Love's Promise (8 page)

“Well...yes.”

“And you presume that Rebecca will make him happy?”

“Don’t you?”

“I suppose—if he wants a bride who’s just like you.”

At voicing the remark, he appeared so accursedly innocent, but there was an undercurrent to his words that seemed to be an insult.

It had never occurred to her that Rebecca wasn’t a suitable candidate to be Michael’s wife. She’d been John’s fiancée for years, and she was Anne’s friend, like a detached younger sister and practically part of the family, yet Phillip implied that Rebecca was all wrong for Michael. In what way? By what standard?

Phillip changed the subject. “How did Michael’s investigation go in the country? I tried to pry the details out of him, but he was very tight-lipped. What happened?”

“It was...difficult.”

She didn’t like him to be so conversant with Wainwright business, so her tone was very snide—when she hadn’t intended it to be.

“And how was it difficult, Lady Anne?”

He only referred to her as
Lady
Anne, when he thought she was being ridiculous, and his overbearing manner set a spark to her temper.

“It means just that,” she snapped. “He’s met Thomas, and the child’s situation is very dire.”

“Surely, you can dish out more dirt than that. Or am I so unworthy that I can’t be graced with any gossip?”

“What are you saying?”

“You’re up on your high-horse—as usual—so you must have been listening to the Duke harangue. Let me guess: Thomas’s base blood is horribly diluted, and he’s so far beneath all of you, but you’re prepared to sacrifice on his behalf by bringing him here against his will.”

“Against his will!” she sputtered. “He’s a Wainwright!”

Phillip constantly sniped about lineage, and she loathed how he tried to make her feel guilty because she’d been born above him. It wasn’t her fault that his father had been a philandering roué, and Anne wouldn’t apologize for the entire social structure upon which England was founded.

She refused to be sorry for who he was—or who
she
was.

“No one said anything terrible about Thomas,” she insisted.

“I’ll bet the Duke was a veritable fount of charity.”

Phillip was smirking, and she’d have liked to slap his smug smile off his face.

“He simply wants Thomas raised with us in London.”

“The Duke isn’t the sort who’d be glad about it. Why do I sense that Thomas will suffer the trauma of being removed from his family and that he’ll never truly be welcomed by any of you?”

“What a hideous accusation! He’s John’s son. Of course I’ll welcome him!”

“Will you? And how about the Duke? He’s
such
a compassionate man.”

Phillip viewed their affluence and position as suspect qualities, and he repeatedly attributed wicked motives to them, which made her furious.

“If you must know, Thomas’s mother is a shrew, and they’re very poor. Michael wondered if they might even be starving. He didn’t think there was any food in the house, so Thomas can’t remain where he is. Is that adequate information to satisfy your morbid curiosity? Have I sufficiently justified myself to you?”

“Yes, thank you,” he sarcastically replied. “So it’s decided? Michael will bring him to London?”

“It looks like it.”

“How do you feel about that? You said you don’t mind, but do you? You’ll bear much of the burden.”

“It’s best that he be raised here. We can give him everything a boy could ever want when his mother can give him nothing at all.”

“There are some things that are more important than wealth and excess.”

“Really? And what might those be?”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

He stepped in, his body suddenly trapping her against the balustrade. She couldn’t escape unless she pushed him away.

He rested a hand on her waist, and she could feel the heat of his skin through skirt and petticoat. She gazed up at him, and there was a glimmer in his expression that she’d never noticed before. It made her heart race and her palms sweat.

“Don’t you ever get sick of this?” His tone was low and angry.

“Of what?”

“Of this bowing and scraping to your father!”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?”

“No. I have a fine life.”

“He’s got you so befuddled that you can’t see what’s right in front of your nose.”

“I can
see
that you’re a horse’s ass.”

“And that’s my best trait.”

He reached into his coat and retrieved one of his calling cards. To her stunned amazement, he stuffed it under the neckline of her gown. It dangled there, braced under dress, corset, and chemise.

“If you ever grow up,” he said, “call on me first.”

“I’m an unmarried lady. I could never....
call
on you. It’s just not done.”

“It’s done all the time—by women who know what they want.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Precisely.”

He stormed past her and down into the yard, then he headed for Michael and Rebecca. Michael saw him coming, and he smiled and waved, but Rebecca glowered at the interruption.

Rebecca had confessed that she detested Phillip and deemed him an ill-bred acquaintance who was undeserving of Michael’s affection, but she’d never state her misgivings aloud—at least not before the wedding. Afterward, Michael would likely hear plenty on the topic.

Phillip went over to them, and they strolled off. Anne watched them, but she was pondering Phillip and what he’d implied. He’d acted as if unchaperoned women regularly stopped by his home, and the notion made her peculiarly jealous when she couldn’t figure out why she would be.

If he consorted with every doxy in London, why should she care? What was it to her if he had a reputation as contemptible as his father’s?

She was incensed that she tolerated his boorish behavior—why did she
?
—and she could conceive of a thousand nasty things she’d have said to him if he’d still been there with her.

As if she could summon him back through sheer force of will, she scowled and fumed, sending her livid thoughts winging toward him, but he never once glanced her way.

The Duke stood at the window in his library, peering out over the park behind the house, where Anne was quarreling with Phillip. The Duke could have saved her the trouble by banning Phillip from the property, but he wouldn’t give Trent the satisfaction of knowing the Duke cared if Phillip visited.

Phillip said something rude, Anne retorted, and Phillip stomped off, which had the Duke chuckling. They had never gotten along because Anne wasn’t very smart, and her idiocy drove Phillip to distraction.

