Page 18 of My One and Only Duke
What an awful conversation to have following one’s nuptials. “Ned and Davies have both refused a place in my will. They prefer to earn coin. They’ll accept a casual bequest, but they will not become objects of charity. They have the luxury of pride. Your circumstances require you to be more practical.”
Quinn sat on the bed next to his wife, and she scooted away. He reached over to scratch the cat behind the ears, and the new Mrs. Wentworth drew back.
Her reaction was understandable and should even have been a relief. “Jane?” He had the right to address her by name now.
“Mr. Wentworth?”
“I gather MacGowan’s connubial devotions were more enthusiastic than considerate. You have nothing to fear from me.” Of all men, she had the least to fear from Quinn Wentworth, who’d also learned early and well what folly indiscriminate lust led to.
The cat scrambled free of her grip, leaving a shower of dark hairs in his wake.
“Nothing to fear, Mr. Wentworth?”
Quinn took her hand, which was cool. “Contemplation of a grim death in less than forty-eight hours is a poor aphrodisiac.”
Her fingers were limp in his.
He tried again. “I could not do justice to you or the occasion, Mrs. Wentworth. Ours will be a short, cordial union free of conjugal intimacies. I apologize for not making that clear earlier.”
Jane had apparently assumed otherwise, doubtless a reflection of how badly she needed Quinn’s help.
She let out a breath, and the hand she’d placed over her belly slid to the mattress. “Will the marriage still be legal?”
“Absolutely. Nonconsummation is not grounds for an annulment, and who is to say, given your condition, what we’re getting up to behind that closed door?”
Her expression lightened considerably, which was mildly insulting. Also humorous, on a level Quinn had learned to appreciate only since becoming incarcerated.
“Then tell me about yourself,” she said. “I’ll have to explain you to the child, for he or she will bear your name. What shall I tell my child about the person who provided safety and comfort to him or her, and to me?”
An interrogation regarding Quinn’s past was probably the next least enjoyable fate besides a grim death, though if he had to endure questioning, he would do so holding his wife’s hand.
“You will tell this child as little about me as possible,” he said. “The less your offspring is associated with a convicted killer, the better. If pressed, you can allow I was a self-made man, but in truth I was simply lucky. In a situation where many children are born sickly, I was born big, strong, fast, and good with numbers. My father doubted my legitimacy, which offense he recalled when in his cups. He was a cooper by trade, though as a young man, he aspired to the status of wine merchant. One branch of the Yorkshire Wentworth family is titled, others are well respected. My father’s was not among them.”
A ducal family not far from York shared the Wentworth name, though Quinn had never so much as knocked on His Grace of Walden’s kitchen door. Wentworth was a common name, and Quinn had had no wish to be forcibly ejected from the premises.
“Your good luck outweighed the bad?” Jane asked.
A fair summary, but for recent events. “My father died, which was most fortunate for his offspring, and I prospered. I eventually took on a partner, whom you will meet next week. You can trust Joshua Penrose in all matters relating to money.”
Jane might just as easily have removed to the chair at the table, or declared herself ready to leave, and Quinn would have politely accommodated her choices. That she remained beside him, holding hands on the bed, was the first real comfort he’d had since losing his freedom.
Her hand in his gave him relief for a moment from the rage that had been locked in this room with him. The fury would return when she walked out, so Quinn allowed himself the respite.
“What of you?” Quinn asked. “Tell me about my wife.”
“She’s nobody. A study in obscurity who hadn’t the sense to appreciate even that station. I was a good girl, until I wasn’t. When Mama died, I lost my papa, too, in a sense, and I could never be what he needed me to be, so I gave up. When Gordie introduced himself to Papa in the churchyard one Sunday morning, I was easily charmed.”
A mortal sin in her lexicon, apparently. Did she know that good boys could be preyed upon by the shallow charmers every bit as easily as good girls?
“The Gordies in this life excel at locating virtuous young women on the brink of surrender. Don’t castigate yourself overmuch about it. Have you brothers or sisters?”
“None. You?”
He briefly described his sisters, two of the brightest, most stubborn, resilient people he knew, though even thinking of them was painful.
“And then there’s Stephen,” he went on. “The boy was under my father’s roof for the shortest amount of time, but in some ways suffered his influence the most. Don’t underestimate Stephen, whatever you do.”
“Were you speaking rhetorically, or am I to make the acquaintance of your family?”
