The Bride Price (26 page)

“Good, good. Good day to you, Mr. Deville.”

Sebastien bowed as the King walked away, his entourage trailing. Something tickled at his senses, but it wasn’t full enough to realize, and he pushed it aside, the open pathway to freedom splayed before him.

The reporter stepped into his path as he walked forward, but he simply skirted the man and continued. Another man walked up to him, and another, a bevy of guests of all stripes, colors, and sizes got in line. It was a long time before he got that bath.

She didn’t know what to think of Sebastien’s actions. He had saved that little girl. Put his stand
ing in jeopardy. Done something purely selfless for another.

She watched from the earl’s study as he continued to fend off the crowds, then picked up the document the earl wanted and skirted the desk to return downstairs. Her progress was abruptly stopped in the middle of the room as the Duke of Grandien strolled inside.

“Your Grace.”

“Ah, Mrs. Martin.” One hand held a walking stick, while the other turned and shut the door, sealing them inside.

“I must be leaving Your Grace, if you would excuse me.”

“I do not.” He tapped the cane against his palm. “I came here expressly to speak with you.”

She shifted nervously, wishing he had left the door open. “Perhaps we can discuss whatever you need on the way back downstairs? The earl would like this document right away.” She held it up.

“Cheevers knows I’m here.” He cast a glance left, then right, before strolling a few steps forward. “I come with a proposition for you, Mrs. Martin, and I’m not going to mince words or be coy about it.”

“A proposition?” Her heart started pounding in her chest.

“A swap if you will. Or a trade up, if I do say so myself.” He smiled the vaguely smarmy smile that seemed to make all the women melt at his feet.

She watched him for a moment, not believing her ears. “Are you—are you asking me to discard Sebastien and take up with you?”

He raised a brow, so like Sebastien’s. “For all your plain speaking, you sound far more appalled than I would have thought. We look alike, Mrs. Martin, or hadn’t you noticed? And I possess far more wealth than Sebastien ever will, and I say that knowing the type of wealth Sebastien will likely acquire. But there is no beating the sheer amount of fortune that a legacy can amass. Most people find it easy to substitute us one for the other.”

The way he said it…she could barely work up any anger above her shock. She had a feeling she wasn’t the first person the duke had approached in this way either. She wondered if Sebastien knew, then chastised herself. He definitely knew. That amount of bile wasn’t spawned from nothing.

She examined the duke critically, trying to figure out what it was about the man that was so different from Sebastien, for all that they looked alike. They possessed the same eyes, the same build, the same lock of hair that didn’t want to stay back. High cheekbones, strong chin, full lips.

But the little things were all different. The aquamarine might be the exact shade, but the way the duke’s eyes moved was different, the way his mouth curved, the stern control he exuded versus the wildness of his natural son. The duke’s lips seemed to be perpetually pressed together, thinning them, while Sebastien’s were quick to pull into a smile or smirk, whether the feeling was genuine or dark.

“You wouldn’t be alone, as you so often are, isn’t that true, Mrs. Martin?”

Someone like the duke would
never
leave personal gifts on someone’s pillow. He would buy ruby necklaces and expensive, showy, meaningless items. He would crush a person into submission or seek to buy her affection.

“Sebastien is still young,” he continued. “There are years of experience that he lacks. And his drive is singular.”

The man in front of her would never understand what drove someone like Sebastien, not really. He might correctly estimate his actions and responses; he might even give the right
answers
about what drove him. But he would never understand. This man was tight control and firm arrogance. And while his son carried those traits as well, he was rebellious and resentful and wild.

He pulled his cane through his fingers. “Sebastien will leave you. Do you know his reputation? No mistresses, no long-term relationships of any type. He never stays.”

And she was going to lose him to this tournament. Sarah was going to marry him, and Caroline would have to stay away from both of them.

“Why are you doing this? Why do you want Sebastien to win so badly as to do this?”

He watched her from heavily lidded eyes and twirled his walking stick. “Are you so blind as not to see the obvious advantages of choosing me?”

