To Marry The Duke (32 page)

Sophia reached for James’s hand, raised it to her lips, and kissed it. “She loved you, James. She still loves you.”

She released his hand and gazed into his eyes.

“I spoke to Martin, too,” he said. “I believe we have found the beginnings of a friendship. He is very much the same as I was when I was his age. He reminded me of that.”

“I’m glad you found the opportunity to talk to him.”

James shook his head. “It was not opportunity I was lacking, my darling. It was understanding. Empathy. And courage. I had not wanted to hear what I feared might make me angry or feel pain, and because of that, I distanced myself from everyone. You have shown me, by merely talking to me and drawing me out, how to open up to my family, Sophia, and I thank you for that.”

A bright, euphoric glow alighted within her.

If there had not been others milling about on the deck, Sophia would have wrapped her arms around James’s neck and thrown herself into his embrace. But there were others, and she was still cautious in regard to her husband, so a warm smile had to suffice.

She was learning the English way…

“That means a great deal to me, James.”

“I was hard on you,” he continued, “when you told me about Lily, and for that I apologize. You must understand that it was difficult to hear. Difficult to know that I had not taken adequate care of my family.”

“It was not your fault. You are here now, doing everything in your power to bring your sister home, and that is all you can do. You are only human, James, and you have suffered a great deal yourself. You told me it was not up to me to fix what was broken in your family. I shall say the same to you, now. You cannot be expected to fix everything either.”

He touched her cheek. “You told me at home that you wanted to be accepted by our family, and I came out here today to assure you that you are. We would not wish to lose you, Sophia.”

Did he truly think he would?

“I don’t wish to lose you, either.”

The ship sliced through the calm waters below; a whistle blew from somewhere on deck.

James gazed down at Sophia and spoke in a deep, sultry voice. “Come now, back to the cabin with me. I’ve been without you for too long, and I am weary. I cannot bear to think about what has become of Lily. I want to feel the warmth of your skin next to mine.”

A passionate fluttering arose within her breast. Her husband wanted comfort from her, not love, but she would accept that for now. She would glory in the act of giving him comfort as well as pleasure, for he would surely give her the same.

He held out his hand, she placed hers inside it, and followed him below deck.

Whitby, James, and Sophia registered in a tiny inn on the outskirts of Paris under false names, to hide their purpose in France and prevent anyone from knowing that Lily had likely eloped to Paris with her alleged half brother.

After a quick meal at the inn, they hired a coach to take them to the return address on Madame La Roux’s correspondence, and the location James had for years known was her place of business. This was, however, the first time he would pass through its doors.

The coach rattled noisily along the cobblestone streets, down narrow, twisting avenues lined with decrepit old buildings and littered with refuse. James reached for Sophia’s hand and held it tightly.

He did not know how he would have gotten through all this without her. No one would have had the slightest idea where Lily had gone; his mother would never have told him the truth about the blackmail. He would have been lost.

More importantly, he would not have found comfort anywhere. With anyone.

That’s what Sophia gave him, after all—over and above the pleasure she gave him in bed.

Comfort.

Solace.

Love.

Novel concepts for James, who had never wanted or needed any of those things. Never expected to need them. He had been frozen solid inside, and those things Sophia offered held warmth. He had not wanted warmth to touch his hardened heart. He had wanted to avoid it at all costs. To remain frozen. Untouchable.

He would not wish to go back to that hard shell now, not after experiencing the astonishing joy that came with the knowledge that someone in the world cared for him. Someone was there for him no matter what, and would
always
be there for him.

He had learned a great deal about Sophia these past few weeks, and he had discovered that she possessed integrity, devotion, and compassion. She would walk through fire for those she loved, and thank God in heaven for blessing
him
—for making
him
one of the people in this world whom she loved with that enormous, healing heart of hers.

He gently squeezed her hand.

She gazed into his eyes.

