And sharing the wealth with her brother.
“Let me see the edict,” Baxter heard himself say.
Stiffly, Trenton extended his arm, clearly unwilling to take even one compromising step in Baxter’s direction.
Ignoring the blatant insult, Baxter strode over and seized the paper, wondering how Trenton had managed to gain Her Majesty’s cooperation. Despite her fondness for the Kingsley family, Victoria had never interfered on their behalf. At least until now.
Suspiciously, Baxter studied the mandate to make certain it was what Kingsley claimed it to be. But the decree was genuine, the Queen’s signature authentic.
Baxter raised compassionate eyes to Ariana. “I’m sorry, sprite.” He winced at her agonized expression. “There’s nothing I can do.” He ignored the triumph on Trenton’s face, reminding himself that it was temporary.
Ariana’s eyes filled with tears. “This is barbaric!”
“My lady.” Undetected, Theresa had descended the stairs. Now she took Ariana’s arm gently. “You are overwrought. Come. I’ll take you to your room.”
“It’s settled, then,” Trenton concluded, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “The wedding will take place on August 5th. The reception will be held at Broddington. Hundreds of guests will attend to see the Viscount Winsham’s little sister become the Duchess of Broddington.”
Ariana stared at him, numb with increasing rage and shock. “I hate you,” she said in a fierce whisper.
His lips twisted into a cynical smile. “Do you, misty angel? Well, I look forward to seeing how much.”
CHAPTER
5
ARIANA WAS DRAINED.
Pushing herself into a sitting position, she blinked at the small walnut clock on her nightstand. Three o’clock … more than two hours since she’d fled to the sanctuary of her four-poster bed. Her tears had long since dried, her resistance dwindled to despair. She had to face her dilemma … alone.
For the first time in her life Ariana had refused both Theresa’s comfort and company, dismissing her the instant they reached the bedroom door. Overcome with emotion, she’d then flung herself across the bed, sobbing violently into her pillow. Shock, outrage, hurt, humiliation: all the emotions she had anticipated and held at bay poured out in a rush. She wept for the act of vengeance that had decided her fate, for her helplessness to alter the outcome, for Baxter’s indifference to her plight. She wept for every reason she had expected to weep.
Harder still for the one she hadn’t expected.
She could deny it no longer: She was drawn to Trenton Kingsley.
Pondering the silent admission, Ariana’s hands balled into fists of self-loathing, pressing heavily into the soft feather pillow. How could she? cried her conscience, immediately providing her with every heinous act the man had committed.
But she was.
She could label it curiosity, fascination, bewilderment; but whatever name she gave it, the pull was there. She felt it. Worse still, so did he.
Her traitorous heart thudded as she recalled the explicit, knowing look in the duke’s probing eyes. She might be a total innocent when it came to men, but her body understood his message nonetheless—and responded with a will of its own, caring nothing for the dictates of her conscience.
Coupled with her disturbing physical reaction was the small but insistent voice of some deeply submerged instinct, which refused to be silenced, negating all the evidence her reason presented, reminding her instead of the glimpses of compassion she’d seen beyond the duke’s iron mask, both today and when he’d rescued her from the Covington maze.
And yet the final emotion she’d seen gleaming in his eyes just before she’d fled was vengeance and triumph, telling her that she was no more than a pawn in some sick attempt at retribution.
Or was it resurrection?
Was it Vanessa the duke saw when he scrutinized Ariana so thoroughly? Did he wish it were Vanessa he was punishing, breaking …
Possessing as his wife?
If all the stories Baxter had told Ariana were true, it was irrational jealousy over Vanessa that had driven Trenton Kingsley to madness, to torment … to murder.
Ariana shuddered at the thought.
For two hours her conflicting impulses warred, tearing her apart. Numbness was her body’s method of self-protection, her message that she could no longer sustain this heightened level of emotional turmoil. Besides, the issue was a moot one. No matter which emerged victorious—be it her reason, her conscience, her instincts, or her attraction—the end result was the same. The Queen had issued a decree. So, like it or not, on the 5th of August, Ariana would become Mrs. Trenton Kingsley.
