startled owlish eyes cut into his, and Mr. Biddleton seemed lost for words. “Miss Katherine Danvers, I believe she prefers to be called Kitty…is she not your betrothed? Everyone has said so.”
“Then it must be true,” Alexander said caustically, dismissing yet another intrusive rumor into his life. In the ten years since he had withdrawn from society, he had heard it all—the exotic French mistress he had to throw off a cliff, that he had perished in the fall that had broken his body, then damn his black heart, he had done away with his heir presumptive. Those were the rumors that had reached him in his cold corner of Scotland.
Mr. Biddleton’s furtive glance cut to the three solicitors seated around a massive oak table. They were meticulously packing up reports in the proper order for his perusal later. From the stiff manner in how they held themselves, he surmised they were discomfited. Perhaps they dreaded the invitation for dinner he would extend, as was his custom. They were too afraid to refuse him, and they were aware he knew their discomfiture.
Something ugly scuttled across his thoughts, a black awareness that he was lonely and had only these retainers resembling obsequious cockroaches who sat without spine, bowing to all his whims because he was the duke.
Mr. Pryce, a new addition to the law offices, and who was aiming to leave his mark on the world, cleared his throat. “I had the privilege of finding a suitable town house for Miss Danvers when her late father’s lawyer was unable to do so, Your Grace. Miss Danvers was quite pleased with the house in Portman Square.”
Alexander was momentarily transfixed. A member of his team had seen and spoken to this creature?
Then a peculiar stillness settled over his mind. It seemed this was more than gossip crafted from the silver tongues of boredom and spiteful pettiness. It was quite astonishing. He took a few minutes to assess the strangeness of not having his mind darting in several directions, calculating profits, or penning some inflammatory letter to Britain’s parliament.
“Was she?” he murmured in a deliberately disinterested tone.
The pup, evidently eager to please,
and dismissing the cautioning look from his superiors, hurried to extrapolate. “Miss Danvers has been declared incomparable, Your Grace, and the story of your courtship is splashed in every newspaper and scandal sheet. They do admire her for her charm and kindness. The story of your meeting and secret courtship has become a sensation. You…you’ve become the rage…”
Mr. Pryce’s voice left him as he became aware of the heavy disapproval beating down on him from his two senior lawyers.
None of that mattered to Alexander, as for the first time in years, a pulse of raw, vibrant emotion stirred beneath the controlled surface he presented to the world. A young lady had deliberately claimed to be his fiancée; she had either been struck with madness or ingenuity.
He felt an unfamiliar twist of curiosity.
He turned the crystal brandy glass slowly between his hands, absently tracing the puckered scars dissecting his thumb. “This meeting is over, and I will see you all next month.”
Mr. Pryce and his senior lawyers stood, bowed, and made their way from the study.
“Not you.”
Somehow sensing that it was he, the young buck faltered. “M-me, Your Grace?”
“Yes.”
Everyone else shuffled out, the last one closing the door to the study quietly.
“Tell me, Mr.…”
“Adolphus Richard Pryce, Your Grace,” the young man hurriedly answered.
Alexander could feel his uncertainty and did nothing to put him at ease. “You’ve personally met Miss Danvers.”
The man hurriedly explained how he had found the town house for her and had tried to open a line of credit with the best dressmakers and milliners, but she had refused.
How interesting. A charlatan who was not interested in his money? Who are you and what do you want?
The lawyer’s voice droned on in his eagerness to please. Certain phrases caught at the sharp edges of Alexander’s mind; others he dismissed as he stared into the flickering flames. The scarred half of his face throbbed, as it always did whenever he looked upon the force of nature that had caused his greatest pain.
The ton is fascinated…
Everyone is amazed at how indulgent you are…
It is a love match…
A winter wedding…