Page 27 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
“Well, for one, he covets my title. I used to believe he wouldn’t hesitate to poison my food, but now I think he’s too cowardly to do it. He’s just hoping I catch some deadly disease or drown in the Thames so he can inherit. He’s got two sons, too, so if he perishes before me, then they’re next in line.”
“What are your cousins like?”
“They are children. But by all accounts, he is raising them to be as vicious as he is.”
She winced. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Anyhow,” he continued without prompting, “my father never admired him. He advised me to avoid him, but then when he died and it felt like my existence had shattered”—Crestmont swallowed hard—“he was my only family left. I felt I had no one else to turn to.”
Jo leaned forward. “What happened?”
“He came to live with me at Hanford Castle. I was young and grieving, and it took many months for me to realize that he was undermining everything I did. Within the year, he’d taken control of most of my unentailed holdings and a large portion of my father’s fortune.”
Jo sucked in a breath. “That’s horrible.”
“As I said…he’s an ass.”
“That seems a mild word for what he is,” she grumbled.
He shrugged. Despite talking about his awful uncle, at this moment, the duke was relaxed and easy, and it struck Jo that this was her opening.
“I lived in Nottinghamshire as a child,” she began, “and while I knew naught of your uncle, there was some other—different—gossip being spread about you at the time.”
He stiffened. “You are several years younger than me. You were a child.”
“Nevertheless, my family was acquainted with the Fleming family. Will you tell me about what happened between you and Fanny Fleming?”
The air in the room turned frigid, as if the season had just snapped to midwinter and a blizzard was raging outside.
His expression icy, he stood abruptly. “I am late. My coachman has been waiting for some time. I must go.”
“Your Grace!” She rose, too, and hurried around her desk. “I am so sorry—I didn’t mean to—”
He slapped his hat on and grabbed his cane. “Good day, Miss Porter.”
Swinging open the door, he strode out and shut it firmly behind him.
Jo slumped against the door with a groan. It had been going so well, but then she’d bungled it, badly.
Now, she might have lost him for good.
Chapter Eight
Jameson was waiting when Matthew arrived at the boathouse. Arms crossed over his chest, he scowled at Matthew as he stepped down from the carriage.
“Don’t.” Matthew brushed past him to go inside. “I am not in the mood.”
“You’re late,” he said anyway.
“True.” Usually, he’d apologize. Not today.
Jameson’s frown deepened. “What happened?”
Matthew stopped. Then, gripping one of the supports that held the boats off the floor, he turned. “I need to marry.”
Jameson stared at him. “Uh…all right. I thought you’d given up on your matrimonial pursuits.”
“I lied.”
