My Fair Duchess (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel Book 1) (6 page)

“Colin, are you all right?”

His mother’s soft words, so filled with what sounded like concern, made him frown. He glanced up from the letter and met her soft brown gaze. Her eyes held a look of sorrow he had never seen before, or maybe he had simply never noticed it. Foreign guilt stabbed him. Had he grossly misjudged her? His mind rebelled against the possibility. Whatever his father thought he had done, Colin could not comprehend what sort of deed would drive his mother into the arms of other men if she loved his father.

He swallowed again, feeling as if someone had filled his mouth with sand. Trailing his gaze to the fidgeting Mr. Nilbury, Colin cleared his throat. “I’d like to speak with my mother alone.”

Mr. Nilbury nodded his head vigorously. “Yes, of course. If you wish to talk about the legality of the letter―though I assure you it’s all very legal―you know where to find me.”

Colin nodded and motioned his mother toward the green velvet settee as Mr. Nilbury showed himself out. Once seated, Colin faced her. “I cannot be forced to fall in love. You above everyone should know that.”

“I do,” she said, her voice trembling.

Colin was at a loss for what else to say. He drummed his fingers on his thigh as the silence in the room grew. A sideways glance at his mother confirmed what he suspected. She was just as uncomfortable as he was, or else she was supremely unhappy with the dress she was wearing because she appeared to be trying to rip it by the way she was twisting it. He let out a sigh. He and his mother never talked about anything personal. Really, they rarely spoke at all.

“I suppose I better be going.”

She stilled her hands then started wringing them again with vigor. “Colin, nothing excuses what I did to your father. I―” She pressed her hands to her face then lowered them slowly. “I loved your father. You must believe me.”

Colin struggled to remain aloof as his blood rushed through his veins. Damn her. After everything she had done to Father, she had the nerve… He ground his teeth together. At least she seemed to recognize that what she had done was inexcusable. That was something new.

He drew a long breath. He was too tired to hate her anymore. “I wish I could believe you,” he said. “Obviously Father wished to believe you loved him, since he blamed himself for your behavior on his deathbed.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. “Devil take it. I’m sorry. That was unpardonably rude.”

“No.” Her voice was a choked whisper. “I knew it was foolish to hope you were ready to hear anything I have to say. It’s no more than I deserve.” His mother’s shoulders sagged a bit. He had the most surprising urge to reach out and pat her on the arm or offer some show of affection. Before he moved, however, she stood.

Looking down at him with the detached expression she’d worn for so many years, she lifted her chin in a defiant gesture he had seen her give many times before. She swiped at her face while staring at him. “I do hope you find someone you love to marry, but I promise to deem your marriage worthy no matter if it’s for love or convenience.”

“How thoughtful of you, Mother,” Colin said. Whatever moment they might have shared was obviously gone. Something deep within him twisted, but he refused to care. Standing, he offered her a smirk in return for her unblinking gaze. “Are you concerned I’m incapable of falling in love and may lose my fortune?”

“I know you’re capable of it by the love and devotion you showed your father. What concerns me is that you will never trust a woman enough to allow such a thing.”

She was positively right. Only a fool would willingly offer his heart only to get it ripped apart. But despite every hurt his mother had ever caused him, he had no desire to torment her with the truth.

“I have to leave, Mother.” He turned on his heel and headed toward the door. As he strode back through the portrait gallery, he paused in front of his father’s portrait once more. “Well played, Father. But you of all people should know that just because two people are married does not mean they are both in love.”

His chest tightened suddenly, in a way that reminded him too much of the soft emotions he worked to keep at bay. He had to get out of here, but even more importantly, he needed to go save Harthorne. There was time enough to find a wife who would want as little to do with him as he would her. And he had to admit, a marriage would certainly settle the problem that had been needling him lately. He needed a legal heir.

Two Days Later

Norfolk, England

Lying atop her bed, Amelia squinted at her novel through the flickering candlelight, her heart racing with the twist of the plot. She finished the page and reached to turn it when a loud knocking came from below.

“Mother,” she yelled with enough volume to wake the servants,
if
there had been any left in their employment to rouse. Cook was the only help they still employed, and she was away on a trip. “Mother, Philip is home.” She glanced at the longcase clock and laughed merrily. Raising her voice, she called, “I have won the bet! Philip is not so distraught that he stayed out late and imbibed too much! I told you he had more sense than that!”

Blasted Lady Mary. It may not be sensible for her brother to have gone to the inn to drown his sorrows in ale, but Lady Mary breaking their betrothal mere days before their wedding was excuse enough for Philip to act without a lick of sense for one night. At least in Amelia’s book. But sweet Philip was home.

The knock below became louder. Amelia frowned. “Mother, please get the door,” she called, wanting nothing more than to find out what was about to happen to the heroine of the story. She started to look down again but the banging drew her gaze back up. “Mother, can you not hear that Philip has forgotten his key?”

Amelia craned her neck to listen for a reply that never came. She released a disgruntled sigh and set her book down. Once standing, she slipped her feet into her slippers and moved toward the door, catching a glimpse of her unruly hair in the looking glass. She frowned at her reflection. She’d quite imagined she would see long, shining black locks like the heroine’s. Amelia shook her head. It was entirely too bad that reality did not match the fantasy in her mind. With a snort, she descended the steps while struggling to grasp the hair falling in her eyes and obscuring her vision.

“Oh, to cut off all this blasted hair,” she muttered, making a big pile on top of her head and then tying it into a knot. She patted the lumpy thing with grin. Mother would roll her eyes the minute she saw the masterpiece.

She rounded down the last of the stairs while busily tightening the knot of hair and then collided with a warm body as she reached the bottom. “Mother,” she gasped, the air swooshing out of her lungs with the force of the collision.

