Authors: Stephanie Stevens
T
iffany quickly entered the dark foyer, hoping to avoid Clinton, who was detained with his manservant by the carriage. She did not wish to endure his presence after the journey from London one moment longer. She paused a second, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the foyer light. She headed toward the stairs, intending to find refuge in her room. She needed to gather her wits about her and sort out her thoughts. She needed time to figure a way out of this mess.
She placed her foot on the staircase, but was stopped by her father's voice.
"Satisfied, daughter?"
At the sound of his sarcastic comment, Tiffany turned to face him as he stood near the study door. Looking at his chiseled cold features, she wondered how she could have ever yearned for this cold man's love.
"I asked you,
daughter,
are you quite satisfied?" Without waiting for a reply, William continued, his mouth set in a grim line; his brown eyes like hard pebbles scanned the doorway as if looking for something before resting on her. "You should be ashamed of yourself, daughter. You've ruined a very decent and profitable marriage offer." Moving slowly toward her, he taunted, "As well as dashing any hope of future ones!"
Tiffany stood ramrod-stiff, regarding her father's ap-148
proaching figure, hearing the accusations as his voice stabbed the air. "You have once again dragged the Courtland name through the mud, sullying it with your shenanigans!"
His cold eyes pinned Tiffany; she was unable to move, unable to speak. "I have given you everything! All the creature comforts, a home, servants to answer your every whim, a
name
with the blood of generations of breeding, and a fortune making you an heiress in your own right. And what have you done? Brought disgrace to my doorstep. You have gone too far,
daughter!"
He screamed the last words at her.
Tiffany, rage welling inside, shouted at him, "How dare you!" Her blue eyes, dark and stormy with anger, stared at him. She stepped off the tread, walking to close the distance between them, her hands curled into tiny fists at her sides, and with scalding fury screamed, "Daughter, is it? Wouldn't chattel be more appropriate,
Father?"
Standing a breath from him, she screamed with anger and hurt, "Chattel is what I am! To be either protected or cast aside, according to your whim." Shaking her head, her raven tresses flying about her shoulders, she continued relentlessly, "Nay,
Father,
I am many things to you: a stone about your neck, a troublesome bit of baggage, but never have I been a daughter to you!"
A hysterical laugh escaped her lips. "Given me everything; I guess you would think so. Why, you've given your name, your home, but never your love. We are father and daughter because of the blood which runs in our veins, for there is nothing more between us than that. I have been an outsider in your heart, an intrusion into your neatly arranged life." Tears of hurt, anger, welled and burned in her eyes when she spoke. "A real father does not take away all that is held dear as you've done. A father does not sell his daughter as you've done!" Tiffany screamed the last words at him.
William grabbed her arm, dragging her to the study, shouting at her, "Enough, girl! I'll not have such distasteful scenes in the presence of the servants. Have you no decency?"
Inside the study, Tiffany struggled, freeing herself. Her blue eyes blazing with anger, she faced him and spat, "Decency! I am done with your sense of decency. Your decency has torn me from my home, my horse, and now from the man I love. Your sense of decency has caused me nothing but pain and anguish, and now you have arranged a marriage I want not and you had not even the decency to consult me." Sarcasm etched her trembling voice. "I am ever grateful, sir, I have not your sense of decency."
"You will cease
now!"
William said sharply. "Stop this foolish ranting." Pointing a finger at her, his eyes narrow and hard, he continued, "Your future is and always has been in my hands. Your duty is to marry to suit your family. And now that you have ruined it, I am stuck again with what to do with you."
"Do with me?" she cried increduously. "Whatever is left for you to do that you haven't already done? Nay! I'll not allow you to dictate to me any longer."
Standing tall, cold, and proud, she spoke. "I no longer wish to live on your bounty, under your roof or thumb. I shall seek another place to call home. I shall find a position where I can earn my keep." At William's questioning looks, she rushed on, "I am well educated and would seek a position as a governess."
"Such a noble cause, Princess."
Hearing the familiar mellow baritone voice and his pet name for her, Tiffany spun about, coming face-to-face with Clinton, who filled the study doorway. With an air of nonchalance, he pushed himself from the doorway, unfurling his tall form, and continued, "But one the lady of the household would no doubt refuse. You would be too tempting a morsel to her husband and might find your talents utilized toward the carnal instead of the cerebral."
