What a Duke Dares

Chapter Fourteen

I won’t marry you, Cam.” In the three days since the shipwreck, Pen felt like she’d repeated those words a thousand times.

She stared uncompromisingly across the small parlor that linked their bedrooms at the Leaping Mackerel. Cam lounged against the windowsill, the mullioned window open to the busy street below and the salt-laden breeze ruffling his thick dark hair. Morning light shone on him, as though heaven itself informed the unworthy Miss Thorne that this man was completely out of her sphere.

He still looked like a pirate, although a better dressed one than the drenched ruffian fished from the Channel. Cam had managed to borrow some clothes that almost fitted, but Pen still got a surprise whenever she caught sight of the elegant Duke of Sedgemoor wearing the rough shirt and trousers. Strangely the cheap clothing made him look even more aristocratic. She’d never been so aware that he was born to be a duke.

At a disadvantage sitting, Pen rose from the table where she’d been reading last week’s London papers. She had a nasty feeling that Sedgemoor’s shipwreck and mysterious bride featured in more recent editions.

Cam had just come in from checking on Oates, the injured crewman. Captain MacGregor and Williams had left yesterday. Tragically this morning they’d received news of the missing men’s bodies washing up further south.

“The world believes we’re married,” Cam responded implacably. He must be as sick of this subject as she was. But gentlemen accepted the consequences of their actions. Not for the first time, Pen wished she’d been shipwrecked with a man of fewer principles.

She squared her shoulders, sensing the difference in Cam. She’d seen his face when he learned about the two dead sailors. She’d read guilt, anger, regret—and ominously for her, immovable determination. They had no further reason to linger in Ramsgate. They were both close to recovered, barring a few bruises. He knew this was his last chance to convince her to marry him.

“Nobody has identified me. A glower down that long nose will quash any impertinent questions. You can blame the misunderstanding on the chaos after the wreck. The world will shrug its shoulders and assume that you traveled with a mistress. A small scandal. A diamond or two will smooth Lady Marianne’s feathers. No harm done.”

He slumped on the windowsill, looking uncharacteristically defeated. “But harm is done, Pen. You’re ingenuous to suggest otherwise.”

“It will be a five-minute wonder at best,” she said desperately, because somewhere at the back of her mind, a voice insisted that he was right.

“You forget that I’m a child of scandal.” She hated when Cam looked at her as though he needed her help. “Now I’m caught in a compromising situation, all the old stories will resurface.” His eyes sharpened on her. “And if you imagine your role will remain secret, you underestimate the press. You forget we were seen together near Genoa.”

“When I’m back in Italy, tattle in England won’t bother me.”

“I’m staying here and it will bother me. The world wants me to prove myself as rackety as my forebears. Do you mean to throw me to the wolves, Pen?”

She whirled away to escape his grave regard. To gain her cooperation, Cam played upon her guilt. When he’d proposed a marriage to save her from ruin, she’d stubbornly resisted. With her father’s indiscriminate womanizing and Peter’s extravagance, there was already scandal aplenty in the Thornes. More, while unwelcome, wouldn’t make much difference, especially as Pen had no intention of marrying.

Now Cam deployed his final weapon—their long friendship. Despite his words, she knew he wasn’t selfishly concerned for himself. Although he should be. After his struggle to restore pride to the Rothermere name, he’d now undergo trial by gossip.

He was a manipulative devil to enlist her conscience against her. Fathoming his game made his tactic no less effective. She hated to think of Cam suffering because of her actions. He’d hurt and infuriated her when he’d asked her to become his mistress. Remembering that scene before the shipwreck, she was still hurt—and restless and embarrassed and wickedly curious about what might have happened.

“That’s not fair, Cam.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked softly.

The room fell so quiet that she heard a mother scolding her child on the street below and the creak of boats moored in the harbor. Still she refused to answer. Knowing that if she did, she was lost.

When she was nineteen, she’d fought this agonizing battle. If anything, her reasons for saying no to everything her heart desired were stronger now. Except that Cam didn’t offer everything her heart desired. Whatever passion they mustered between them, there would be a coldness at the center of this marriage arranged purely to appease public opinion.

Pen couldn’t live with Cam day after day hungering for his love. She’d seen her mother become a bitter harridan through yearning after a man who didn’t return her affection once the first reckless rapture had passed. It was a terrifying example of the price of unrequited love.

With a grim sense of inevitability, she heard Cam padding toward her. Even in borrowed boots, he still moved like a cat.

“Pen, look at me.”

“No.” It was childish, but she couldn’t bear that concerned stare, as if he only pursued her best interests.

“If you won’t look at me, will you at least listen?”

“I don’t want to.” More childishness.

