Page 100 of The Rogue's Last Scandal
Kingsley’s face purpled.
The Duque’s lip curled. “Pah. You see how these colonial women are? Cuckolded already, Everly. How does it feel?”
Charley opened his mouth, but Kingsley spoke first. “How dare your father foist a half-black bastard on me?”
“Easy now.” Mr. Gibson said. “There’s a fine gentleman. Easy.”
The Duque laughed and bared yellow teeth. “Such an interesting night. Yes, Kingsley, unless you are looking for pistols at dawn with the Earl’s eldest son, do temper your words. In my time in Veracruz I saw that the lack of civilization drives men to make certain compromises with the natives. In any case to be born on the wrong side of a noble bed is no terrible thing.”
His time in Veracruz?
Kingsley huffed. “That was no noble breeding, I’ll warrant.”
“The Kingsley blood is not noble?” Charley asked.
“Enough.” Lord Shaldon’s cane lifted again, this time directed at his son.
“Yes, enough,” the Duque said. “Well, Shaldon, I take it you and your son have finished with my wife. Have you found the spy you were looking for?”
“London is filled with spies,” Shaldon said languidly.
“Yes.” He peered down his nose at Charley. “Are you going to send this one again into someone else’s bed?”
She gasped, and the silver eyes turned on her. Gunmetal grey, as hard as granite, a Duque. In Tampico, people had whispered of a man with those eyes. A silver-eyed Spaniard known for his cruelty.El Tlahuelpuchisome had called him, a monster who had killed even the women and children after he’d let his men rape them.
Dios. If those stories were true, if it was him…he would be a cruel husband. No wonder his wife dallied with others. “Yes, my dear. Your husband searches for information in bedrooms. He has been looking for a spy, who as it turns out, is dead.” Those yellow teeth grew larger. “How clever you are to hold onto him after he was done with you.”
Her mind was reeling. Charley had pursued her for information? That could not be true.
A cold chill went through her, Papa’s last conversation coming back to her. He could not know of that.
Is it true?
Charley turned her to him, and lifted her chin. “No.” He shook his head. “We will talk at home.” He wrapped an arm about her. “Bink, Father, we are leaving.”
“Oh, not yet.” The Duque moved closer, pushed by the crowd perhaps. His scent wafted into the air, warring with Charley’s. “I am not finished. I have not given my felicitations to your match. So perfect an arrangement—a duplicitous spy, and the daughter of a duplicitous traitor.”
The room darkened, her outward vision blurring. Pictures cascaded, her father whispering instructions. The book he had given her to keep safe. The dagger. The instructions to seek out Lord Shaldon in the event of Papa’s death or other dire need.
Charley was tugging her away, but she dug in her heels. “I would rather hear out this Spaniard. Say what you wish to say about my father.”
“Your father. A traitor to England, and then a traitor to Spain, and who knows who he was betraying when he was killed.”
“My father was not a traitor.” Her fingers grasped the hilt of her hidden blade. Before she could jerk the blade out of its sheath, another hand touched that arm. Mr. Gibson’s hand.
The room swam around her, the lights blurring and hazing. Her father was not a traitor, and why did none of these men who defended her not speak up? Why did they not defend Papa?
He wasn’t a traitor. He had taken up Spanish citizenship for love, to marry her mother, and when the Spanish cruelty became too much, he had joined in the cause of independence.
“A traitor. A pirate. A spy. It was he your Mr. Everly was tracking. A pity your quarry, Captain Kingsley, is dead, Everly.”
Her stomach roiled. Charley had been after her father? He had used her? A vise gripped her throat and black dots scattered her field of vision.
She drew in a deep breath and choked on the dense air.
“Easy breaths, Gracie.” Charley’s arms supported her. “Try again.”
“Move back.” Mr. Gibson’s voice created a space around her.
