Free The Duke in Denial (Scandal in Sussex) by Alexandra Ainsworth Page A

a knock sounded on the heavy outside door.
    Dorothea.
    Sebastian’s heart raced, and he rushed to steady his breathing, still erratic from his encounter with William. He would propose now. He would be a husband. Wasn’t his outrage, his unsteady breath, a sign that he wanted to marry her? That the other suggestion, not marrying her, horrified him? He would gain a family again, and William would cease to fill his thoughts. He inhaled. It wouldn’t do for his future betrothed to find him out of breath. Sitting in a delightfully decorated drawing room was not supposed to be physically challenging. He staggered to his feet.
    The outside door creaked open, and the low murmurs of the butler drifted in.
    “I must see her in person,” a man shouted outside, his voice carrying.
    “Dorothea is not at home.”
    “Take me to the drawing room.”
    Sebastian leaned forward. The man’s voice sounded coarse, but his accent was more notable. It was French. Why would a Frenchman be trying to get in touch with Dorothea? His rough words made clear he was not a member of the French aristocracy. At least not like any member he had ever met. The ones he knew wandered around London balls with anxious expressions. Subjects of gossip, their status depended on the likelihood of invasion reported by the newspapers. None of them had sounded similar to this man.
    “Sir, she is not at home. Can I take a message?”
    “No.”
    Whoever was outside had given up. Good. The thought of Dorothea being bothered appalled him. Footsteps retreated.
    Sebastian tapped his fingers against the fabric of the chair. He should have brought a book with him. Though if Dorothea had been at home, he would have appeared foolish showing up with one. Sebastian considered slipping away, uncertain when she would return. But then William might think he had won, and Sebastian refused to allow that. He would place the choice to marry him or not entirely in Dorothea’s hands.
    Rumors surrounded her, whether or not William was aware. Lady Arabella had warned him that Dorothea would find it difficult to become betrothed again given her closeness to her late fiancé. She had little money; her late parents had seen to that. Her engagement to Gregory Lewis had been a love match; perhaps the ton would be more forgiving of her otherwise. They would enjoy tormenting the well-bred yet penniless woman who had come so near to marrying a duke. The ton liked order, and Dorothea had dishevelled society’s rules.
    How could he doom her to a life with no children, no family? Merely because of weaknesses and insecurities he felt? He would be strong for her. He was determined to be a good husband. Eventually, he hoped to be a good father. He smiled, envisioning little feet pattering about the household.
    If she rejected him, that was her choice. He would not think less of her for it. But he could not withdraw now, not after courting her. She did not need more negative attention on her.
    His back stiffened, his mind set.
    When the women finally arrived in the drawing room, he scrambled to his feet. He might as well settle things, and he sprang into action.
    “Dorothea! May I please speak with you?” He glanced at the rest of the room, noticing the startled expressions on the faces of Cousin Penelope and Dorothea’s lady’s maid. “In private?”
    Penelope’s eyes widened, and the maid’s mouth dropped open. Thirty seconds later, they had fled the room, and Dorothea settled on the sofa, arranging her dress so no wrinkles appeared.
    “Your Grace.” Dorothea smiled and folded her hands. She had done this before.
    “Dorothea, my dear.” Sebastian knelt down in front of her, careful to put his knee on the Oriental rug and not on the colder hardwood floor. He had done this before as well.
    “I would be most privileged,” he continued, “if you would do me the honor of becoming my wife. Our time together has been most enjoyable.”
    “Your Grace.” She clasped her hand over her heart,