“I won’t give up. I won’t have the world calling you vile names.”

That had her turning. “You could convince a spider to weave you a shirt, but you won’t change my mind.”

“At least you’re looking at me,” he said calmly.

“I won’t marry you.”

“So you’ll let me become a public laughingstock?”

Oh, he was cruel. Her throat felt dry and tight. “That won’t happen.”

“If not a laughingstock, then a byword for villainy. A man who ruins a childhood friend and abandons her to face her disgrace alone.”

“Nobody who knows you will believe that.”

A muscle flickered in his cheek. She couldn’t doubt how deeply he wanted to save her, even at the sacrifice of all his hopes for a different life. “But it’s true.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“No, I’m not. Your reputation will be in shreds. And it’s my fault.”

His remorse on her behalf stripped another layer from her defenses. She felt like she waged a losing rearguard action. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

His level stare stirred unwelcome memories of their kisses. “Not for want of trying.”

Mortifying heat rose in her cheeks even as her temper stirred. “If you recall, that encounter was an absolute shambles. Instead of proposing marriage, any sane man would run for the hills.”

“You were right to hit me.” She supposed that was the closest he’d come to an apology. “Pardon my frankness, but there was no lack of heat between us.”

“That’s no basis for marriage,” she snapped and caught a flash of satisfaction in his eyes at her unwitting admission.

How could she marry him, loving him and knowing that he’d never love her? He hadn’t changed from that young man who had dismissed love so contemptuously in her hearing. She just needed to remember his reaction when she’d asked if he loved Lady Marianne to recognize that Camden Rothermere was as set against love as he’d ever been.

Pen was a passionate creature who when she cared, cared wholeheartedly. A lifetime pining after an unattainable man who remained a hand’s reach away would destroy her. She’d be like a dog choking on a chain too short to reach the water bowl.

“It’s a start.” He stepped closer, making her aware of his height and strength. His evocative scent filled her nostrils. “Desire is on our side.”

“Desire is on your side,” she corrected sharply. “I’m trying to be sensible.”

The affection in his smile knocked a few more bricks off the walls of her refusal. “No, you’re trying to be obstinate.”

Oh, dear God, she was so susceptible. The slightest warmth from Cam and she wanted to curl up at his feet and beg for his love. That humiliating image made her scowl down her nose in her best imitation of his imperious glare. “I refuse to marry a man who won’t take me seriously.”

To her complete astonishment, he burst out laughing. “My sweet Pen, I take you as seriously as an epidemic.”

She didn’t smile. “Charming.”

The time he took to sober didn’t advance his cause. “Fate seems set on us marrying. Nine years ago, you escaped. You won’t escape now.”

“This isn’t cosmic destinies colliding. It’s you wanting your own way,” she said sourly.

She understood that he found her implacable opposition puzzling. After those torrid moments in the cabin, he knew she wanted him. He could cope with desire. Her love would horrify him. If she could suffer his pity, she supposed she could confess her feelings to drive him away. But she and Cam were both proud beyond bearing. His pity would be the last straw.

“We have more than physical attraction.”

“What? Childhood memories?”

“Yes,” he said steadily. “You know me so well, despite our long separation. I think we’ll go along very well together. Producing an heir won’t be a hardship.” He paused. “And you don’t expect any lovesick romantic nonsense from me, which will give us a good start. I like you, Pen. I always have. I distinctly remember telling you that I liked you better than any girl I knew.”

Oh, heaven lend her strength. She supposed he meant to flatter her. To her, the lukewarm declaration twisted a knife in an open wound. How he’d cringe if he knew that “romantic nonsense” powered her every breath. “That was nine years ago.”

“You remember?”

She remembered everything he’d ever said to her. That was just another curse of this futile, painful love. “I remember you wanted a conformable wife.”

His laugh was wry. Long ago, she’d recognized that he didn’t laugh enough, weighed down even as a boy with old scandal, an unhappy family, and an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. The overdeveloped sense of responsibility hadn’t faded. Why else would he be so set on marrying her?

“I know when I’m beaten. Conformable is no longer part of the deal.”

A wave of her hand dismissed his response. “Cam, you talk about the Rothermere scandals. What about the Thornes? We’ve become more ramshackle with every year since you proposed, and we were no shining example of respectability even then. My father ruined himself chasing whores. Aunt Isabel was decidedly eccentric. Peter died in penury. From what I gather, Harry plays the rake. I can’t imagine the ton approves of my junketing.” Even though the words pierced like darts, she forced herself to say them. “Far better you weather the gossip and make your peace with Lady Marianne. You need a duchess to enhance your name, who meets general approval, who fits the neat, useful, proper life you want.”