A thousand questions were written on her face. She deserved answers. He owed her those answers. There were so many things he wanted and needed to say to her. So many apologies. And promises, too.

They came to a halt in front of Madame La Roux’s brothel. Neither Whitby nor Sophia had voiced a concern that Lily might have been brought here, for it did not need to be said. They all knew it was a disturbing possibility.

James leaned forward to climb out of the coach. Whitby tried to follow, but James held him back. “Stay here with Sophia, if you will. I don’t want her left alone anywhere near this place.”

Whitby nodded and sat back.

“Good luck, James,” Sophia said, just before he closed the carriage door behind him.

He ascended the steps on the outside of the brick building, and was admitted by an Oriental porter. James glanced around at the lavish furnishings in the front hall—a crimson carpet to match the red-and-gold wallpaper, a red velvet settee, a glittering crystal chandelier overhead. To his right, a large portrait of a nude woman lying on a riverbank, her legs spread wide, hung on the wall.

James requested a meeting with Madame La Roux, and was ushered into a back room, where he waited.

A moment later, a brocade curtain on the other side of the room lifted, and a slim, impeccably dressed woman appeared. Her hair was naturally golden and shiny, pulled into an elegant twist on top of her head. She wore no face paint, and her complexion was flawless, her bone structure the envy of any woman past twenty. She was, he had to admit, a striking beauty for her age, and not at all what he had expected.

As soon as her eyes fell upon him, her face paled. She brought a hand up to cover her mouth. “It’s you.”

James made a slight bow. “Indeed.”

Madame La Roux collected herself and fully entered the room. Her voice took on a charming, sultry tone. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but I had not expected the resemblance to be quite so… startling. You look exactly the way your father looked the first time I met him, over thirty years ago.”

“I assure you, the resemblance ends there,” he replied.

She forced a polite smile, went to the side table and picked up the decanter. “Would you like a drink?”

“I will decline.”

She turned over a glass for herself. “I hope you won’t think it rude if I take one myself.”

Judging by the way her slender hand was shaking as she poured, he suspected she needed it. “Not at all.”

Genevieve took a long sip from her glass, then moved gracefully across the room to the mantelpiece. “What brings you to Paris, Your Grace?”

“I should think you would have been expecting me. Eventually.”

She gave him a devious look. “You wanted to meet me?”

He laughed. “I will admit to a certain curiosity about the woman my father married—against the advice of his own father—but that is not why I’m here.”

“His father was a bastard, but I’m sure you knew that. He was your grandfather, after all.”

Odd, he thought, how a woman such as herself could exude such feminine sophistication while uttering profanities. Quite unexpectedly, he understood why his father—given his wild, defiant nature—would have been attracted to her all those years ago.

“Did you wish to know more about your father’s other life?” she asked with a flirtatious, teasing tone. “Did you come looking for a memento of him?”

In actuality, James would have liked to learn about his father from Genevieve, but there were more important issues to consider at the moment.

In any event, it wasn’t likely that he could sit here for long and casually sip tea with the woman who was blackmailing his family.

He took a step forward. “I don’t have time for games,
madame
. I understand you have been corresponding with my mother, the Dowager Duchess.”

Genevieve raised an eyebrow. “Ah, yes, she’s the dowager now, isn’t she? I heard you took a wife. An American. She was quite the rage while she was here, James, shopping for her trousseau.”

The woman’s knowledge of Sophia infuriated him. Her use of his given name only added to the flame.

He took a deep breath into his tightening lungs.

He was through with idle pleasantries.

“I will have you understand, Madame, that there will be no more letters to Wentworth Castle. If you dare to make another request for payment, or try to contact any member of my family ever again, I will return to Paris myself and crush you. Do you take my meaning?”

Her shoulders heaved with a sigh. “What makes you think I have requested any kind of payment? I swear,” she said casually, “I have not thought of your family since… almost forever.”