He had avoided the question. Sudden clarity pierced her. “You bet on him to win, didn’t you?”

His cocked head was her answer.

“How much did you bet?”

“That matters little. There is more riding on this than a paltry twenty or fifty thousand pounds. How many men can claim multiple sons in the aristocracy? We are talking about dynasty. I always knew he had it in him. He just needed the right incentive, the right opportunity. Denying him all these years has made him hungry, fierce. And you come by and undo all of my work in a few months? I think not.”

Her mind had started to whirl under the amounts of money he was talking about and went into a complete tailspin with the rest of his words.

“Fortunately, I have quite a bit of experience with the female mind.” He walked around her, examining her from all angles. “Comfort, security, the ability to do what you wish without having to make hard decisions. Every need catered to,” he whispered as he passed behind her, in a voice that sounded entirely too much like Sebastien’s, but edged with words like Patrick’s. “I think you can see the advantages of the situation.”

She finally found her voice. “I’m appalled you would think so.”

He lifted his brow again, in front of her once more. “Histrionics or bad acting, Mrs. Martin?”

She tilted her head, examining him further. She could see it from his perspective. This offer would benefit her immeasurably. She’d have plenty of money and perhaps even a step into society. Most women of her acquaintance would jump at the offer.

His hand moved along the head of his walking
stick. “I could give you just about anything you desire. Gowns, jewels, your own servants. You’d never want for anything.”

There was something about the duke—a spark, a curling desire to play with the edged jaws, snapping and deadly. A man still considered in his prime, and one who looked twenty years younger. She could see exactly how he affected others.

“No.”

“No? You would instead try and keep the attention of a man who even now intends to win this competition and forget about you entirely?”

“No.”

“Well, which is it?” He touched her jaw, and she forced herself to breathe in regulated breaths. “Will you take that which I have so generously offered, an offer I don’t have to make at all, mind you, or will you go on faith that your dear Sebastien will pick you?”

His allure reached out to her, tried to wrap around her, but his spark didn’t resonate. She was instead repelled by the manner in which he treated his son. Sons, really, but her true care lay with the one.

“I go with neither. I’m not the ninny you think me, Your Grace. And furthermore, I find it interesting how scared you must be to approach me in this way. With your talks of dynasty and pride. A scared little boy afraid of someone disturbing his schoolboy game.”

His fingers paused and then removed themselves from her skin. “Scared? What a lark.” He tightened the valleys of each gloved finger against
his skin. “You are a foolish girl, Mrs. Martin. If ever you decide otherwise, perhaps I will hear you out. Or perhaps I will simply close the door in your face.”

“Yes, because in addition to all of those lovely qualities you listed, you think that taking me to mistress will hurt your son. You will take one more thing from him and prove yourself the worthier. I think you are intimidated by Sebastien, for all that you say you want him to succeed. And frankly, I find you lacking in any good character, Your Grace. Do not worry yourself that you will find me penniless at your doorstep. I would rather starve in the streets.” She walked toward the door.

“Perhaps I will let Cheevers know that.” His voice was silky, deadly.

She didn’t stop, though she almost stumbled. “You do that, Your Grace.” She opened the door and walked through.

It had taken most of the evening, a run-in with nearly every illegitimate child born to England, another with the duke and a scorcher with Everly, before he had finally run away to the only safe haven he knew.

He slammed down into a chair, flopping across it. His fingers played over the fabric, hell-bent on destroying it. She stilled his hand.

“What ails you?”

“Today ails me. Everyone who has spoken with me today. They can’t get past my
regrettable
action, my moment of stupidity.”

“I—I thought it was wonderful of you.”

“Wonderful to lose?”

“No, to save the little girl.” Caroline touched his shoulder but he pulled away.

“It was weakness.”

“What?”

“Weakness. Can you see the duke doing something like that?”

“No.” There was something dark in her tone. “That’s precisely my point.”

“I nearly gave up the win.”

She leaned back, fingers playing with the muslin of her dress. “Would that be so bad?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” He could hear the plaintive note in her cry.

“I’d lose Roseford.”

“You have money. Buy a different property.”