Phillip was the only man the Duke had ever met who wasn’t in awe of Anne’s position, and he’d have been an excellent match for her, but the Duke would never allow a union between them, for he would never sully his bloodline with one of Trent’s bastards.

Michael and Rebecca had just come inside, and they were walking down the hall, as the Duke eavesdropped to ascertain what Michael was thinking.

Michael was more circumspect than John had been, more guarded and independent, and he would often gainsay the Duke just for the pleasure of asserting himself. Michael might act on any wild urge before the Duke could discourage him, and if Michael decided against Rebecca, it would be impossible to persuade him otherwise.

“When your nephew arrives,” Rebecca was nagging, “what will you do with him?”

“I haven’t worked out the details,” Michael replied.

“Well, it wouldn’t be proper for him to reside with your father, so where will you put him? In an orphanage?”

“An orphanage! Good Lord, Rebecca, I never would.”

“Why not?”

“He’s my nephew.”

“Just barely.”

“We own many fine mansions. I’m sure we can find a place for one small boy.”

“But far from London.”

Apparently, Rebecca was as disturbed by Thomas as the Duke was, himself. Maybe more so. She wasn’t about to welcome the little bastard, and in that respect, he and Rebecca were in complete accord.

The Duke had devised numerous schemes regarding the lad, but none that would actually benefit him.

Once the Duke had control of the boy, he’d have control of the boy’s money, and there were many ways to guarantee that not a single farthing was ever spent on him.

If it had been up to the Duke, the windfall would have remained a secret, with the Duke keeping John’s bequest for his own use, and the boy living out his life in squalor and poverty. But there had been too many witnesses at the reading of John’s will, so the inheritance was common knowledge, with everyone expecting it to be honored.

He would pretend the boy was being provided for, would make it appear that he was wallowing in John’s largesse, but the Duke had other plans for that fortune.

“I had considered,” Michael was telling Rebecca, “purchasing my own home, so Thomas can live with me.”

There was a stunned pause, then she laughed. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you? And trying to get a reaction? I mean, what would people say if they found out?”

“Why would I care what they say?”

“But Michael, imagine the scandal.” She changed the subject, fake cheer in her voice. “Have I mentioned that I’m off to Bath with my cousin? She’s invited me to take the waters with her, and I promised I would.”

“That should be enjoyable.” Michael sounded bored to tears.

“But after I return, I’ll have several months free. I’m available for...well... whatever.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They walked on, and the Duke listened as Michael escorted her to the door and sent her on her way. Shortly, he trudged into the library, and he proceeded to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. He swilled it down, shuddered, then collapsed onto a chair. He looked pale and haggard.

“Long night?” the Duke noted.

“Yes, and an even longer day. I’m so hung-over that I feel as if the top of my head might simply blow off.”

“Then I suppose it’s the worst time to converse on any serious topic, but what is your answer?”

“To what question?”

“Will you have Rebecca or won’t you?”

“You heard her chattering, and you’re correct: This is the worst possible time to ask me.”

“When would be better?”

“How about when I’m not so aggravated by her?”

The Duke snorted, poured his own drink, then sat at the desk, facing his beleaguered son.

“Trust me on this, Michael. I’ve wed four of these girls. I’ve courted dozens more, and I’ve copulated with even dozens more than that. She’d no different from any of them.”

“High praise, indeed.”

“At least she’s pretty.”

“Is that all that matters to you? That she’s easy on the eyes?”

“Of course not. There are also her dowry and ancestry.”

“It just seems a silly reason to wed.”

“What would be a more appropriate reason?”

“How about finding a mate with whom you’re a bit compatible?”

“Egad, Michael, if you want a
chum
¸ buy yourself a dog.”

The Duke was furious, but he didn’t dare show any anger. He’d learned from hard experience that Michael was extremely stubborn, so he had to tread cautiously.

“I can’t stand her,” Michael said resentfully.

“So? What husband can stand his wife? Even the couples who start out cordial end up loathing each other. It’s the way of these things.”

Michael scoffed with disgust. “You are such a cold-hearted bastard.”

“Must I remind you that we need her money? We need it!”

“Yes, we do.”

Michael rose and poured himself another drink, then he went to the window and stared outside. He was pensive, weary, sipping his liquor, reviewing his options.

“What happened while you were away?” the Duke pried. “Why has this arrangement suddenly become so unpalatable to you?”

“She should have been John’s. He wanted her, but I don’t, and you’re trying to foist her off on me anyway. I can’t force myself to be glad about it—and I don’t care how accursedly rich she is.”

“John couldn’t bear her,” the Duke said. “If he told you otherwise, he was lying.”

The Duke was quiet, worried over what had occurred while Michael was in the country. Michael hadn’t been keen on the match, but he hadn’t been mortally opposed either. Something must have transpired to leave him so ambivalent.

“Michael”—he spoke to his son’s stiff back—“you know you have to wed and sire an heir as quickly as you’re able. You
know
you have to. I allowed John to debate and delay, but I’m out of time. I don’t frivolously ask this of you.”

Michael whipped around, his temper barely controlled. “I’m a grown man, Your Grace, and I am well aware of my duty. You don’t have to remind me of it.”

“Well, you don’t act as if you remember. John’s been deceased for six bloody months already! How much longer will you dither? What if you’re killed in an accident tomorrow? What if you come down with the putrid sore throat and perish next week? What will we do?”

“I’ll try my damnedest to stay alive,” Michael sneered.

“Don’t be smart with me,” the Duke scolded. “I’m tired of this pointless and idiotic rumination. If you don’t want Rebecca, then who the hell do you want? Name another girl who’s suitable and available. Name her, and we’ll make an offer this afternoon.”