Page 91 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
A sane man would have burned the thing, but Matthew had kept the letter all these years as a reminder. As a warning.
He pressed it flat over the shiny mahogany desktop.
My dear Ann,
You would not believe what has happened!
By chance, my father earned the favor of the Duke of Crestmont, whose son is just a year younger than I. A few months ago, the old duke and duchess were killed in an unfortunate (though not unfortunate for me, I must say!) carriage accident, and his heir, at only seventeen years of age, has inherited the title.
The new duke was bereft, and what better to cure a young man of his grief than the modest and heartfelt attentions of a lady? My parents and I rushed to lend our support right away, and thence we became the new Duke of Crestmont’s house guests for the summer.
My dear Ann, this duke is passably handsome, but the best part is that he is rather like a gullible mouse, trusting and malleable. I, on the other hand, am like the cat. I carefully stalked my prey, prowling quietly, feigning innocence, pretending surprise when I artfully crafted encounters with him.
I fluttered my eyelashes at him and told him I’d never been kissed. I coddled him and petted him when he moaned and pouted about the old duke and duchess dropping dead.
It still hurt, how someone—anyone—could be so cruel and callous about his parents’ deaths and his grief. Matthew turned the page over and continued reading.
And, a fortnight ago, I pounced.
Finally, he kissed me. You might recall that R.B. gave me lessons in kissing two years ago, so I performed exactly as required so the duke would instantly be besotted. And he was!
I then displayed utter horror that he’d compromised my purity with such a lascivious thrusting of tongues, and he was so apologetic, I had to cover my laughter. The simple boy immediately decided we were in love. Within a week, he suggested we take his carriage to Scotland so we might marry right away. Of course, I agreed! Tomorrow, we will be on our way, me and my dimwitted duke.
I have officially ensnared a duke of my very own. The next time we meet, dear Ann, I shall be a duchess.
Fanny (soon-to-be) Leighton, (soon-to-be) the Duchess of Crestmont
Matthew smoothed his hand over the crinkled stationery. He’d read the letter often over the years, lecturing himself never to get caught up in a woman again, never to fall in love. This letter reminded him that falling in love was folly, something only ignorant, childish boys did. Falling in love meant that one wasn’t thinking straight, had lost all sense of rationality and logic. Falling in love meant that you were the weakling, the prey. The mouse.
In the years since, he’d allowed this letter—and his uncle’s lashing words—to define the rules by which he’d lived.
His rules were rubbish.
He’d observed plenty of happy, fulfilling marriages. He’d known loving couples who weren’t weak, nor were they irrational or stupid or immature. The couples Jo had matched.His parents.
His beloved parents, who’d loved each other beyond measure. His father, who’d been so devoted to his mother that his peers looked at him askance, and his mother, who was proud and strong and proclaimed the Duke of Crestmont the best husband in the world. They’d stood stoutly beside each other through thick and thin, giving each other secret smiles as others rolled their eyes and tittered at them behind their backs.
They’d modeled a loving marriage to Matthew, but because he’d failed dramatically on his first impulsive, reckless attempt to have what they’d had, he’d given up on having it at all.
And now, he’d fallen in love once again.
He hadn’t connected the word to his feelings for the woman until this moment. Until he stared down at Fanny Fleming’s letter declaring him silly and malleable. He might have been those things then, but he wasn’t now. He wasn’t irrational or ignorant, either. Nor was he weak. In fact, he felt stronger than he had in a very long while—maybe ever.
He adored Joanna Porter.
She was perfect for him. She was beautiful and kind and intelligent and strong. Helovedher.
Damn it, he wanted to take her rowing.
Uncle George’s arrival had made him remember the reasons he didn’t believe in love, but it also made him, for the first time ever after that fateful trip to Gretna Green, reject them.
He thought of Jameson asking, “Why not?” when Matthew had sputtered that he couldn’t marry Jo, and how he had thrown out two paltry excuses at his friend. She wasn’t an earl’s niece. She worked for a living.
How stupid. Was he really, truly ready to sacrifice his one true chance at love because Jo wasn’t related to someone with a title? Or because she was a matchmaker? Hell, if she weren’t a matchmaker, he never would have met her. If she weren’t a matchmaker, he never would haveknownher. Part of what he adored about her was the fact that shewasa matchmaker.
The truth was, Jo had been tucked in a special compartment in Matthew’s heart, while his future marriage had been in a completely sterile, separate compartment that resided in his mind.
What if it was possible to merge those compartments?