The bedroom door eased open, and then closed just as quietly. “You’re ready for me now, my lady.” It was a statement, rather than a question, and Theresa crossed the room to sit beside Ariana on the bed.
Ariana turned slowly to face her. “You knew.”
“Yes.” Theresa smoothed tousled wisps of coppery hair from Ariana’s flushed cheeks. “You’ve been alone long enough. I knew you were ready to share your thoughts with me.”
“That’s not what I meant.” This time Ariana was giving her friend no quarter. “You knew about the Queen’s edict.”
Theresa paused. “No.”
“But you knew Trenton Kingsley was her messenger?”
“I knew he was your future.”
Ariana gripped Theresa’s hands. “But you told me yourself he was a murderer!”
“No,” Theresa countered again. “I only said that it appeared that way. And that appearances—”
“Are often wrong,” Ariana finished for her. “He didn’t kill Vanessa?”
“I wasn’t there that night, my lady.” Theresa’s fingers tightened around Ariana’s. “What do you think?”
Their eyes met.
“I think and feel too many things to recount,” Ariana whispered. “Anger, betrayal, hurt, humiliation …” A small pause.
“Attraction?”
“Yes.”
“And fear?”
Ariana blinked. Trenton had asked that very question of her in the maze, and her answer had surprised them both. Regardless, it had been true then; it was true now. She looked Theresa squarely in the eye. “Fear? No. The duke has made no move to hurt me.”
“One could argue that marriage to a murderer would incite fear,” Theresa pointed out. “And yet you feel none. Does that not tell you something?”
“That I am a fool?”
“That you doubt the duke’s guilt.”
“I don’t know if I doubt his guilt. … I simply see another side of him.”
“There are many sides to a man, just as there are many sides to a story. Each of them is part truth and part illusion. It is up to us to discern the difference.”
Ariana absorbed Theresa’s words quietly. “You’re talking about more than Trenton Kingsley’s character now. You’re talking about his involvement in Vanessa’s death.”
“Am I?”
“But I’ve heard the story a thousand times, Theresa. From Baxter, yes, but also from hushed conversations among the servants, an occasional slip from Baxter’s colleagues—”
“And from the duke?” Theresa interrupted.
Ariana’s brows rose. “Of course not.”
“Hmmm,” Theresa murmured thoughtfully. “Since Trenton Kingsley is directly involved in these ‘details’ you’ve heard, isn’t it sensible that he should be allowed his say?”
“He chose not to say anything. Instead, he made his guilt clear by running away.”
“Did he?” Theresa asked wisely. “Was that guilt that compelled him to go? Or was it injustice?”
“I don’t know.” New tears sprang to Ariana’s eyes and trickled down her cheeks. “I’m so confused. Just as I have been ever since the night I met Trenton Kingsley. Please, Theresa, help me.”
Theresa gathered Ariana close, stroking her hair with a gentle hand. “As Sir Francis said, ‘If a man will begin w
ith certainties, he shall end in doubts; but if he will be content to begin with doubts, he shall end in certainties.’ Some things must be left to fate, my lady. And fate presents many questions before she supplies the answers. Your course, as I see it, is clear. You cannot disobey Queen Victoria’s mandate, so you must marry Trenton Kingsley. After that, time will clarify your future.”
Ariana rested her cheek against Theresa’s narrow, capable shoulder, another nagging thought intruding in the wake of conflict and resignation. “The duke said the wedding would be held at Broddington. Yet from what Baxter has told me, Broddington has been deserted since … then.”
Theresa nodded. “It has. Other than an occasional visit from the Marquis of Tyreham, the estate has been unoccupied for six years.”
Ariana sat up. “The Marquis of Tyreham?”
“Dustin Kingsley. Your betrothed’s …“—Theresa used the term gently, yet with enough emphasis to accustom Ariana to the notion—“younger brother.”