“Let us dispense with the lies, Genevieve.” He strode forward and yanked the opal pendant from her neck. “I recognize this, and I will return it to its proper place in my mother’s boudoir.”

With a look of shock and horror contorting her face, Genevieve clutched at her throat. “How dare you!”

“How dare
you, madame
. Your secret is out, and there will be no more of it.”

He could see her bosom heaving with indignation, a look of defeat finding its way to her huge, green eyes, but James was not finished with her yet. “Now,
madame
, you will tell me where I can find Pierre Billaud.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“I believe you do.”

She called out to someone. “Armande! Come in here!”

A hulking gentleman in a suit came bursting into the room. James reached into his coat and withdrew a pistol: He aimed it at the man’s chest. “You will remain outside the door, sir, until I am through with your employer.” The man didn’t move. James pointed the weapon at Genevieve. “Or I swear I will shoot you both.”

After a tense few seconds, Genevieve waved her servant away.

James lowered the pistol to his side, but kept his finger on the trigger. “I need an address.”

“Why? He’s nothing to you. ”

“Nothing? The man you claim is your son? The man who is allegedly my half brother and the rightful heir to my title? He means a great deal to me,
madame
, and I will have one of two things. A birth certificate, or his address. Now.” He raised the pistol again to point directly at her heart.

Genevieve breathed heavily while she stared at the pistol, considering her options. “I don’t have a birth certificate to show you, but that doesn’t prove or disprove anything.”

James raised the pistol even higher to point at her face.

“All right, all right,” she said, holding a hand up. “He lives on rue Cuvier. But good luck finding him. I haven’t heard from him since he left Paris. For all I know, he’s still in England.”

James turned to leave, but Genevieve called after him. “You’re wrong about something, you know! The resemblance doesn’t end with the way you look. You’re
just
like your father, in every way!”

James pushed through the front door and descended the front steps. He did not look back.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the coach pulled up in front of a shabby, broken-down boardinghouse across the city.

“Good heavens,” Sophia said, looking out the window of the coach.

Whitby slid across the seat. “I will not stay in the coach this time, James, not if there’s a chance Lily is in that detestable place with that worm. We will both come with you, Sophia and I.”

“Yes,” James replied. “If she is there, she might require some convincing, before she leaves with us. But may I remind you both, she might fancy herself in love with that worm.”

Whitby made a wry face.

They all three of them stepped out of the coach and entered the boardinghouse.

“Madame La Roux said she has not heard from Pierre since he left for England,” James said. “I am not hopeful.”

The stench of stale urine assaulted their nostrils as they climbed a narrow set of stairs with a wobbly banister and reached room six at the top. A baby was crying in one of the rooms. A cat scurried past their legs.

James knocked forcefully on the door.

The knob turned.

Then—quite to his surprise—James found himself staring into the face of Pierre Billaud.

Chapter 27

This is too easy
, James thought. Pierre was either a vapid moron, or he’d wanted to be caught.

Pierre tried to slam the door on him, but James stuck his foot in to block it. “Don’t be a fool, Billaud. Where’s my sister?”

“James!”

He heard Lily’s childlike voice from within, and shoved Pierre out of the way. Sophia and Whitby followed him in. Lily hurled herself into James’s arms, and he held her tighter than he’d ever held her before.

She squeezed him and began to cry. “How in the world did you find me?”

“It wasn’t difficult, my dear. There was a trail of letters, sent over many years, that led us here.”

“Letters? What kind of letters?”

He wiped a tear from her soft, pale cheek. “That, I will explain later.”

Pierre seemed to gather his courage at that moment, and took a step forward. He stopped between Whitby and James, who were both at least six inches taller than he. James had to credit the man.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he said. “Lily, this is not what we planned.”

James frowned down at Billaud.

“I’m sorry, Pierre,” Lily replied, “but this was not what I thought it would be like.”

“He didn’t kidnap you, Lily?” Whitby asked.

She bowed her head in shame. “No, I came to Paris with him, willingly. He said he wanted to marry me.”

