A far reach, but so probable. Astonished, he read the article once more. Duke of Disgrace. He couldn’t decide if he should admire her audacity or punish her for it. Society would be in a frenzy to figure out which particular duke this gossip spoke about. Another awareness flowered through him. If she was Lady W, she hadn’t broken into his home for silver, but for dirt and secrets. A cold chill of warning sliced through him. Did the foolish woman want him for an enemy?
The door to the breakfast room opened, and his mother sailed inside.
“Christopher, I see you have forgotten we were to meet today?”
His mother was gravely dignified and implacably garbed in black, her mane of golden hair piled high on her head. And had always been that way as long as he could remember. She sat beside him and lifted an imperious chin to the hovering footman, who hurried over to pour her tea. After taking a sip, she shifted her regard to Christopher and smiled her greeting. Of course, she wouldn't have kissed his cheek or touched his hand briefly. There had never been messy hugs from her or brushing kisses on his cuts when he’d hurt himself from playing. Yet he knew she had loved him with her entire heart. Just in a dignified, duchess like manner.
“I seem to have forgotten. What meeting?”
She arched an elegant brow. “Why to discuss the list of course.”
This arrested his attention wholly, and he folded the pressed paper and rested it beside his cup of coffee. “An investment list?”
“Do not be silly. The list of eligible ladies this season suitable for a union with our family.”
“Mother, I am not familiar with this list,” he murmured mystifyingly, though he’d suspected from her militant carriage.
She shot him a birdlike look of inquiry. “Oh? I thought Selina had informed you we would take a more active approach in the matter of finding you a duchess.”
Bloody hell. “I see.”
His mother smiled brightly, but her hazel eyes were hard and determined. “Yes, the girls and I met yesterday and we made a list of all the eligible young ladies this season. We referenced their dowries, and family connections and found seven girls who are just lovely, Christopher. I am sure you will be well pleased. Selina and I prefer Earl Rumford’s daughter. Lady Elinor’s carriage and comportment are that of a duchess. I daresay you will approve of the match.”
He took a contemplative sip of his coffee. “Why is it so important to you that I marry now?”
His mother inhaled sharply. “You are Carlyle! Your dukedom is one of the most prestigious of this country. Not just anyone can be your duchess. She must be impeccable. It is your duty—”
“I know my duty,” he interrupted gently. “My first memories of father were sitting atop his shoulders as he guided me to understand what it means to be a duke. I know what my responsibilities are to my tenants, the various estates, and my family. I appreciate the interest you take in my life. I love that you and Selina and Amelia care about my happiness. But I will choose my duchess when I am ready.”
He didn’t think there was anything he could have said to shock his mother more. Well, maybe if he admitted a perplexing interest in Pippa Cavanaugh. That interest though had to be paused indefinitely, until he found out exactly why he’d become a target for a scandal sheet. The dreams he’d had last night of kissing her senseless, of stripping her naked and worshipping at the altar of her generous curves, simply had to stop. It had been years since he’d pleasured himself, but lustful fantasies of Miss Cavanagh had urged him to take his cock in his hands last night with thoughts of her driving him to a powerful release.
“What nonsense are you saying, Christopher?”
He ruthlessly pushed Miss Cavanaugh from his mind. “I will choose my own duchess,” he repeated firmly. “And I hope you’ll love her as I do, once I find her.”
She dealt him an arrested stare. “Love?”
Her aghast tone implied his mother thought him an idiot. Christopher smiled without humor. “Love, admiration, respect, friendship. The things I would like to have with the lady I would ask to be my wife.”
His mother closed her eyes briefly as if pained. “Dukes do not marry for love or admiration. Your wife will respect you of course,” she said crisply, her eyes flashing with anger. “But this notion you have is nonsense. The last time you thought you loved someone, it was the most ridiculous and inopportune girl! You cannot be allowed to choose for yourself and disgrace our family!”
“And do you believe me to be that same boy of twenty years old?” he demanded with an arrogant tilt of his head.
Her lips flattened in a thin line. “Of course not. You are an exemplary man and duke as all previous dukes, and I simply want it to stay that way. To select your duchess without any suggestion from me and the girls cannot—”
“And yet that is what will happen. I am aware of my rank and position in this life, and the kind of woman needed to walk by my side. I’ll not hear of it again, mother, nor will I tolerate any more matchmaking antics. My wife will be my choice, and you can rest assured I will not
disrespect my position.”
They stared at each other, and several moments passed before his mother sighed and nodded her agreement. His promise lingered in the room, and a knot formed in his gut. With such a promise, whatever fascination he’d been feeling for Miss Pippa Cavanaugh had to be suppressed. If he pursued her, he would be going against his position and family’s expectations.
A mistress then, the crawling hunger in him suggested.
He cursed silently. She had seemed so proud and beautiful that night in the library, so clever and brave the night she’d broken into his home. She did not deserve to be a mistress because her father had proven himself to be a dishonorable cad. It was either he ignored her or strolled close enough to her flame to find out if she had the character worth fighting for—kindness, loyalty, faithfulness.
Is it you…?
And everything in him said yes, and he wanted to explore that. Because if it was her, he did not want their ships to pass each other. He almost shook his head at his romantic idiocy, a thing he’d never been prone to before. Christopher wasn’t a man who believed in pure chance, but nor did he dismiss its possibilities. Things were either carefully plotted and executed, or they existed beyond his capability of control and simply had to happen. He believed in the tangibility of science and the whimsy of fate.