Page 67 of The Virgin in the Rake's Bed
“I came here to discuss business, Your Grace, not to be humiliated by the sight of my daughter in the arms of a man such as this,” he exclaimed, lunging forward at Ian, and stumbling to the floor.
Nicholas stepped forward and helped Catherine’s father to his feet. He was a pitiable man, and there could be no denying he had been corrupted by power and ambition. He did not want Catherine’s happiness, of that, she was certain, but rather he wanted only to advance his own ends and that of Rickard, too. Catherine shook her head, glancing at Rebecca, who gave her a reassuring smile.
“It is all right,” she whispered as Catherine’s father asserted himself.
“Enough of this,” the Duke of Sinclair exclaimed.
“Enough? I have only just begun. I know now why he is here, Your Grace,” Catherine’s father said, turning angrily to the duke, who fixed him with a harsh glare.
“And why would that be?” he asked.
“Because he is your son,” he said, and those who were yet to be in the know gasped. The duchess steadied herself on the nearest piece of furniture, a table on which was perched a large vase which wobbled precariously. Nicholas looked astonished, and the duke faltered, evidently not having wished the revelation to be quite so blunt in its delivery.
“George…” his wife exclaimed, and the duke now drew himself up, advancing on Catherine’s father who, despite his frailty, stood his ground.
“It is true, I learned it from a landlord who regularly admitted the Duke of Sinclair to his boarding house accompanied by a woman. That woman was the Baron of Westwick’s mother, the dowager Baroness, Roberta Bennet,” he said, folding his arms with a smug look of satisfaction.
“Is this true?” the duchess asked, catching her husband’s arm, and pulling him around to face her. He nodded, looking sheepishly at her, and with a deft movement of her hand, she struck a sharp blow across his cheek.
“And when it is revealed, it will prove a most inconvenient truth for you both,” Catherine’s father said, glancing from Ian to the Duke and back.
“Are you saying my father is your father?” Nicholas exclaimed, somewhat slow to grasp the meaning of what was happening and turning to Ian, who nodded.
“It is true, and I have here letters to prove it,” he said, drawing out a bundle from his pocket and handing them to Nicholas who seemed thoroughly confused.
“You lecherous beast,” the Duchess of Sinclair exclaimed, and she struck out at her husband a second time, though now he stepped back to avoid her blow.
“I can explain everything,” he said, but his wife shook her head.
“There is nothing to explain. I have always known you had mistresses, and I tolerated them for the sake of harmony. But to discover this…” she exclaimed, pointing at Ian.
“It is not Ian’s fault,” Catherine exclaimed, angry that the duchess should see fit to blame Ian merely for the accident of his birth.
“But you are all forgetting something,” her father said, and silence fell on the room, the party turning to stare at him.
“You intend to use this against me,” Catherine said, “against your own daughter.”
She knew she was unwanted, that her father had lavished all his attentions on Rickard and seen Catherine as only a foil in his otherwise prosperous life. When he had realized there might be profit in her marriage, only then had he taken an interest in her, and now, despite everything, it seemed he was still determined to have his way.
“The man is a bastard, Catherine. You had no right to marry him without my permission. I will see the marriage annulled when the truth is known. The whole ton will erupt in scandal when it is discovered that the Baron Westwick is the illegitimate son of the Duke of Sinclair. I shall kill two birds with one stone – your marriage will be over, and my business interests will soar in light of the damage to the duke’s reputation,” he said, smiling to himself.
Catherine was surprised that neither the duke, nor Ian, threw themselves on her father in anger. But rather, they glanced at one another, the duke stepping forward, and a smile coming over his face.
“Do you threaten me, Broderick?” he asked, and Catherine’s father sniffed, his countenance unflinching.
“It is merely the revealing of a truth, one which must be known,” he said, and the duke nodded.
“I agree, of course, the truth should always be told. And if these revelations were to be known then I am sure there would be nothing to prevent myself from revealing certain truths to others,” he said, smiling at Catherine’s father, who faltered.
“What… what do you mean?” he asked, and the duke pondered for a moment.
“There is the matter of the Brooke Street investment. Your share is financed by the illegal import of French brandy. I know, because I have the papers in my study,” he said, and Catherine’s’ father looked uncomfortable.
“A trifling matter, hardly worthy of consideration,” he said, and the duke nodded.
“Oh, you are probably right. Such things pale into insignificance when one questions why there have been two dozen robberies on the road from London to Bath this past month, but by some miracle your own mail coaches have been spared such a fate. One might almost question whether those perpetuating such wicked crimes are in your pay…” he continued, the words hanging menacingly in the air.
“Nonsense, you have no proof,” Catherine’s father said, but the duke shook his head.
