Bianca resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Innocent or not, she was perfectly aware of Stephen’s reputation. It was that hint of danger that had attracted her to him in the first place.
Well, that and his delicious blond hair and deep blue eyes, she acknowledged with a faint shiver.
For a young maiden who had been kept ruthlessly protected her entire life, what could be more fascinating than a gentleman who dared to ignore the tedious rules of society?
He was fiery, unpredictable, and most of all perfectly willing to teach her of the world outside her pampered existence.
Quite simply irresistible.
“You are hardly one to throw stones, Father,” she retorted, her dark eyes flashing fire. “From all I have heard, you indulged in your own share of scandals when you were young.”
“My scandals did not include fighting duels, hosting Cyprian Balls in my home, or leading innocent young females into danger.”
Her brows snapped together. “Danger? That is absurd.”
One of the very few who did not fear her temper, the duke rose to his feet and regarded her with a somber expression.
“I am not a fool, Bianca. I am well aware that the scoundrel has lured you from the house so you could attend boxing matches, horse races, as well as a bawdy pantomime that was not fit for the eyes of a harlot, let alone an unwed lady,” he said in stark tones.
Her breath caught in shock.
Oh . . . cripes. So much for her carefully elaborate schemes to hide her exhilarating outings.
Obviously being a duke included knowing every damnable thing that happened in London.
It was with an effort that she met his accusing gaze. “Do not hold Stephen to blame. It was upon my urging that he escorted me to such places.”
“Which is the only reason I did not take a horsewhip to him, I assure you.”
“And I only urged him to do so because I am sick to death of being treated as if I am a witless idiot without the ability to think for myself or to make even the simplest of decisions.”
His eyes narrowed at her sharp words. “You are my daughter. It is my duty to protect you.”
Bianca nearly screamed in frustration. On how many occasions had she heard the familiar lecture?
A hundred? A thousand?
Certainly it was trotted out whenever she happened to be in danger of having a bit of fun.
“I am not your daughter, I am a pretty doll you put on display and then tuck away when I am not of use. At least Stephen realizes that I am a woman perfectly capable of knowing something of the world.”
“Oh, no doubt Lord Aldron has played his role well. He is, after all, a highly successful seducer and quite accustomed to doing whatever necessary to please a lady.” He lifted a deliberate brow. “I wonder, however, if you have considered why the gentleman has shown such a marked interest in you after so assiduously avoiding debutantes?”
Bianca had a sudden vision of a cat toying with a mouse.
And she wasn’t the cat.
“He finds me . . . fascinating.”
“No, my child. What he finds fascinating is your rumored dowry.”
She blinked in shock. Then blinked again.
“Father.”
“The man is without a feather to fly with,” the duke retorted in hard tones. “Despite having hocked every belonging he possesses, he is still mired in debt. There is not a gambling house in town that will allow him across the threshold, and his clubs have long since turned him away. His only hope to avoid fleeing to the Continent is to snatch a bride too na?ve to see beyond a handsome countenance and shallow charm.”
Bianca gritted her teeth. She would not listen to her father. She could not. To do so would mean that the gentleman who had stolen her heart, the one who had offered her the promise of a glorious future without tedious rules and expectations, was nothing more than a lie.
The servants had been wise to go into hiding.
“I will not listen to such slander. Stephen loves me.”
The duke curled his lip in disgust. “Lord Aldron loves no one but himself.”
“You do not know him as I do.”
“I know him far better than you, Bianca.” There was a brief pause before her father lifted his chin to a stubborn angle. “Which is precisely why he will never be your husband.”
Her chin tilted to match his. Damn and blast, but she was weary of being dictated to as if she were mindless dolt.
At least Stephen made the pretense of listening to her desires.
“I am two-and-twenty, Father, and quite at liberty to do whatever I please. You cannot halt me from wedding Stephen.” Her hands were planted on her hips in the unlikely event that the duke did not realize the extent of her resolution.
The duke calmly adjusted the cuffs of his elegant coat. Her teeth snapped together at his deliberate nonchalance.
“Perhaps not, but do you truly believe that either of you will be content living in some decrepit cottage or renting rooms in the stews?” He smiled without humor. “I assure you that it might seem charming enough in storybooks, but there is nothing pleasurable in scrubbing your own floors or freezing before an empty grate. Besides which, Lord Aldron would barter off his own mother before becoming a pauper.”
“Pauper?” Her momentary bravado faltered with stunning speed. “You would disinherit me?”
Without warning, her father’s eyes darkened with what seemed strangely close to regret.
“There would be no need for such drastic measures. I simply have nothing to offer as a dowry.”
“But . . . that is absurd.”
“It is the simple truth.”
“I do not understand.”
“Because I never intended you to understand,” her father admitted with a harsh sigh. “With your beauty and position, I simply presumed that when you chose your husband, you would have the good sense to select one with a large fortune. It is, after all, what most maidens do.”
Her brows snapped together. Most maidens were not the daughter of a duke, she thought with a tingle of panic. For God’s sake, she had never devoted a moment to considering something so tedious as wealth.
“But what of my dowry?” she demanded.
“What do you think has funded your very expensive seasons for the past four years?”
For perhaps the first time in her young life, Bianca’s swift wits deserted her. Her brain froze and she was forced to open and close her mouth several times before she at last managed to speak.
“Are you telling me that we have no money?”
There was a moment of silence before her father turned to stroll toward the large bay window. He kept his back turned as he at last cleared his throat.
“Being a duke is an expensive business, my dear. I have estates that need constant upkeep, a near battalion of servants to keep paid and pensioned, tenants to keep housed, your brothers schooled, and of course you and your mother properly clothed and bejeweled.”
“But what of your rents and investments?”
His gaze remained trained upon the Mayfair street below him. “They would be adequate as a rule, but while London has devoted itself to pleasure, war has ravaged the world. Trade has all but disappeared, and not nearly enough able-bodied men remain to tend to the lands.” He gave a frustrated shake of his head. “Put on top of that last year’s unseasonable cold, and more fields than not lie fallow. Would you have me stand aside and watch my tenants starve?”
Well, for goodness’ sakes. Of course she would not wish for anyone to starve.
Still, she found it difficult to accept that matters had come to such a desperate quagmire. Surely being a duke must count for something?