Page 102 of Lady Gambit
“We’ll still be conversing madly when the first rays of dawn breach the horizon.”
She kissed him tenderly on the lips. “There’s one important factor you’ve neglected to mention, Mr Flynn.”
He knew she spoke of marriage. “I thought I might propose in Miss Darrow’s yard. It’s where you swept into my life in a swathe of gold silk and teased me with talk of your undergarments.”
“If only you’d known what a terrible burden I would be.”
“Yes, I’d have doubled my fee.” He kissed her quickly and patted her discreetly on the bottom. “Say goodbye to your brothers. I’ll not have them bursting into the Old Swan and dragging me to the fighting pit.” He sensed the men enjoyed brawling amongst themselves. If he married Delphine, he’d have to join the ranks and become a rogue. “Tell Aaron I’ll visit him tomorrow to discuss our plans.”
She giggled as she left him.
The sight brought a rush of relief. Then he turned and saw his father sitting at an oak table in a darkened corner of the old taproom, and his good mood soured.
Steeling himself—the last thing he wanted was an argument—he approached the man he tried hard to despise. “I thought you’d left two hours ago.”
The earl looked up through weary eyes. “You may have been arrested. I’ll not sit by and watch them throw my son in gaol.”
“A traitor is dead. I’m more likely to get an invitation to the palace than suffer the walk to the gallows.”
“Still, someone needed to be here for you.”
An awkward silence ensued.
The earl stared into his tankard.
“I’m thirty years old,” Dorian said, keeping his frustration at bay. “You sired me, but you don’t own me. As your illegitimate son, I will never belong to the aristocracy. The sooner you accept it, the better. Marrying Miss Montague won’t change the nature of my birth.”
“No.” His father glanced at Delphine standing at her brothers’ table, laughing at something Aramis said. “You love her. It’s plain to see. I pray it lasts. There’s nothing worse than knowing you’ve failed someone dear to you.”
He might pity the man, but his pity dried up years ago, along with his tears and the wounds on his back. “I’ll do everything I can to love her as she deserves.”
“Then I wish you luck. It’s evident you belong with these people.”
These people? He didn’t remind his father that Daventry was the bastard son of a duke. He didn’t mention the Chance brothers were nephews to the current Earl of Berridge.
Relationships shouldn’t be this difficult.
His father could change it all with a simple word or gesture.
“You mean to marry her, then?” His father nodded to Delphine.
“At the first opportunity.”
“I see.” The earl tossed back the contents of his tankard and slammed the vessel on the table as he stood. “If you require help with a special licence, I can write to the archbishop.”
Dorian stared, a little shocked his father had offered an olive branch. “I’d be grateful for your assistance.”
“You have it. I’ll deliver the letter personally.”
His father rounded the table. He didn’t bid Dorian farewell or pat his arm affectionately. “You proved what sort of man you are today. You put us idle men to shame.” And with those parting words, he left.
Evidently, it was to be a night of surprises.
Though Dorian spent the short journey to Long Lane locked in a passionate clinch with Delphine, the landlord of the Old Swan scuppered any plans to race upstairs and tear off their clothes.
“Mr Flynn!” Simpson rounded the counter in the empty tavern, drying his hands on a cloth. “That gent was here again. He waited for three hours but had to leave London tonight.”
“Oh?” he said, wondering if they would ever get a minute’s peace.