“I’m sorry, dear,” her mother murmured in a distracted voice.

Amelia dropped her hands and frowned at the sight of Lord Huntington standing behind her mother. Each time she saw her father’s one-time friend it rankled all over again how he had called her father a bumbling fool. No matter she had been eavesdropping when he had said the cruel words to her father―it did not change his comment. She would never forgive Lord Huntington, but nevertheless, she dipped into a proper curtsy.

“Lord Huntington, whatever brings you here at such a late hour?” She left the
inconvenient
part out.

“Amelia!” her mother exclaimed, clutching her arm and drawing her firmly against her side before giving her a hard squeeze. “I’m terribly sorry, Lord Huntington. Even at two and twenty, Amelia still forgets to curb her tongue.”

Lord Huntington roamed his gaze over Amelia. “A lesson you well need learn, Lady Amelia, if you ever expect to catch a husband.”

Catch a husband, indeed! The only husband she would ever want was Charles. Careful to keep her tone neutral and not scathing, she said, “What surprise brings you to us tonight?”

“I happened to be in town and ran into your brother at the Pigeon Inn. He appeared to be well into his cups, and as I know of his recent misfortune, my concern sent me here to inform your mother of his whereabouts after Harthorne refused to leave as I suggested.”

Amelia’s mouth fell open in shock. She whipped her gaze to her mother’s face, noting her eyes seemed a bit too bright and her hands fidgety. Egads! She glanced between her mother and Lord Huntington while a sickening sensation built in her stomach. She could not have been so preoccupied with getting Charles to notice her that
she
had failed to notice that her mother was developing a tendre for Lord Huntington. Knots formed in her stomach, and she had to press her hand to her side to stop the sudden ache.

Surely her mother did not care for this man who had refused to write a letter on Father’s behalf to the bank Father had owed a great deal of money. It would have been a simple task for Lord Huntington, as a board member of the bank, to vouch for Father. Amelia swallowed, her throat too dry to speak. Trying to focus on the worry at hand, she frowned. But why else would Mother betray Philip’s privacy by revealing that Lady Mary had broken their betrothal and his heart?

Despite her pounding temples, Amelia cocked her head at her mother and prayed her ability to understand what Amelia was silently asking had not faded. When her mother discreetly shook her head, Amelia breathed out a half-sigh. Why did good news always seem to be followed immediately by bad lately? This turn of events could only mean Philip’s recent disgrace was spreading through town. Amelia bit her lip to stifle a cry. Poor Philip!

She pulled away from her mother, concern for her brother overwhelming her. “I must go to Philip,” she murmured and started for the front door.

“Dearest, no!” The high notes of panic in her mother’s voice caused Amelia to swing around once more.

“Amelia, you cannot go to a pub!”

She stiffened. There was no one else to help Philip but her. Father was gone. And under the stress of the past year’s estate debt, the strong mother she used to know had disappeared before her eyes. “Mother,” she started soothingly, a habit she’d only recently adopted. “I―”

“Certainly, your mother is correct,” Lord Huntington cut in. She faced him, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Something about the way he was ogling her so intently made her uncomfortable.

She moved back a step just as someone banged on the front door. “That has to be Philip!” she cried, her heart pumping with relief. She flew to the door and threw it open, only to have her brother’s name die on her lips.

“You’re not Philip.” She could think of nothing more to say, at least nothing sensible. By his looks, the towering man could have been the hero in the current novel she was reading. She felt oddly dazed. His sun-kissed skin was showing above his cravat and peeking out from under the golden whiskers on his face. She sucked in her lower lip under her top teeth, her thoughts tumbling one over the other. Maybe it was his great height or the fine-drawn bones making her thoughts scatter. Or perhaps it was his startling hazel eyes and sinful black lashes that muddled her wits. Yes, that was most certainly it. And heavens…that wavy hair gleamed like the dark gold of Adonis. Yes, yes. Each of those things muddled her head, but mostly it was his eyes―assessing, slanted, amused, accentuated by the fine lines suddenly crinkling around the edges.

Blast! She was not a silly, senseless girl, but he was too handsome to be real, and his wide chest rose and fell with each breath proving her most assuredly silly. “You’re not Philip,” she murmured again, suddenly hot and her tongue thick.

“I am not,” he agreed, surveying her with interest. He scrubbed a large hand over his face, and a massive gold crest ring on his finger caught the candlelight and glinted as he moved.

“Who are you?” Amelia demanded, sounding shrewish and feeling foolish for the way he had affected her. He could not be from here. She knew almost everyone in this town, and she did not recognize him. No man who filled out a kerseymere coat as exquisitely as this man did and who stood several inches taller than all other men she knew could avoid being the talk of the town. There were far too many single ladies here. Amelia set her hands on her hips as her mother and Lord Huntington came to stand behind her.

The stranger raised his brows at her question. “Who am I? Don’t you recognize me?” His mouth twitched with an almost smile.

Amelia furrowed her brow and shook her head. “No. Should I?”

His eyes raked over her from head to toe, traveling with a sort of insolence over her gown. She glanced down with a frown, suddenly oddly aware that she wore a drab, gray, dirt-smudged gown. She grasped at the material, irritated that she had noticed at all. Raising her gaze, she meant to meet his and show him her indifference, but his gaze lingered on her hair with an odd look of amusement. Amelia raised a hand to her head and grimaced. Her knot had come partially loose, and soft strands of hair poked out in every direction.

He smiled, and the way it lit his eyes to a brilliant green made her breath catch. Offering a partial bow, he said, “I suppose Harthorne didn’t regale you with stories about me as he did me about you. I’m undecided whether I should be offended or grateful.” The rich deepness of his voice made Amelia smile, despite the fact she still had no idea who this man was.