“It’s not home.” The feeling had always been off with any other property.

“But you haven’t lived there in twelve years.”

“It doesn’t matter. What would you say if someone took your cottage from you?”

She stayed silent.

He laughed humorlessly. “Roseford Grange is the only true home I have ever had.” He rose and began to pace restlessly. “All I need to do is win the contest and it will be mine again.”

“Can you not convince the duke to release it to you?”

“If in twelve years I could not, I do not believe that anything I have done will convince him. Besides, the documents are sealed. I checked them
myself to make sure the duke couldn’t remove the property once I won.”

“The King could undo them.”

“The King loves this tournament. Your banners were divine, by the way. Just the key to his heart.”

She chewed her lip. “You could find a different property. One like Roseford.”

He shook his head. “You don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand? That you want to win? That you wish to prove to everyone you are worthy?”

“As if I care if they think me worthy.”

“You do!” She rose from her seat. “Otherwise you would have told everyone to travel to Hades long ago.”

He pulled her against him, bending her back, grinding into her in a purposeful motion that made her eyes darken. “I don’t care what those bastards think. But I will show them what a true bastard can do with that kind of power at his hands.”

“Because you want revenge.”

“Of course I want revenge!”

“And you think getting that revenge will prove you worthy.”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense. You don’t understand.” He pushed away from her.

“I don’t understand? I don’t understand?” Her voice increased to a frenzied tone.

“Of course you don’t. You don’t walk in society and you don’t have the black mark of an illegitimate birth.”

“I don’t understand?” She said it in a somewhat maddened tone. “You think I don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t understand.”

“Oh, wise one.” She laughed a bit hysterically. “I don’t understand?” She pointed at him, finger shaking. “Who do you think my father is?”

He paused in his scathing retort, taking in her angry and embittered expression, her features crisp and patrician, her blonde hair free about her face, her blue-gray eyes the exact shade of—

“My God. You’re Cheevers’s daughter.”

She strode away from him, shoulder bumping against his as she took a pot on the drying rack and slammed it into its position.

Why hadn’t he seen it before? All kinds of odd things clicked into place, except…“How can this be?” He thought of her heavy gold locket. The man inside posed with her mother, a man who looked nothing like Caroline except as a very distant relation.

“My mother was pregnant when she married Papa.” She slammed another pot into place. “He was a distant cousin of the earl’s, living in this cottage. That part has always been true. He married my mother, the earl’s mistress, in order to cover things up.”

“Why didn’t the earl—”

“Oh, please. My mother was a nobody. The earl was already betrothed to Sarah’s mother. He was hardly going to break the lucrative contract they had.” Another pot slammed.

“Lady Sarah doesn’t know, does she?”

“Nor will she.” She walked up to him and
pulled his head down. “If she finds out, I will hunt you down and destroy you.”

“I thought you two were close.”

She closed her eyes, but not before he saw the deep pain reflected. “We are. I discovered the truth when I overheard the earl speaking with my mother when I was ten. I’ve had to keep myself from thinking of Sarah as my sister, even as I feel that exact way about her regardless of blood. I’ve never told anyone. Cheevers would kill me. Sarah would be beyond hurt.”

“Cheevers doesn’t acknowledge you.”

“No, and if you say a word to Cheevers, I don’t know what I would do to you. He’d likely turn me out with nothing. I have nothing he wants. I never have. And I’ve used up all of my chances by consorting with you.” She gave a mirthless chuckle and wrapped her arms around her middle. “Do you know what a woman in my position would have to resort to with nothing to her name? The villagers would turn their backs on me should Cheevers tell them to. You think that being a bastard has made your life hard? Try being a woman who has to rely on someone else to survive.”

“You own this cottage.”

“Do I?” She laughed unpleasantly. “Cheevers could argue that the property be turned over to him. He would likely win. And even if he didn’t, he could turn everyone against me. I wouldn’t even be able to buy a loaf of bread.” She looked at him from beneath her lashes, through narrowed eyes. “Isn’t it what you are always saying, that
a title and power will beat those without them every time?”