She had to smile. He didn’t bring roses or diamond pendants, instead he brought proof that he listened. That he cared.
“Meg, what’s all this rubbish about not being good enough?” Dougal pressed. “You’re a viscount’s daughter. And duke or not, I was born in an alley.”
She sighed a little, nervous and confused. She wanted to hold onto this dream just a little longer. “Dougal, I have no dowry.”
He stared at her. Just stared. She assumed he understood her until he leaned forward abruptly. “Is that what this is about? A dowry?”
“Dukes don’t marry women without dowries,” she explained patiently, even though it ripped at her. “They just don’t. And the world is already trying to tear you down.”
“Hang the world.”
“If only it was that simple.”
“Why can’t it be? You’re the one who keeps pointing out that I am a duke. Why can’t I use this bloody title and this bloody power to do something good?”
“My uncle lost my dowry on a series of bad wagers,” she explained. “And he’s been taking more and more drastic measures to try to recoup his losses. He’s desperate. And frankly, really bad at cards. We are not good ton anymore.”
“I don’t care about that. I’ve never been good ton.”
“But that dowry is meant to cover the cost of what you would spend supporting me as a wife. So that nothing is taken from the estate and its people.”
“We’ll come back to your uncle in a minute, but devil take your dowry.”
She made a face. “He already did.”
“I have more estates than I care to count. I am more than sure that they can support us all.” He raised an eyebrow. “If you don’t want me, love, you only have to say so.”
“Of course, I want you,” she blurted out. “Idiot.”
“There’s my Meg,” he grinned for the first time. Truly grinned.
“But I have duties here,” she said. “My uncle would run the village into the ground and damn the tenants. Someone has to be here to stop him, even if only a little bit.”
“Something can be done.”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid he’s getting worse, not better.” She bit her lip. “Although I admit I was planning to leave.”
“Then leave with me.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to.” She really wanted to. “It’s only that there are details to consider. I still haven’t figured out how to protect everyone before I go. The maids aren’t safe in that house when he has his parties, and the tenants will starve if he doesn’t let up. Wallace slept in my front hall last night because he was concerned for my safety.”
“I beg your pardon?” That hard tone that never failed to send inappropriate heat tingling between her legs. “We’ll consider them all,” he promised. “Together. Let me try. Even if you refuse me, Meg, I won’t leave you at your uncle’s mercies. You made sure we were taken care of before you left. You found a new housekeeper who would be kind to Charlie, saved the village from Clarke. You even left drawing supplies for George. You did all that only to come here and lay yourself down like a sacrifice for your family’s tenants. Who takes care of you, Meg?”
The sudden sting of tears behind her eyelids took her by surprise. How could she say no when she didn’t want to say no?
He tilted her chin up gently. “You’re thinking so hard there’s about to be smoke coming out of your ears.” He drew her closer, slid one knee between her legs, pressing gently against her most intimate place. There was an answering throb of desire. “If I’ve learned one thing about the peerage, it’s that they like to complicate the simplest of things.”
His fingers stroked her cheek, cradling her face. He glanced down at her mouth, quirking a smile when she swayed towards him. His kiss was soft, tender. It wrapped around her like the green tendrils painted over their heads. She kissed him back hungrily until he groaned, until the carriage drew to a halt and his groan turned into a curse.
When they stepped outside, the coachman was dubious. “Here, Miss?” he asked, blinking at the little crooked cottage, sturdy enough but not quite as fearsome as it might have been two hundred years ago.
Dougal smiled at the front door, painted red as a strawberry and decorated with leaves and little white flowers and a secret spider or two. “I’d know this was your house anywhere.”
She tried not to be embarrassed about her stark, oddly whimsical cottage. She knew it wasn’t what he would expect. And she knew the questions it kindled. It was one of the reasons she had never invited the other Cinderellas to visit. Where would she put them? On the roof? And how would she answer their questions?
Dougal stood inside the doorway, scanning the shelves of provisions, jars of mint and lemon balm leaves for tea, apples and pears she’d nicked from the orchard, a basket of pencils and paints, the bucket set out to catch the drip from the roof. There was only one chair, a small table. And dragons painted above.
“This is where you live?”