Taming Wilde (Waltzing with the Wallflower #3)(25)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

“Very well, your grace. I shall—”

Colin burst out laughing. “I am not a duke, sir. And I assure you, formality is lost on me.” When the man stared blankly at him, refusing to recant his greeting, Colin chuckled again. “I see. A joke, is it? Has Lord Maddox put you up to this? Anthony!” Colin began yelling for his friend. “You would think the fellow would have other occupations than to—”

“Your grace!” the solicitor snapped. “This is important.”

Fine, he’d play along. “Is it now?”

“My name is Rutledge. I have been in your family’s employ for the past twenty years, and I am here to inform you that the title of the Duke of Bridgewater has passed from your great uncle — God rest his soul — to you.”

Colin narrowed his eyes. “My great uncle? The same one who has not spoken to my family since before I was born?”

“A recluse of late. Some sort of falling out with his brother, your grandfather.” Rutledge shrugged. “Whatever the case, the title now falls to you. Of course, if you do not accept, it will, by law, return to the Crown.”

What an odd turn of events. Colin wasn’t sure he could wrap his head around it. A duke? Sir Colin Wilde?

He was still processing it when Rutledge pulled out a stack of papers. “The title is entailed to properties in Scotland, Wales, Surrey, and a lovely townhome in Mayfair. Upon your signature, you will also inherit the sum of seventy-five thousand pounds.”

Colin began to choke on the dryness in his mouth. Perhaps he should have shut it, instead of gaping at Rutledge like a lunatic. “Pardon me, did you say seventy—”

“—five thousand, yes.”

“Thousand?” Colin repeated.

“Pounds. Yes, that is what I said. Your grace, if you please… if you intend to repeat everything I say, this shall take a frightfully long time, and you did say you have another appointment.”

“I do apologize. Please, Mr. Rutledge, proceed.”

Rutledge stood to spread the papers out on Colin’s desk for his perusal. “There is one more thing.”

“There’s more?” Colin croaked.

Rutledge’s annoyance seemed to increase as he shifted on his feet. “Yes. A stipulation to your inheritance, your grace.”

“A stipulation?” Colin repeated. Rutledge raised an eyebrow in irritation. Colin shook his head and gestured for the man to continue.

“A betrothal contract. A match has been made.”

Dread filled Colin’s stomach. He wouldn’t. No, he couldn’t. His heart would not permit him to—

“—Miss Gemma Reynolds, the daughter of the Duke of Williston. I was told you are acquainted.”

“What?” Colin was apparently having a hard time hearing.

“Miss Gemma Reynolds, your grace. Apparently the late duke and Miss Reynolds’ father designed the match. It has been in place for quite some time. Her brother, who acts as her guardian in her parents’ absence, was notified of it just this morning.”

Colin smiled. No. To say he smiled would be like saying he was simply amused. He was enthusiastic. He was jubilant. He was… Colin laughed aloud. He was going to enjoy allowing Van Burge to pummel him, because in the end, he would still be the victor.

“Any questions?” Rutledge asked.

“Yes.” Colin stood. “Where do I sign?”

Chapter Sixteen

If you must get in a fight, at least have the decency to make it a good one. There are many blokes in the world who are bored to tears with their current companionship, or heaven forbid, their wives. Bloodshed, my friends, bloodshed. Give the fellows some entertainment. —The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox

From behind the closed door of Hawke’s study, Gemma heard Hawke enter the front hall. She sat paralyzed for a moment, holding her breath and praying he would not come in and catch her at the letter. When he had stormed out only an hour before, she’d thought he would be gone for the duration of the day. Though he hadn’t said where he’d been going, she knew without doubt it had been in search of Colin, but he hadn’t stopped long enough to gather his pistol.

She glanced at the mantel. The brace of pistols still sat in their box there, below the portrait of Gemma’s mother.

Her brother’s booming voice was clear even through the wall.

“I don’t care how she begs, Thomas. You are not to let her out of this house. Keep a wary eye on her until my return.”

“Is the lady receiving callers this afternoon, my lord?”

“One and none other. The Duke of Bridgewater.”

“What time shall we expect him?”

“The appointment is at two o’clock. Have everything prepared for his arrival by half the hour.”

“Very good, my lord,” Thomas answered. Gemma could hear his heels tapping a retreat toward the kitchen. There was no hope of help from him. He followed instructions as if his life depended on it. Her stomach turned.

She might convince one of the younger footmen to deliver the message, and if Colin replied in the way she hoped, she might slip out during the pandemonium of preparations for his grace’s arrival. The trick would be to make her own preparations without the interference of Pearl.

“My lord?” The treacherous girl’s faint voice filtered through the closed door.

“Ah, Pearl,” Hawke answered, though his voice sounded laced with impatience. “What is it?”

“Will you be requiring any… assistance this evening?”

Ugh. Gemma cringed. The girl had no shame.

“It may well be. Just now I have some haste. I have challenged the fool to a bout. A victory celebration, perhaps.”

“Yes, my lord.” Her giggle was nauseating. “I’ll just look for the signal, then.”

“Of course. Now, go about your duties. Keep an eye on the lady until my return.”

Pearl must have slinked away then, for it was quiet other than the sound of Hawke’s boots pounding up the stairs to his chamber.

Gemma released her breath. She finished her note with a flourish and blotted the ink. Gathering up her things, she put the desk back to rights, then slipped out the door to the front hall.

Her plan was to make her way into the morning room, then try to catch a stray footman through the window that looked onto the side street over the servants’ entrance. The hall was empty, so she hurried to the morning room and peeked in. Empty. Without wasting time she rushed to the window, threw back the drapes, then set to opening the window.