“I’ve heard no mention of the marquis.” Ariana ignored Theresa’s pointed reference, her interest captured by this new and unexpected development.
“Your brother is not in the habit of discussing the Kingsley family, pet,” Theresa reminded her. “The marquis is two years his brother’s junior, a kind and personable gentleman. You will enjoy his company immensely … as he will yours.”
Ariana opened her mouth to ask Theresa how she knew this, then closed it with a snap. If Theresa stated something as fact, then fact it was.
“What makes the duke believe that hundreds of guests will attend this wedding?” she asked instead. “He is despised by many, feared by most, and shunned by all. Why would anyone wish to appear at this mockery of a ceremony?”
“Many reasons, my lady.” Theresa’s shrug was matter-of-fact. “Curiosity. Gossip. Human nature is astounding; the idea of resurrecting an old scandal is an enticement few can resist. And then, of course, there are those who will attend for the right reasons. Respect for the Kingsley name. Regard for the late duke. Faith in the present one.”
Theresa’s implication sank deeply into Ariana’s mind. “You believe in him,” she said slowly, studying her maid’s unreadable expression.
“In this case, what I believe doesn’t matter.” Theresa lifted a corner of her apron to wipe tears from Ariana’s cheeks. “It is what you believe that counts. And only time … and your future husband … can provide you with the truth. Not I.”
Ariana stiffened abruptly. “You’ll come with me,” she pleaded, desperation in her voice. “You won’t leave me.”
Theresa’s wrinkled face creased into a smile. “Have I ever left you, my lady?”
Ariana shook her head. “But what if the duke refuses to allow it?”
“He has already agreed to my accompanying you to Broddington. My things will be sent along with yours.”
Ariana stared. “You’ve spoken with him about this?”
“Of course I have!” Theresa’s reply was brisk. “Just after I took you to your room. How else could I make my plans?”
“What did he say?”
“He said yes.”
“No, I mean what else did he say?” Ariana pressed.
Theresa folded her hands primly in her lap. “He was pleased I would be accompanying you. He said that it would make your new role less painful to accept.”
“Painful?” Ariana’s face drained of color. “Theresa, I retract my earlier statement: I am afraid.”
Now Theresa did look surprised. “He will never raise a hand to you, my lady.”
Ariana licked her lips, shaking her head emphatically. “I know that. That’s not what I meant. It just occurred to me … that is, I only just realized …”
“Ah, your wedding night.”
“My wedding night.” Ariana repeated the words slowly, stunned by the ambivalent feelings they aroused. She did have some idea of what to expect. Along with Winsham’s brightly colored gardens, her favorite refuge was the stables. And, having spent half her waking hours among dogs, horses, and chickens, she’d certainly seen animals mate. “Do people follow the same procedure as animals?” she blurted out, then blushed at her own outrageous question.
Theresa didn’t flinch. “More or less. With one addition: If they choose, people can mate with their hearts as well as their bodies.”
Ariana tried to imagine that sort of intimacy and her flush deepened. Could she actually do that with him?
Calmly, as if they were discussing the weather, Theresa continued, counting off on her fingers. “We’ve established the fact that the duke appeals to you. Physically, that is. We’ve also concluded that he does not intend to hurt you. So what is it you fear?”
“I’m not sure. It’s just that I don’t know how to … I’ve never …”
“He does and he has.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Ariana shifted uncomfortably. “I really should be repelled by the idea or, at the very least, opposed to it,” she reasoned aloud. “Which I am, of course,” she was quick to add.
“Of course.”
Ariana was too caught up in her worry to pick up on the hint of amusement in Theresa’s tone. “But, if I am to be totally honest, I have to admit that I also feel … well, curious.”
“And that surprises you?” Theresa’s eyes twinkled. “The duke is a very handsome, compelling man. He is obviously drawn to you as you are to him. The rest will come naturally.”
“You make it sound so simple.” Ariana sighed. “But what if he really is dangerous?”
“As I’ve said before, I’ve never known your instincts to betray you. Heed them well, my lady.”