“Why didn’t he?” James asked, glaring at Pierre for an answer. Pierre was curiously silent.

Sophia reached for Lily’s hand. “It’s all right, darling. We’re here now to take you home. Everything will be fine.”

Lily sniffled and wiped her nose.

James turned to Pierre. “Whitby, take Sophia and Lily to the coach. I will be along shortly.”

They moved toward the door, Sophia with her arm around Lily to guide her out. Lily stopped however, and returned to speak privately to James. “It’s not all his fault,” she whispered through her tears. “Please don’t hurt him. He did say he wanted to marry me.”

James felt a tremor of uneasiness move through him.
Please don’t hurt him
. Lily was afraid—afraid of the family legacy.

James glanced at Sophia, who gazed at him uncertainly. His gut twisted into a tight, coarse knot. Was she afraid, too? Afraid he would explode with uncontrollable, raging violence, like his ancestors?

The truth was, he had no idea what he was going to do. All he knew was that he had to deal with this man. It was necessary. He only hoped his sister would understand when she learned the whole story. And that Sophia would stand by his actions, whatever they may be.

“You needn’t worry, Lily,” he gently assured her, kissing her on the forehead. “I only require an explanation.”

She accepted that and started for the door, but paused to kiss Billaud on the cheek. She burst into tears immediately after, and Whitby gathered her up into his arms and carried her down the stairs. Pierre watched them go with a look of hostility in his dark eyes.

James looked at Sophia, who was lingering by the door. “I’ll be down in a moment,” he said. “Wait in the carriage, if you will.”

She hesitated, then turned to leave. James stared after her, knowing this would be a defining moment in their marriage, for he was about to discover for himself what kind of man he was.

He turned to face Pierre. James regarded him through narrowed eyes. The man was his own age, perhaps a year or two older, but he was weak. James wasn’t altogether certain what Lily had seen in him. Then he remembered the flirtatious manner Pierre had exhibited during the shooting party—socializing with the ladies, complimenting them endlessly in his thick French accent—and James supposed that Lily, in all her romantic innocence, had been easily charmed.

“You removed my sister from her home, good sir,” James said. “You transported her out of England to this hovel, without my permission, nor with the accompaniment of a proper chaperone. I will have clarification from you.”

Pierre spoke with a contempt that grated upon James’s already frayed nerves. “I fell in love with her, Your Grace.”

“Then you should have requested permission to court her properly.”

“I beg your pardon, but you wouldn’t have given permission, and I didn’t want to say good-bye to her.”

James had to fight hard against the fury he felt— brought on by an intense need to protect his sister and the unpalatable knowledge that he had failed the first time around. He tried to distract himself from it by seeking to understand more of what had happened and
why
it had happened.

“What is your connection to Madame La Roux?”

He’d found his mark, James noticed. Pierre stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.” James stood before Pierre and looked him up and down. He studied the man’s eyes, the set of his jaw, the line of his nose. “Do we resemble each other at all?” he asked.

“Not really, Your Grace.”

“Some might think we do.”

Pierre said nothing.

James tapped a hand on his thigh and wandered around the room. Pierre began to fidget.

“You had this letter in your side table drawer when you were a guest in my home.” James pulled the letter addressed to Genevieve from his pocket. “I took the liberty of reading it. You said that your assignment was going well, and that you would be returning to Paris on the seventeenth. You returned earlier. With my sister in tow.”

“Like I said, we fell in love.”

“Which was not part of the ‘assignment.’ ”

A bead of sweat trickled down Pierre’s head as he shook it.

“So why did you leave your assignment unfinished? You found a more profitable bounty?”

Pierre’s mouth tightened into a hard line. “Your sister was eager, Wentworth. She practically begged me to bring her here.”

“Watch your tongue sir. I will ask you point-blank, are you Madame La Roux’s son?”