Tiffany did not miss his gray eyes frankly admiring her form as they traveled slowly up and back down the length of her. The arrogant smile that crossed his face served to infuriate her. And as he slowly closed the distance between her and himself, he continued lazily, "I hardly think you'd find such a position. I do not believe you'd be considered the perfect role model, what with your riding and attire and all." He smiled at her, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
William was astonished that Clinton intended to uphold the contract and quickly asked, "Do I understand Your Grace intends to honor the contract?"
Clinton reluctantly lifted his eyes from Tiffany to William and responded without hesitation, "Nothing has changed except the banns must be read this Sunday." He returned his gaze to Tiffany, who was rooted to the spot upon hearing his words, staring with astonishment.
"Well, then, all is settled. I believe this calls for a drink. Godfrey! Godfrey! Damn that man, never about when I need him."
Godfrey, who had been eavesdropping, suddenly appeared with a tray of drinks. William's eyes narrowed knowingly, but he gestured for the butler to serve.
Tiffany, numb with shock, stood there with a bland expression, amazed and astounded, completely caught off guard. Wave after wave of shock slapped her until finally hitting her full force with the realization. Anger began to surface as she realized these two men had no regard for her own desire. The fact that they drank in celebration and intended to proceed as if nothing happened was her undoing.
Her face contorted with anger, she indignantly glared from one man to another and in a voice that showed her disbelief, cried, "Settled! Nothing is settled!"
Both men, who now stood in front of the desk, turned to her. William narrowed his eyes at her outburst while Clinton smiled in amusement.
"I have no intention of marrying him!" She looked at her father while pointing a slender finger at Clinton.
' 'The matter, daughter, is settled . . . You are betrothed to His Grace. There are no alternatives. You will marry and honor the contract His Grace most generously has offered to uphold in spite of your disgrace."
Tiffany's eyes widened in disbelief as her father continued. "His grace's offer is decent, to say the least, despite the scandal you've created."
A hysterical laugh escaped her lips before she replied, "Decent! You consider this rake, rogue, bounder, libertine--" she stumbled, not able to think of enough names to call him "--to be decent! Why, Father, his reputation speaks nothing of decency. Mothers hide their daughters from the likes of him. He has not a decent bone in his body."
"Enough, daughter," William growled, wanting nothing more than to shut her up before she pushed His Grace too far and out of the contract.
"It is hardly enough, Father,
I will not marry him,"
she screamed. "I'd sooner marry the devil." She walked toward William, pleading, "How can you do this to me? What have I ever done to deserve this?" She held out her arms in supplication.
"Are you mad, girl? Can you not see the benefits an alliance with a duke would offer? By God, girl, the man's a duke of two realms. He can provide for you, care for you as none other. Why, you would be a duchess!"
Angry with her father for not understanding her feelings, she responded recklessly, feeling she had nothing more to lose, "Nay, Father, if you force me to wed him, I would be a whore, not a duchess. For you would sell my body in exchange for a title you covet."
Aghast at what her words implied, William raised his hand to strike her, but Clinton, like lightning, grabbed William's wrist in an iron-clad grip. In a voice cold and threatening, Clinton warned, "Don't ever raise your hand against her. When you do, you raise it against me."
His eyes as dark as thunder clouds, William said tightly, "She goes too far."
"She goes as far as she wishes, as far as I allow. She'll have her say. She's entitled to that."
Tiffany did not view Clinton as her savior and turned her wrath toward him. "What manner of man are you who resorts to coerce my father to gain his end? I'll tell you! A man who preys on others' weaknesses. You are a coward for going behind my back, for you knew I'd not have you! You have lied to me. You have betrayed me, mocked me, deceived me!" Tears filled and threatened to spill from her eyes, but she rushed on, venting her fury. "I hate you, nay, I despise you! No woman would have you save for your titles, and I care not a whit for them! As a man,
Your Grace,''
she spat, ' 'I find you lower than the dirt beneath my feet, and when in your presence, I have the urge to cleanse myself of the vermin which you are."
