The Duchess War (Brothers Sinister #1)

“But that won’t happen,” Minnie said.

Robert was silent a little longer. “I could bring enough pressure to bear that the case would be dropped.”

Her arms tightened around him.

“But I can’t stop the talk that would result if I quashed the inquiry. My brother…he’s worked hard, so damned hard, to build up a store of respect for himself. He’s beginning to have a reputation as an intelligent, fair-minded man. If I quashed the inquiry—even if we won, eventually, on the grounds that the papers weren’t even seditious—the idea that he had written such radical sentiments under an assumed name would destroy everything he’s worked for. So, yes, I could stop the legal trial. But my brother doesn’t just need a favorable verdict. He needs to be publicly exonerated of the charge.”

“And you’ll see it done.”

She said it so confidently, so sweetly, that for a moment he almost believed her.

“I’ll do anything.” His voice broke. “My brother told me once that family was a matter of choice. If I were to turn my back on him now, what kind of brother would I be to him?” He let the cigarillo go; it swirled in the eddies alongside the train and disappeared around the bend before he saw it land. The forest passed by, receding in the distance. Now there was only rolling pastureland.

He counted three fences before he spoke again. “My father raped his mother.”

She sucked in her breath.

“That’s the claim I have on him—that an unwilling woman was once forced to my father’s will. That my family was so powerful that justice was subverted.”

“It wasn’t you.”

“It was the Duke of Clermont. I bear his name, his face.” His hands tightened into fists. “His responsibility. I suppose in some ways it was the height of selfishness for me to even claim him as a brother. But I can’t let go. If family is a matter of choice, I’ll choose him. And I will, over and over, until—”

The thought was a crushing weight against his chest. He almost staggered with it. He did stagger, when the train shifted direction once more. But Minnie leaned into his shoulder, steadying him, and then guided him to sit on one of the cushioned benches.

“You’ll choose him until what?” she asked.

“Until the stars fall from the sky,” he said. “Because he chose me first.”

It was such a damning thing to admit, that vulnerability. He felt like a turtle, stripped of its shell, being readied for soup.

But she didn’t lift a brow at that. Instead, she stood before him, her skirts spilling around his knees. Her fingers traced his eyebrows, pressing against his temples before running back along the furrows of his forehead. It felt…lovely. As if she could coax the tense guilt from his features.

“My great-aunts used to do this for each other,” she said. “When things did not go well.”

He brushed her hands away. “I don’t need comforting.”

He didn’t deserve it.

But before he could stand up and turn away, she grabbed hold of his hands. Her grip wasn’t firm, but it was sure.

“If family is a matter of choice,” she said softly, “I’ve chosen you.”

He let out a long breath.

“And I will,” she said, “again and again.”

He lifted his head. Her eyes were wide and gray and guileless, and she was saying words that he’d longed to hear for years. On a breath, he stood, reaching for her. His hands closed on her hips; a scant few moments later, his mouth captured hers. There was no thought, no calculation in that kiss. She was simply achingly present.

“Minnie,” he murmured against the heat of her lips, and then again, “Minnie.”

Tonight would be the fifth night of their marriage. He’d had her while she laughed. He’d taken her while she moaned for him. He’d never taken her feeling as he did now—dark and uncertain.

He didn’t ask this time, or whisper to her what he wanted to try. He didn’t ready her with kisses. He pushed her against the wall of the train car, and before she had a chance to struggle or cry out, captured her skirts in his fists, gathering up petticoats and crinoline. He had only to free his erection. One thrust—one push inside her, and he’d be as bad as his father, taking a woman because she was there and he wanted to feel her. One thrust, and he’d punish himself even more.

Her head was down, bowed before him. He towered over her. There was nobody around, no way she could call for help. He’d probably frightened her to death.

He let her skirts fall and stepped away. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m in a filthy, filthy mood. You’d best walk away while you still can.”

She looked up at him then. Her eyes were pale gray and absolutely lovely. But she didn’t twitch a muscle.

Shadows from a passing tree flickered over them, painting their faces in a shifting palette of light and darkness. His body shivered with need.