Obsession

Chapter One Haworth Yorkshire, EnglandThe dowager duchess of Salterdon perched like a crow on the church pew, her stubborn old chin outthrust, her liver-spotted brow creased, and her shoulders slightly humped within the black garment she wore -- she was not, after all, here to celebrate the most gossiped about marriage since my brother Clayton had wed some red-haired waif who haunted a crumbling old lighthouse and stole the King's horses. The dowager's gnarled, bejeweled fingers curled around the crook of the cane she used to hobble around, and she impatiently bumped the cane upon the chapel floor, looking neither right nor left, seemingly oblivious to the whispers and occasional giggles of the guests who had packed the church, more for entertainment and perverse curiosity than to honor the bride and groom. She wasn't oblivious, of course. I, Trey Hawthorne, the dishonorable, infamous, and disgraceful Duke of Salterdon -- the bane of the dowager's existence -- suspected my grandmother's hearing was still as sharp as the diamond facets on the ridiculously ostentatious ring she wore on her left hand. If someone within a country mile so much as murmured the Salterdon name in anything other than worship, she knew about it -- and God help the "hateful befouler.""Hateful old bitch," I murmured as I gazed beyond the ajar rectory door, straight into my grandmother's eyes -- gray as my own -- and watched her thin, silver eyebrow lift, knowing full well she could read my lips. I returned her look with a cold curl of my mouth, a lift of my port glass in toast, and a slight bow that was more mocking than courteous."There's still time to back out," came my brother's voice near my ear.I turned my head a little too fast. The liquor in my veins slammed me hard enough to totter me backward. My twin brother's face swam before me, my mirror image -- dark hair, slightly curly, stone gray eyes, chiseled features, and a mouth that reflected both concern and bemusement over my situation. But that's where the similarities ended. While Clayton Hawthorne had the heart and soul of a flipping saint, and the luck of the blessed, I was one thin hair from burning in hellfire for eternity.My peers didn't refer to me as "Old Scratch" for nothing.Clayton frowned and put out one hand to catch my arm, offering support. He sighed and shook his head. "For the last three years, your objective in life has been to make Grandmother suffer -- and suffer she has. You've burned through your inheritance, you consistently find ways to get your name blasted throughout the London news, and finally scandalize with the ultimate revenge -- to marry not one of the acceptable young ladies of Grandmother's choosing, but a notorious, thrice-divorced, twice-widowed older woman, whose penchant for cheating on her husbands and ruining them financially exceeds even your reputation. Edwina Narwhal Frydenthrope Thromonde Wohlstetter Rhodes is a...a...""Hussy." I quaffed the last of the port and plunked the empty glass aside. "Whore. Doxy. Slut. Slattern. Bawd. Harlot." I grinned and blinked sleepily at Clayton. "Shall I continue?""And you're marrying her."I shrugged and adjusted my silk cravat. "So I am.""It won't last.""Of course it won't. But she's entertaining in bed. And she has money. In case you haven't noticed sufficiently, I need money."Clayton's eyes narrowed. "How could I not notice? Thorn Rose Manor has gone to rack and ruin the last year. You're down to one scullery maid with a habit of pinching the family silver -- or what's left of it that you haven't sold to appease your gambling debts, a butler who is too frequently prostrated by the grape, and a groom too lazy to swat flies, much less muck the stalls. Trey, if you need money -- ""I won't take it from you."Frustration darkened Clay's face. "Damn you, brother, don't do this. I know you're still hurting -- "Sutcliffe, Katherine is the author of 'Obsession' with ISBN 9780743411981 and ISBN 0743411986.