Page 8 of What's a Duke Got to Do With It
“Yes, please.”
The baron turned to pour the drinks, the splash of liquor and the clink of crystal filling the air. “Though we both know why you’re here,” he said, making his way back to Sebastian, handing him one of the drinks and sitting across from him, “I do think we’d best do this the right way. I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment, you see, and wish to savor it.”
If Sebastian had been a cat, he rather thought his hackles would have raised at such a remark. So the man wished him to dance like a marionette on a string, did he? Taking a deep draught of the brandy, focusing on the burn of it as it traveled down to his empty stomach, he turned his mind to Ramsleigh Castle, and the village surrounding it. Bernard Fenley’s children needed the thatched roof above their heads to be repaired so they did not need to fear another winter. And Hazel Munsbridge needed to know she would not be forced to sell her body to feed her sisters. And Charles Porrid’s flock needed to be expanded after the sickness that had wiped out nearly every one of his ewes the season before.
So many people counting on him. He could not allow his pride to cause them even a moment’s more suffering.
Clearing his expression so only pleasantness remained, he looked Cartmel in the eyes—eyes that held too much enjoyment in their crafty depths for Sebastian’s liking—and said, clearly and distinctly, “Lord Cartmel, I would be honored if you would accept my suit for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
The baron did not answer right away, instead gazing at Sebastian over the rim of his glass. Finally, when Sebastian thought his lips would crack from the strain of keeping them in a pleasant line, the man spoke.
“As you know, Ramsleigh, I have made it no secret that I abhor what your father did. He lied, and cheated, and stole, ruining so many lives with his hoax of an investment scheme. And many of the men he swindled, I consider dear friends.”
How Sebastian kept his composure he would never know. He was well aware that his father’s sins had not been forgotten by theton. There had been too many seemingly innocuous comments made in passing, too many cold glances, too many calls not returned and invitations mislaid to be mere coincidence.
Yet he had never been attacked as directly as Lord Cartmel was doing just then. His fingers tightened about the glass in his hand until he thought the crystal would shatter; his teeth pressed so hard together he was certain they would turn to dust. But manage to remain calm he did, looking Cartmel in the eye until his own burned from the effort.
“Yes,” he replied softly. “I am aware of that. And you also must know that I do not, nor have I ever, condoned what my father did. Not only that, but I have done all in my power to rectify the mistakes he made.”
Cartmel twirled the glass in his hand, swirling the reddish amber liquid inside until it resembled nothing so much as a hurricane in his grasp, all the while keeping his gaze unerringly on Sebastian. “Mistakes,” he mused. “An interesting choice of words. A mistake, after all, implies an action is unintended. Whereas your father’s actions were quite deliberately calculated.”
The bastard. Forcefully tamping down the shame and fury that frothed in his gut, it took every bit of Sebastian’s self-control to keep from storming from the room. He knew he could talk until he was blue in the face, explaining how he had been completely oblivious to what his father had been up to until after his untimely death, how he had tracked down every last lender and investor and paid them back with interest, how he’d been paying in unimaginable ways every day since.
But looking into Cartmel’s flat, cold eyes—eyes that resembled a shark’s—he knew those excuses would fall on deaf ears. And he knew that after months of the man courting Sebastian’s title as ruthlessly as Sebastian had courted Miss Bridling and her dowry, this was the final test, the one last hurdle to jump before Cartmel gave Sebastian the salvation he was trying so damn hard to reach.
Sebastian’s stomach lurched at how cold and mercenary the whole blasted thing was.
Still Lord Cartmel waited. With utmost will, Sebastian inclined his head, a silent acceptance of the baron’s cruel words. He had taken on every burden and bit of blame his father’s actions had created; he would certainly not stop now.
Cartmel’s smile widened. “I’m glad we have gotten that out of the way then. But before I give my consent—no easy thing, you know, for Diane is my dearest and only daughter—I have one thing I need you to do for me.”
Alarm bells clanged about in Sebastian’s head. What the devil was this? Was the man not going to give his blessing today? Was he going to continue to dangle Sebastian over the precipice? His tension was gone in an instant, replaced by a fury so bitter he could taste it.
“I don’t understand, my lord,” he gritted.
For the first time in the exchange, Cartmel’s ever-present composure cracked. Though it was no mere press of lips. Lines of tension bracketed his mouth as he shifted in his seat, his eyes tightening at the corners. But he did not answer right away. No, he took a sip of his brandy, observed the way the light caught in the liquor. Sebastian might have thought he was simply increasing the suspense, attempting to make Sebastian squirm. Yet he saw in the way Cartmel’s Adam’s apple bobbed furiously that he was nervous.
Again those alarm bells pealed, louder than before. Whatever it was the baron had to say, it was not good.
Just when Sebastian thought he would go mad from waiting, the other man spoke.
“I have always let my children know that I shall find a spouse for them, one that will provide a benefit to this family. Diane is proving obedient, of course. But my son has shown himself to be quite difficult in this regard. I have recently been made aware that he has become somewhat… enamored of a certain woman of dubious virtue. I would have been happy to let the boy sow his oats, of course. Men of our station, as you know, keep mistresses and such. There is no shame in it. Indeed, it is expected, to help relieve our more manly urges.”
No shame for the man, perhaps. Sebastian breathed slow and deep as he thought of the women involved in such situations, who were vilified while the man was applauded.
“But it seems Harlow is not content to merely pump the girl and be done with her,” Cartmel continued, his composure cracking as anger saturated his features, turning his complexion florid. “Nor is he happy to set her up in a house of her own and visit her on occasion, no matter I offered him the funds to do so. No, the damned boy insists he will marry her.”
His brows drew low in fury. “It’s his need to be a savior, no doubt. He always was enamored of the idea of playing a knight in shining armor. And when he rescuedthat actressfrom an overzealous admirer one evening it must have brought up those grandiose delusions that he revels in. Why else would the boy claim to have fallen in love with such a creature?” He made a rude noise. “Can you imagine? My son, the latest in a line that goes back as far as the Norse invasion, marrying that—that—creature? An actress! A woman who has been with half of London. My son shall be a laughingstock. And our revered lineage shall be soiled beyond redemption.”
How Sebastian did not roll his eyes, he would never know.Revered lineage, my arse.He had heard of the connection, of course. Miss Mirabel Hutton was popular, and beautiful, and talented, her company much sought after. And she was also worth ten of Mr. Harlow Bridling, a boy not yet three and twenty who was as ridiculous as any one person could be.
But it made no sense why the baron was bringing this up to Sebastian. “I’m sorry, my lord, but I don’t understand how I fit into all of this.”
Cartmel sat forward, spearing Sebastian with an intense look. “I want you to take the boy away from London, distract him, make him forget this woman, show him a good time.” His expression hardened—well, it became harder than it already was, a feat unto itself. “And make certain he remains with you and doesn’t run off to elope with that strumpet. If you do this for our family, I shall gladly give my support to your marriage with my daughter.”
Sebastian gaped at him. His future hung on the whim of a young man who believed himself in love? “You cannot be serious.”
At once the fervent look faded from the man’s face, replaced with his typical haughty coldness as he sat back. “I assure you, I am quite serious.”