Ariana squeezed her eyes shut, picturing the bitter, enigmatic man who would soon be her husband. “God help me if my instincts are wrong,” she whispered.
Baxter tossed off the last of his drink and lowered the empty glass to his desk with a triumphant thud. So Kingsley thought he had won, did he? He would soon learn otherwise.
Reflecting on the countless times in the last fourteen years Trenton Kingsley had bested him, Baxter’s mouth twisted sardonically. Their long and disagreeable history had started in 1859, when they were both still in their teens. Baxter’s parents had just died, leaving him guardian of his sisters and overseer of Winsham, while Richard Kingsley’s deteriorating health had forced Trenton to assume the running of the Kingsley estates and numerous family businesses.
They met in London through a mutual business associate and, though never friends, they had, at first, felt a grudging respect for each other.
The respect had rapidly dissipated.
Their first business clash should have served as an omen to Baxter of what lay ahead, the defeats he would suffer at Kingsley’s hands. Outbidding Baxter for a minor ownership stake in Bryant’s and May’s small manufacturing firm in Tooley Street, Trenton saw his investment multiply tenfold in value when the company, utilizing Kingsley funds, developed an award-winning line of revolutionary safety matches.
Trenton prospered and Baxter seethed.
After that, it seemed their paths crossed constantly; every venture Baxter pursued found Trenton one step ahead, every bloody wager they placed Trenton won, every woman Baxter coveted preferred Trenton’s bed.
The bastard’s luck never seemed to run out.
Even with Vanessa.
Baxter lowered his head, determined to submerge memories long since buried away. What was done was done. Vanessa was gone, and no amount of vengeance could bring her back. All thanks to Trenton Kingsley. He’d robbed Baxter of everything: his dignity, his money, his sister.
All but Ariana.
And now he thought to strip Baxter of her as well, to emerge the victor once again?
Not this time.
Baxter pressed his clenched fists to the desk, evaluating the implications of the day’s startling event. A royal edict commanding Ariana to become the Duchess of Broddington. He still couldn’t get over that interesting twist of fate. He had planned to use Ariana??
?s beauty to attract a husband, one whose wealth would be sufficient to recoup his losses. At the same time, he had yearned to punish Kingsley for his final ruinous act: severing Baxter’s betrothal to Suzanne Covington and leaving the Caldwells destitute. And here fate had presented Baxter with the perfect opportunity to combine both his fondest wishes into one ultimate revenge.
Ariana might become Trenton’s by law, but, ceremony or not, she would always be a Caldwell. Baxter could count on that. Yes, he would have his money … and Trenton Kingsley would be the one to restore it to him.
A fitting finale for a vehement enmity.
Baxter’s thoughts were interrupted by a quiet knock.
“Yes?”
Ariana opened the door and entered. “Baxter … we need to talk.”
A slice of guilt cut through him at the sight of her wet, spiky lashes and flushed cheeks. He forced the feeling away. “Of course, sprite. Come in.”
Ariana crossed the room and stood before her brother, raising her chin to see his face, mincing no words. “Tell me again about Vanessa’s death.”
A dark cloud crossed Baxter’s face and, abruptly, he turned away.
“Please, Baxter … I need to know.”
“You already know everything,” he replied, his head down. “I’ve recounted that hateful day dozens of times. There is nothing left to say on the subject.”
“I’m being forced to marry the man you believe killed our sister!” Ariana burst out. “Of course there is more to say!”
Baxter kept his back to her. “There was no proof of Kingsley’s guilt,” he said evenly, staring intently at the oriental rug. “Besides, Vanessa’s … accident happened six years ago. It has nothing to do with your marriage. You’re quite safe, sprite, believe me.”
Ariana crushed the folds of her gown between trembling fingers. “Is there truly nothing you can do to prevent this marriage? Or merely nothing you wish to do?”
Baxter swerved to face her, his brows arched in surprise. “You’ve changed, little one. You never used to be so outspoken.”