Page 76 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
“I—” Hell. She was alone. He’d been so angry, so baffled, he’d not yet considered that. He stood. “I must speak with Pentshire whether he’s in the middle of an argument or not. Where are they?”
The Castles shrugged.
Theo left them, trudged back upstairs, and found the wing that housed the earl’s chambers. He raised his arm to slam on the double doors at the end of the hall. But froze.
On the other side of the door—sniffling, crying, a voice low and pleading. “I don’t care about my reputation! It’s you who cares. Y-y-you’re ashamed of me!” Miss Mires dissolved into sobs.
Hell. Didnotwant to smash right into that argument.
Low-voiced apologies. Must be Pentshire. “Just a little longer.”
Theo should sneak away. No. He couldn’t wait. Cordelia had left, and he must act quickly. He raised his arm again.
“Get out!” Miss Mires yelled. “I will not pretend any longer!”
Theo pulled his fist from the door, wincing at the volume of her voice. “Bloody hell.”
He backed away. He’dhaveto wait.
The door flung open, forcing Theo back several stumbling steps, and Pentshire stormed out.
“Lord Theodore,” he said when he saw him. His face was pale, his jaw set hard. “I blameyou. Soyou’regoing to pay for it. Follow me.” He strode down the hall and bounced down the stairs, led Theo to his study, a place Theo had never been to except in secret, snooping about to dig up dirt. “Sit.”
Theo sat. Gingerly. Wary.
Pentshire threw open the doors of a cabinet, revealing a crystal decanter set likely filled with, judging by the color, Scottish whisky. He poured two glasses, and Theo welcomed it. He’d had a hell of a morning, too. And his day would not get easier. He had to chase down his betrothed. But first—Pentshire.
Pentshire threw himself into a seat across from Theo but didn’t drink. His jaw worked and clicked as if trying to find words.
Theo helped him. “I’m at fault? For what?”
“Your… woman… has plucked the final thread of my conscience, and everything’s fallen to pieces.”
“You’ll have to explain more than that.”
Pentshire poured the whisky down his throat and slammed the glass on the table. “I’m married. To Miss Mires. Not Miss Mires. The Countess of Pentshire.”
Theo schooled his features. “That’s a surprise. You call her—”
“The marriage is a secret because her father is a villain.” He laughed, a bitter, sharp thing.
“What does her father—”
“Maria is the Duke of Wallingham’s illegitimate daughter. Her mother married the dairy farmer before she gave birth. The man knows—knew—she wasn’t his. Loved her like his own, though.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and let his head hang heavy. “Thank God for that.”
Theo knit his hands together above his abdomen. Apparently, all he’d only had to do was listen, and Pentshire’s secrets came tumbling out. But what did Cordelia have to do with it?
Pentshire groaned. “I’ll not bore you with details.”
“No. Details are fine.” Hell. He’d sounded too eager.
“The dairy farmer died, and Maria was alone, and I’d been in love with her forever, so I married her. Special license.”
“Congratulations?”
Pentshire hung his head lower, showing Theo the crown of his head, his hair mussed and sticking up. “But I’ve told no one. My mother knows. And does not approve.”
“Why have you kept the true nature of your relationship a secret?” Theo asked. The question Cordelia most wanted answers to.