This description left him less than delighted. “How dull I sound.”

Her fight drained away. Instead she felt deathly weary, as though she’d walked twenty miles in ill-fitting shoes and found no welcome at journey’s end. “Not dull, Cam, just not for me.” In so many ways that she could never explain. “Confess everything to Lady Marianne. If she’s the woman you think she is, she’ll stand by you. Marry your perfect bride and forget me.”

“No,” he said stubbornly. “We must marry.”

“Don’t you like Lady Marianne?” It hurt to say the woman’s name. Pen wondered if she’d ever overcome the excruciating wrench of knowing that Lady Marianne would be with him every day; she’d bear his children, she’d accompany him into old age.

“Of course I like Marianne. She’s a paragon.”

Naturally. If Pen married Cam, she’d always know she was his second-best bride. “I’ll never be a paragon, even if you sacrifice your happiness to save me from social ruin.”

His expression hardened. “I’m not saving you from social ruin, I’m saving myself. Everything I’ve worked for since I was a boy will turn to dust if I don’t make this right. I beg of you, Pen, marry me. Only you can rescue me.”

Oh, the villain, the scoundrel, the cad. At this moment, she hated him.

She stared at him, telling herself she wouldn’t cry. “Cam, it’s mean to play upon old obligations.”

He shrugged. “You’re my only hope of emerging with my reputation intact. A man with one hope doesn’t surrender lightly.”

She backed away as if distance would bolster her resistance. “You’re inviting years of misery.”

The tension eased from his face, leaving him somber but adamant. “I’ll live with that.”

“I’m not sure I can.”

He paled and she was shocked to see that she hurt him. “I’ll do my best to make you happy, Pen.”

In a low, trembling voice, she repeated, “It’s not enough.”

He didn’t pursue her. He didn’t have to. He knew he’d won. “It must be.”

Well, that was an epitaph for a marriage if she ever heard one. Harshly, because the grief ahead loomed like jagged mountains, she asked, “Even if we marry, I don’t see how we’ll avoid scandal.”

“That’s easy.”

His confidence didn’t soothe the dread stamping around inside her stomach. “It always is for you.”

He winced at her jibe. “Not always. You’ve made me wait nearly ten years.”

“Don’t count your chickens,” she said sharply, although they both recognized that she argued for pride’s sake. “While the world thinks we’re married, we’re not. If anyone learns the truth, our children will be exposed as bastards.”

The thought of creating those children made her sick with apprehension, although this marriage could never have been a chaste arrangement. Cam needed an heir. Given the gossip about his birth, he’d countenance no doubts about that heir’s legitimacy.

But how could she lie in his arms and know that duty alone brought him there? How could she lie in his arms and pretend mere liking when every beat of her heart echoed his name?

“Credit me with some sense,” he said equally sharply. “We’ll say we fell madly in love in Italy and married in a Roman Catholic ceremony in some obscure village because we couldn’t bear to wait.”

“How romantic,” she said flatly.

He ignored her interjection. “We’ll arrange a quiet ceremony at Fentonwyck to confirm our marriage under English law. You’re in mourning for Peter so nobody will question a quick, private wedding.”

“That’s… interesting.” Actually it was brilliant. If Cam wasn’t playing skittles with her life, she might applaud. “The sticklers will question the validity of the Continental ceremony.”

He shrugged. “Most people will accept our story, especially once our first child arrives.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Just how many children are you planning, Your Grace?”

Mockery curled his lips. “The prospect of fatherhood makes me feel quite dynastic.”

“It makes me feel ill,” she snapped.

The amusement drained from his eyes and he regarded her searchingly. “Pen, I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you want. If I hadn’t barged into your life, you’d still be free.”

Pen straightened her spine and staunchly told herself that she could endure a future with Cam. Perhaps marriage wouldn’t be too bad. Many ton couples lived separate lives. Surely once Cam had got her with child, he’d pursue other interests.

Oh, damn, she didn’t want to think about those interests. He’d take a mistress and she couldn’t insist otherwise. This wasn’t a love match and she had no claim on his emotions or fidelity. This was a marriage of convenience. A business contract.

Dear Lord, if she didn’t stop, she’d be sniveling like a lost puppy.

Courage, Pen.

But as she stared down the empty years ahead, she wanted to scream and cry and insist that it wasn’t fair. “It’s not your fault the ship sank. It’s not even your fault that Peter asked for your help.”

Cam’s gaze was wary. “That’s remarkably reasonable of you.”

The smile she summoned felt like a rictus grin. She had the sensation of entering a long, dark tunnel. “You’ve chosen a remarkably reasonable duchess, Cam. I hope you appreciate her as she deserves.”