The Duchess War (Brothers Sinister #1)

“I will not,” Minnie said. “I have no inclination to refrain from something I want to do merely because people I have never met might assume the worst about me. Besides, given my past, it’s rather like a murderer worrying that he might go to hell for saying unkind things about a friend’s horse.”


“Hmm.” The duchess frowned and then shrugged. “Well. I was only testing you. I had to make sure that with your background, you took an interest in men. Better to find out such things now.”

She looked certain. She sounded certain. And yet Minnie had the distinct impression of a cat licking its paws. I didn’t really want that mouse.

“Speaking of which, the most important reason to go to Paris.” The duchess pointed at Minnie. “You need a new wardrobe. You cannot do with just acceptable. You must be brilliant. So tell me, girl, do you prefer to dress like a drab little peasant, or do you wear stomach-turning garb simply because your impoverished great-aunts force you to it?”

On the other side of the table, Caro and Eliza gasped in unison. Minnie coughed. “Absolutely. Nothing pleases me more than turning a gown for the fourth time! If my cuffs aren’t falling apart, I don’t feel truly at home.” She glared at the other woman. “I’ll thank you not to insult the women who gave me a home when they were not obligated to do so. Insult me all you wish, but leave Caro and Eliza out of it.”

The duchess didn’t blink an eye at this. “What do you think of my style of dress?”

“Too fussy, too conservative,” Minnie said without blinking. “It does very well for you, I suppose, but for me—”

“Excellent. What would you pick out for yourself? What sort of duchess would you be?”

Years of looking over fashion plates with Lydia hit her with a sharp sense of loss, one that seemed like a staggering blow. She should have been picking out her wedding trousseau with Lydia, who would have been crowing that she was right…

“Well,” Minnie said, “I won’t pretend to be a conventional duchess. I don’t like those layers of lace, no matter how popular they are now. I’d feel positively buried in them. I’d want clean lines, bright fabrics.” She let out a breath, imagining. “Lots of fabric. No more skimping.”

“And you’ll need to learn to cover your scar. My girl will be able to—”

Minnie turned to the other woman and gave her a repressive look. “This?” she said, touching her cheek. “Oh, no. I intended to get that. I consider it a beauty scar.”

The duchess gave a crack of laughter and stood abruptly.

Minnie stared at her.

“Well?” the other woman said crossly. “We haven’t got all day. I’ve all the fashion magazines at my hotel. If we wire your measurements to my people in France, they can do the final fittings the hour you arrive. And there’s still a good deal that can be purchased here.”

“You…came all the way here solely to take me shopping?” Minnie asked.

“Once you are the Duchess of Clermont,” the other woman said, not acknowledging her question, “never let anyone know you could be anything else. If you don’t hear what they say about you, it can’t possibly be true. By the time society discovers your existence, you’ll have to already be a duchess.”

Chapter Twenty-one

THE DAYS UNTIL ROBERT’S WEDDING sped by all too quickly. Robert didn’t know whether to be excited or apprehensive. He felt both. For one, his mother had taken Minnie under her wing and had sent for a seamstress from London to provide what she said were “basic essentials.”

When he asked, she brushed him off with a tart, “If you’re going to throw the girl to the wolves, it’s only appropriate to outfit her with a red cloak.”

Then there were those moments they stole together. He’d had a few kisses to whet his appetite—if you could call it just a kiss when he’d pushed her against the wall and unbuttoned her gown half down her front. By the morning of his wedding, his appetite was sharp indeed.

In one sense, it was lucky that their ceremony was early. In reality, the extremely early hour had been chosen specifically so that they would be able to make the journey to Paris by the end of the day. If that early-morning mail train was not late into London, if the steamer made it across the Channel in good time…

But he couldn’t think of any of that as he looked in her eyes and spoke his vows. It wasn’t just physical desire that had him so on edge. When she promised to love him, to comfort him, he felt an electric thrill that ran down his whole body. And when he promised the same, it seemed to seal them together, to bridge the distance between them in a way that even the kiss that followed could not.