The Duke’s Debutante

“A wife,” Sarah Wilton echoed the words, striving for casual indifference, but certain she’d failed dismally. 

Of course he had to marry. Matthew Bennenford, the newly titled Duke of Cavanaugh, needed a proper wife, a woman with impeccable breeding to carry on the Cavanaugh name.

Sarah, a woman believed to have no breeding whatsoever, knew that better than anyone.

Matthew stabbed a stick into the fire he’d just built. “I’ve been a bloody duke for less than two weeks, and my heir is my imbecilic cousin. I can’t trust my line of succession with him. He is a gambler. He would destroy everything my family has built. Sarah, I must provide an heir.”

“I am so sorry about Richard,” she said. His brother, the previous duke, had died in a horseback riding accident at the estate just miles away from the cottage they were in now. Sarah sat up, winding the soft sheet about her bare breasts as she moved. Suddenly, modesty seemed all-consuming, and she fussed until the sheet covered almost to her neck.

Matthew turned from the fire. She took in the sight of all his naked glory, knowing she might never see it again. The light spattering of coal-black hair on his chest she loved to play with. The broad expanse of shoulder where she often started a trail of kisses. His dark hair was longer than fashionable, with a willful curl that would have looked adorable on a child, but paired with his strong jaw, full lips, and chocolate brown eyes made him irresistible.

A flash of grief crossed his face, and he reached up to scrub it away. “God, I never expected to lose them both in less than two years. How does that happen? I never expected to become the duke. Richard was always the duke. I need to return, to take on the mantle. I owe him this. I owe my father this. Can you understand?”

Oh, she understood. All too well.

“This need not change anything between us.”

Oh, but it did.

The ache in her heart began to pulse. He’d lost his father two years ago, and now his brother. Even as the second son, Matthew had always had a sense of honor and responsibility to his family.

Sarah bent to pick up her gown, giving herself a second to pull together. She had told herself not to fall in love with this man, to live only in the stolen moments they shared.

She had failed.

Matthew’s admission was not a surprise, but she’d shoved the eventuality of his marriage out of her mind. She had made a choice. She understood the ramifications. 

Becoming his mistress had closed the door on ever becoming his wife.

And his marriage meant goodbye.

She slipped out of the sheet and into her gown as quickly as she could. But it was impossible to close by herself, so Sarah presented her back to him. “Button me?”

He moved to her. His fingers, warm and soft, touched her skin gently as he made his way up the row of buttons. As his hands lingered at the top, he bent and pressed gentle lips to the curve of her neck. Sparks of heat shot through her, and Sarah leaned against him. His arm curved about her stomach, pulling her tighter against the full length of him. “I hate the thought of being away from you right now. I will be back, soon.”

Tears pressed, and she slid out of his arms and turned to face him. “Matthew.” Her tone was angel soft, tinged with pain she couldn’t keep at bay. “We agreed.”

“What? Sarah, no. This marriage will be a matter of legalities like most of the ton marriages, nothing more.”

“Matthew, please—”

“I don’t give a damn what we said. That was before—” he waved a hand around them “—this. Us. My marriage will be to a woman I have never met, who doesn’t love me, who couldn’t care less if I love her.”

“Who will provide you with an heir.”

“Yes, and life will move on. I don’t want to lose you.”

She laid her hand along his cheek. “That isn’t your choice to make.” Sarah dropped her hand and went in search of her stockings. “I will not be mistress to a man with a wife. I told you that.”

“Sarah.”

“Please.” Stockings in hand, she slid a foot through one.  “Do not ask it of me. I have never lied about my boundaries, Matthew. You agreed to those terms.” She had already shed, willingly, joyfully, the morals she’d been raised with to be with him. She did not regret a moment. And yes, she was tempted. God, how she was tempted. But this was a line she would not, could not cross.

“You can’t just walk away.” He sunk to the bed and ran a hand through his hair. “I hate this.”

“As do I.”

He grabbed his pants and shoved his legs in. Leaving them unfastened, he snapped around to look at her. “Then marry me.”

“That is not funny.”

“I am not attempting humor.” He grabbed her hands. “Society be damned, we’ll find a way to make it work. I love you.”

She had dreamed of this, in those weak moments, but she hadn’t imagined how much it would hurt. “I love you, too, but I can’t marry you.”

“Why not? I’m a duke, I can do what I bloody well please.  And no one would dare gainsay you once you were a duchess.”

“You are being naive if you think that, ” she said, suddenly angry with every choice she’d made that had led her to this moment. Angry with him for dangling the impossible. “I would never be accepted in your world. I am your mistress, Matthew. Your mistress. A role I happily took on and have cherished. But that is as far as it can go.”

“So that’s it,” he replied flatly. “I leave, and we say goodbye.”

There was no alternative. Even if she wanted to marry him, she couldn’t. When she was presented as his new duchess…well, that simply couldn’t happen.

Their love—and his trust in her—would be destroyed.

No matter what path she chose right now, she would lose the man she loved.