As it turned out, his door was open, a secretary scurrying out like a chastised dog.
Hero took a deep breath and entered the room.
Maximus was in his shirtsleeves, bent over a desk, writing something. Three other men stood in the room, including Craven, Maximus’s long-time valet. Craven was tall and thin and looked more like a coffin-maker than a valet, dressed as he was all in black.
He saw her and Cousin Bathilda and turned to Maximus. “Your Grace.”
Maximus looked up and met Hero’s gaze.
“Leave us,” he said to the servants.
Craven ushered the other men from the room, closing the door behind him.
Maximus stood and crossed to her. He stared down into her face, his own curiously blank.
Then he touched a finger to her aching cheek. “He’ll die for this.”
She wasn’t sure which “he” Maximus referred to, but it hardly mattered. “No, he won’t.”
He frowned and half turned toward his desk again. “I’ve already sent my seconds to Reading. The matter is settled.”
Cousin Bathilda drew in her breath and moaned softly.
Hero caught his arm. “Then call them back.”
He raised his eyebrows. Maximus was a duke, after all. No one talked to him thusly, not even she.
But this was life or death.
“I don’t want a duel,” she told him, holding his eyes firmly. “I don’t want any more violence, and I certainly don’t want a death.”
“It does not concern you.”
“It most certainly does!” she said. “I am the one responsible for Mandeville’s rage. I am the one who chose to give away my virtue and cause this problem.”
He shook his head. “Hero—”
“No, listen,” she said low. “I am ashamed of what I’ve done, but I will not let shame make me hide from the consequences. Call back your seconds, Maximus. Don’t fight a duel that will ruin you on my behalf. I don’t think I could bear to live with that.”
He gazed at her silently for a moment, then crossed to the door and cracked it open. Craven must still have been waiting outside, because Maximus held a murmured conversation before closing the door again and coming back to her.
“I do this for you,” he said. “Only for you, and I do not promise that I will not pursue a duel at a later date if I feel this matter is not adequately settled.”
Hero swallowed. It was a great concession, even if it was only a partial one. “Thank you.”
“Thank God!” Cousin Bathilda pronounced, and plopped into a chair.
Maximus nodded and crossed to the desk. “Now, we must settle how soon you can marry Mandeville. I’ve no doubt the servants will have started gossiping over this morning’s affair already.”
Alarm climbed Hero’s spine. “Maximus—”
He frowned down at the papers on his desk. “No doubt he’s upset about your liaison with his brother, but I think he will come around when he has a chance to think. The marriage settlement was very much to his liking, after all.”
“Maximus!” she repeated a little desperately.
Her brother looked up, frowning.
Hero lifted her chin. “I’m not marrying Mandeville.”
“Do you want me to arrest Lord Reading?”
She swallowed. “No.”
He looked at her a moment and then glanced down again at his papers as if her feelings hardly mattered. “Then you’ll marry the Marquess of Mandeville.”
His flat tone sent a chill down her spine. She knew that voice: It was the voice of the Duke of Wakefield.
And the Duke of Wakefield did not change his course once set.
Chapter Fifteen
That night the queen summoned her suitors to her throne room to hear what their answers might be.
Prince Westmoon came forward and unfurled a magnificent flag at her feet. On it was the emblem of her kingdom along with an embroidered castle. “This castle,” he said, “is the heart of your kingdom, Your Majesty.”
Next, Prince Northwind unveiled a silver compass, cleverly inlaid with mother-of-pearl and coral. “The harbor, Your Majesty. That is the heart of your kingdom.”
Finally, Prince Eastsun laid before her a sparkling crystal globe that held a miniature town at its center. “The city is the heart of your kingdom, Your Majesty….”
—from Queen Ravenhair
The Duke of Wakefield was not an easy man with whom to procure an audience.
Griffin had spent half the afternoon cooling his heels in first one sitting room and then another at Wakefield House. Presumably he was moving closer to the great man, but at the rate he was going, it would be well past Christmas before he got there.
Which was why he was striding down a long and formidably elegant hallway in search of His Grace’s study. He had no doubt that the man didn’t want to see the seducer of his sister—and a gin distiller to boot—but that was just too bad. His and Hero’s future depended on this meeting.