From Duke till Dawn: 2018’s most scandalous Regency read. Eva Leigh
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besides paying for her bed,” Alex muttered.
“Like what?” Ellingsworth pressed. “The only other option you have is marriage, and that’s an utter impossibility.”
The word itself—marriage—struck Alex like cannon fire hitting a fortification. He steadied himself.
It was absurd. Impossible, as Ellingsworth said.
But was it . . . ?
Ellingsworth stared at him. “You can’t possibly be thinking of taking Mrs. Blair as your wife.”
Almost at once, Alex wanted to deny it. Yet the thought kept returning to him again and again like a bee revisiting a flower. What if he did marry Cassandra? She would have his protection, his true protection. She would be elevated in the eyes of Society and never want for anything again. No more work as a lady’s companion, no more smoke-filled gaming hells. They would fall asleep together at night and rise together in the morning. And they would never have to be apart. They could be seen in public without scandal.
She could give him children. Perhaps even love. Alex and Cassandra would live out their lives, side by side.
He felt something strange and shining unfolding within him. Happiness. Genuine joy.
Hell, he thought. I’ve gone wild.
Ellingsworth gaped at him. “If you want to permanently tie your name to someone, her breeding has to be impeccable. Society expects nothing less.” He shook his head. “Precisely the reason why I won’t be taking a wife. I’m a third son. Nobody cares who I marry, no family name relies on me.”
“But you can dole out advice to me like a costermonger selling me a pear,” Alex answered drily. “You can’t even keep a mistress for more than a few months without losing interest in her.”
His friend dismissed the idea with a sniff. “That signifies nothing. You, my dearest Greyland, are a different kettle of sheep.”
“Don’t you mean kettle of fish? Or sheep of a different fold?”
Ellingsworth shooed the thought aside. “What matters is that you’re in a very different position from me. From the rest of the country. You’re a pillar of England, et cetera. You have obligations.”
Alex’s anger renewed itself in an acidic wave. “Why shouldn’t I marry someone I have feelings for, regardless of who her father is? She has feelings for me.” He drew himself up, heedless of the towels in his hand. “I’m a bloody duke. I can do whatever the hell I please.”
Color drained from Ellingsworth’s face. “So you’re actually thinking of marrying the widow from Cheltenham.” He sputtered. “She brings nothing to the table. No alliances, no money. Nothing.”
“She brings herself,” Alex angrily corrected.
Everything within him blazed to life. The thought was absurd, preposterous. And yet marrying Cassandra felt right. They cared about each other. They had mutual desire and passion. And she was from a good family, even if they weren’t listed in the Domesday Book. He’d have a greater chance of happiness with Cassandra than Lady Emmeline. And he would make it his life’s work to ensure Cassandra was very, very happy.
There was a prospect of love. He had to seize that possibility while he could, for it might never come his way again.
To hell with what his father had decreed. The late duke couldn’t rule Alex from beyond the grave. This was Alex’s life.
“All my years,” he ground out, “I’ve played by the rules. Done exactly what was expected of me. Acted the dutiful heir, listening to everything my father told me. What did I get for my troubles? Jilted by Lady Emmeline. But this time . . . this time, I’m going to go after what I desire.”
“I . . . I . . .” Ellingsworth blinked. He fell silent. Then, “If this is what you truly want—”
“It is.” He’d never felt more certain of anything.
“And what of Lady Emmeline?”
“She made her choice, and I make mine. This time, I will marry a woman I care for. Who cares for me. No more mutual toleration. I will have what I want.”
“Then I support you.” He stepped closer and clapped a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Felicitations, old man. You will make her quite happy.”
“She still has to say yes,” Alex said with a wry smile.
“How can she say anything else?”
He felt like a furnace ready to explode. But he would be calm. He would be in control. Tonight, he would go back to the gaming hell and ask Cassandra to be his wife.
Cheers and the clink of glass rang out across the gaming hell. The sounds of revelry and joy were everywhere, echoing from the coved plaster ceiling, reverberating off the columns lining the walls. The night was early. Nobody had lost heavily—yet. The groans and curses would come as the hour grew later.
Cassandra welcomed those sounds of unhappiness. Every sound of pleasure or joy grated on her like handfuls of stones running up and down her spine. But a moan of dismay meant someone had lost to the house—increasing profits for her, Martin, and the other investors in the gaming hell. One month of business might not seem like much, but in a gambling-mad place such as London, with a genteel clientele, heaps of money could be made in a short time.
And she had no taste for cheerfulness tonight. She felt raw and angry from turning Alex away once again. Much as she wanted to hide in her private rooms upstairs, she couldn’t. She was needed down here, wheedling and charming guests into playing longer and deeper. Their loss was her gain. She had to remind herself of that.
She stood near a faro table, a smile affixed to her face like a shield. “Have another go, my lady,” she urged an older woman in yellow satin. “I’m certain that luck will be on your side this time. Don’t you think so, my lord?”
The man, who was as much a lord as Cassandra, nodded vigorously. Younger than the lady by at least two decades, he was pomaded and polished, his grin as practiced as the caresses he gave to his female patron.
“Indeed, you cannot stop now, my love,” he cried with an affected wave of his hand. “You promised me diamonds purchased with tonight’s winnings.”
“So I did.” The dowager patted the man’s face. “I cannot deny you anything, pet.”
A wave of stifling anger passed through Cassandra. Everyone got what they wanted—but her. She’d deliberately pushed away the one man who’d been truly good to her, who cared about her. There was no comfort in the fact that she’d had no choice in refusing Alex, that she’d been acting in both of their best interests.
Keeping her smile tacked in place, she moved away from the couple. It was so hot in here tonight! So crowded. If only she could sneak off to the balcony to refresh herself with a little solitude and darkness.
She pressed a hand to her temple, willing a headache to subside. She glanced toward the doors leading to the terrace. Should she go outside? The cool air might do her a bit of good. But if she went to the balcony, reminders of Alex would stab her like needles. He already haunted her thoughts in the main hall. And when she walked on the street. And when she lay herself down for sleep every morning.
It didn’t matter where she stood. She felt his lips against hers now. Tasted the passion she and Alex had created. Had he kissed like that in Cheltenham? The fire between them had only grown stronger these past two years. She wanted him so badly her body ached—and hated that she craved him so much.
She saw the warmth and concern in his dark eyes, too, in shadows and in sunlight. Always close by, but forever out of reach.
More sounds of gaiety punctured