A sneer colored Pierre’s eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on in your sick family, and to tell you the truth, I don’t really care. All I know is that I’m not that whore’s son, I’ve got an entirely different whore for a mother. So if you’re worried about Lily and me being related, we’re not. What happened between us was—how shall I say it?—decent and natural.”

James had to work hard to swallow his blinding fury. “How did you find out about the shooting party at Wentworth Castle? Unless you want to face the full force of my wrath, I suggest you tell me the truth.”

Pierre considered it, then sauntered toward the small window that looked out over an alley. “I met Genevieve only a few times, then she came looking for me, to ask me to attend your party. She knew all about it and made the arrangements for me to stay with Lord Manderlin. She paid my expenses and bought me clothes. She instructed me to say nothing about my purpose, and I would receive five hundred English pounds when I returned. As well as a few other ‘favors.’ ”

“But you have not gone to collect your reward.”

“We only just arrived in Paris last night. I didn’t want to leave Lily alone.”

James took a threatening step forward. “Thank you for the facts, sir. I will let myself out.”

Foolishly, Pierre grabbed James’s coat sleeve as he passed. “Wait. There is still the matter of your sister. What if I intend to fight for her?”

James’s eyes burned as he glared down at Pierre’s hand on his arm. “Spell it out, Billaud.”

Pierre did not let go. “She’s got a reputation to think of. If anyone found out where she’d been, she’d be ruined.”

James met Pierre’s narrow gaze. “First of all, I recommend that you let go of my sleeve. Then, sir, you will tell me exactly what it will cost me to have the pleasure of never seeing your face again.”

Pierre’s eyes glimmered as he released James’s arm. “A duke like you with a rich American wife? Fifty thousand pounds should keep me quiet.”

James let out a long sigh. “You, too, Pierre. Have the French nothing better to do than dream up endless plots of blackmail?”

Proudly adjusting his collar, looking as if he’d just bagged a lion, Pierre smiled. “It’s better than pushing a potato cart around town, Your Grace.”

“Ah. But is it better than this?” James drew his pistol and pointed it at Pierre’s head. “I would wager that pushing potatoes would be preferable to being buried with them. Am I clear?”

Pierre raised his hands in mock surrender. “She’s
your
sister, Wentworth. Are you sure you want to risk this getting out?”

James pushed the barrel of the pistol against Pierre’s clammy forehead. “There will be no risk. Because if you do not agree, you will be dead.”

Pierre’s hands trembled as he stared at the pistol.

“I will have your word, Billaud, and with it, you will have my promise not to hunt you down and spill your brains all over those dowdy new clothes of yours.”

Pierre’s Adam’s apple bobbed noticeably. “If you hadn’t come here, I would have married her, you know.”

“With the expectation of an allowance from me, no doubt.”

“With or without it.”

James flinched, then raised his chin. “Do I have your word, sir?”

After a tense second or two, Pierre judiciously agreed.

A moment later, James walked out of the boarding-house and stepped into the private coach that was waiting on the street. Inside its safe confines, Sophia sat beside Lily, who had recovered from her tears and was now looking nervous and frightened at the prospect of facing James’s wrath.

He took a few seconds to roll his neck and relax the muscles in his shoulders, and allow his raging pulse to settle down. His hands were shaking.

But he was in control.

He gazed at Sophia, so beautiful even now in this horrid coach. God, if she only knew what she had done for him. He never would have been able to trust himself to deal with all of this before Sophia had come into his life. She had given him so much, taught him so much. She was the greatest gift he had ever known.

He felt a blanket of calm slowly descending upon him.

Whitby, Sophia, and Lily all sat in silence, waiting to hear what had occurred.

As soon as the coach was in motion, rumbling down the street and turning a corner, James spoke. “Pierre will keep quiet.”

Lily covered her mouth with a hand. “You didn’t harm him did you? Because… because he wasn’t bad to me, James, truly. As I said, I went with him of my own accord. He was always very charming toward me.”