Clinton calmly stood while she spent her anger and merely responded, "As you say, Princess."
Disconcerted by his responses, she forged ahead, "I refuse you and your suit. I do not love you. I do not want you! I will not marry you. Find yourself another possession, Your Grace, for I am leaving, and it appears you are short one betrothed." Raising her chin, tossing her glorious raven tresses in what one would consider a defiant manner, she began to leave but stopped, facing Clinton. "I will not whore for what my father covets."
Taking a step, she was halted by his words. "Princess, you have not the sufficient experience ... yet ... to fill such a role. In time perhaps."
She spun around, her hand connecting soundly across his cheek. The slap resounded like the report of a pistol, breaking a stiff silence.
William gasped out loud and quickly lifted his glass, downing a good portion of his brandy.
Clinton merely stood, holding her eyes with his. Tiffany became increasingly uneasy under his scrutiny and blurted out, " 'Tis a shame we'll never disprove your words, for I have no intention of marrying you!"
In a voice that booked no argument, Clinton quietly said, "But you will marry me. And you will be the one to decide to do so."
Seeing he had her attention, he continued relentlessly, "Princess, the facts speak for themselves. Even now the gossip mongers have spread the word of your four long nights unchaperoned in my company." Seeing realization take hold in her wide blue eyes, he smiled mockingly, adding, "As you say, reputation precedes me. And You, Princess, have been well compromised." Raising a finely arched brow, a smug smile lifting the corners of his mouth, he pressed, "Some say you are tarnished, spoiled, used goods, if you will."
Tiffany stood staring at him, disbelief etched across her face. Her thoughts were a jumble. He planned this, he knew what he was doing. All along he had turned the tables to his advantage. She was caught like a vixen in a trap he had set. She cried, "You planned this. You know in truth I was not compromised. It is all pretense. You never touched me!"
A devilish grin crossed his mouth, his gray eyes gleamed in victory. "Ah, but who's to say you were compromised in truth or pretense?"
She snapped. "You, of course!"
Smiling with satisfaction, he answered, "Now, why would I do that when circumstances speak for themselves and serve my purpose?"
It was all too much for her to absorb, to handle. Raising her hand with all the force of her body, her anger, her betrayal, she struck Clinton's other cheek. The sound reverberating in her ears, her rage boiling over, she raised her hand to strike again, but her wrist was caught in midair in a firm, strong hand which pulled her up hard against him. The amused look slowly left his eyes, which flashed a gentle yet firm warning. In an icy, yet authoritative voice, he spoke. "I have turned both cheeks to you for the wrongs you accuse me of, but I will not turn another. Never strike me unjustly, Princess. I will put up with a great deal from you, but I will not tolerate that."
Releasing her wrist but still holding her eyes, he saw the beginning of tears in her blue eyes. He spoke softly, gently, but his tone made it clear he would brook no arguments. "It has been a long day. You have many things to come to terms with, to sort out. Tomorrow, after a night's rest, I will come and we will talk again. I will answer all your questions after you are rested and refreshed." He lifted his hand, cupping her chin. "Now go to your room and rest. Despite your beliefs, you were quite ill, and I would not wish to see you relapse."
Holding back the tears that threatened to fall, she moved her chin from his hand and said in a defiant voice, ' 'I go to my room, but not because you order me. You don't own me and never will! I go to my room not to come to terms with anything. There is nothing to come to terms with, for I am not going to marry you. What I am going to do is pack my bags to prepare to leave, for I will not stay here any longer." She turned and was about to open the door when his words stopped her.
"Splendid, by all means pack your belongings, your trunks, whatever. If your desire is not to remain here, then your wish is my command. My footmen will arrive on the morrow, along with my manservant, who will see to the safe delivery of your trunks to Wentworth Estates. And you, as you desire, shall depart from the walls of Courtland Manor and take up permanent residence in your new home, in your new position as my duchess."
Throwing her shoulders back and assuming all the regal dignity she could muster, she threw open the door and turned to him with cold triumph in her eyes and said, defiantly, her tone hinting a subtle challenge, "Only when hell freezes over, Your Grace."