She wasn’t merely a spoiled girl pushing back against her powerful father.
She was engaged in an honor war.
Helene d’Tierrza hated her father, and she had always taken pains to strike where she could to do the most damage—his pocketbook and his reputation.
The age of sixteen had brought an end to her obviously rebellious days, and by the end the year, marked a lull in her scandalous behavior. That birthday, Dominic d’Tierrza had announced her engagement to a Cyranese lord, the son of a known crony of her father’s.
Three months later, the engagement was over under murky circumstances. The young man left the country. Then, just before she turned seventeen, Helene shocked the world with her greatest scandal yet: enrolling in the Cyranese military academy. She kept a low profile for the remainder of her time in the academy, where she graduated six years later at the top of her class with top honors, as well as a master’s degree in military sciences, making the society pages only for her academy honors.
She shocked Cyrano once more, however, upon graduation. Rather than return to her place in society, she enlisted in and was accepted as a member of the royal guard. That the female heir to the wealthiest aristocratic family in the country would postpone marriage in favor of active military duty was outrageous.
But by twenty-two it was clear that the Rebel Heiress, as she’d been dubbed by the tabloids, had settled into who she was. She’d been assigned to guard the then prince, Zayn, her cousin through her mother’s family, and when his father was assassinated eleven years later, she found herself the guard of a king. Six months after that, upon the death of her father, she nonetheless became the Duchess d’Tierrza, the first female to hold the title in the history of the line. In fact, because there had never been a female head of the family, it had become a colloquial joke to refer to her as the duke.
This was all public knowledge. What Drake had pieced together from his own research, however, was that even after her father died, she continued to attack his legacy.
Rather than growing the d’Tierrza coffers, she managed her estates to perfection, bringing in greater incomes than they ever had under her father’s watch, and donated all but what was required to manage each to charities around the nation. On the surface, it appeared she was increasing her family’s income, but if one looked closely—as Drake had—she was incrementally shrinking the d’Tierrza estate and fortune, funneling wealth back into the community, little by little, through the charitable foundation she and her mother had created in her father’s name.
And if he’d been left with any doubt before he approached her, she’d ended it by throwing a custom champagne flute at his likeness.
As Drake had suspected, her father’s death didn’t seem to have eased any of his daughter’s animosity toward him, and for that, Drake was grateful, as his vengeance hinged on it.
“I’m sorry.” She met his eyes—hers as blue as the deepest ocean—commander to commander, and he knew that her words weren’t empty. He appreciated them, he truly did. But he needed a lot more than an apology from her.
But she wasn’t done yet.
Wrapping her arms around her chest, a gesture that returned his attention to the fact that while she wasn’t naked, she was also not what anyone would reliably describe as fully clothed, she said, “My father was a real bastard.”
The reminder of her state of undress brought with it an unwelcome tightening in his groin, even as discussing her father left a sour taste in his mouth, so he was sharper than he intended to be when he said, “Take one of my shirts,” then nodded toward the door closest to her, which led to his bedroom.
Without commenting on his sudden change of subject, she walked in the direction he indicated and returned with a shirt from his wardrobe.
She had selected quickly, choosing a navy blue button-up. She turned her back to him before she put it on. The back of her blue dress revealed bare shoulders and what remained of it after their chase hugged the long line of her spine before ending at midthigh, where jagged edges revealed the supple skin of her lower derriere as she put her arms in the sleeves... Then his shirt dropped down to cover it all up and for a split second he hated the garment.
When she turned around, however, he decided he loved it once more—would perhaps even call it his favorite shirt.
The dark blue fabric, which should have made her look washed out, only served to deepen the flashing blue of her eyes and make her white-blond hair shine like silver.
She was truly a stunning creature, what he imagined a Valkyrie might look like, crossbred with a literal star.
Her eyebrows were deep golden blond, highlighting the elegant bone structure of her face. Her lips were sinful—bright coral, lush and carnal. They were a stark contrast to the rest of her untouchable cool beauty. And her nose was long and straight—aristocratic to the bone.
And all of that, coupled with her obvious hatred of her father, meant that when it came to this particular path to revenge, he might even enjoy the journey. Even if it did involve marrying and making love to the daughter of his greatest enemy.
“As you were saying...your father was a real bastard, which brings us to what I was hoping to speak with you about.”
She nodded with a half smile, sitting on the arm of his chair as she did so, and his skin heated, his entire system thrilling as he circled ever closer to the achievement of his goals.
“I have a proposal for you, a way for you to ‘right the wrongs,’ as you say. What I’m asking for is no small commitment, I recognize that, but the wrong your father committed against my family is no small thing, either. What I am asking for requires a two-or possibly three-year sacrifice from you and a great deal of physical discomfort, but afterward, you will be free to go your own, returning entirely to your life as it is now.”
Crossing her arms in from her chest, she lifted an eyebrow. “A great deal of physical discomfort, eh? You’re not selling this well.”
Drake laughed, the sound starting as a low rumble in his gut and rising out of his reach and deep until his eyes watered. Wiping them at the corners, he shook his head. “Oh, it’s nothing that women don’t go through all over the world every day—I just want you to be the mother of my children.”
CHAPTER THREE
HEL’SMOUTHDROPPEDOPEN.
It made her look like a fish. Roz, her childhood etiquette tutor and lifelong ally, had drilled this into her. She knew it like she knew her name, and yet there she was.