Page 61 of When the Marquess Was Mine
“Near enough,” murmured Rob.
His father shot him a look, but he let it go. He rested one booted foot on the opposite knee and balanced his glass on the instep. “Your mother worried she’d sent you to your death, scolding you about that deed. Winston, was it?” Rob nodded, and the duke went on. “It seemed very unlike you, to take a man’s house and home. What went on that night?”
It made his head ache, trying to remember. “Heathercote planned it.”
“Hmm.” The duke sipped his port. “Is it one of Beresford’s harebrained schemes?”
Lord Beresford was Heathercote’s uncle. Rob’s frown deepened as more memories blossomed in his head, some as sharp as cut crystal but most cloudy and dark. “What do you mean?”
Rowland was watching him thoughtfully. “I always thought Beresford was putting Heathercote up to some very questionable activities, and that you might be involved in them.”
He was. He and Heathercote... Yes, he’d forgotten about that. But even now, it felt like a large black boulder sat in front of him, blocking most of it from his view. Not only did it make his head hurt to try to move that boulder, Rob instinctively felt that he didn’t really want to remember what he’d been up to in London.
“I don’t quite know,” he said slowly.
The duke grunted. “Be wary, lad. Beresford’s got his heart in the right place, but he has no strategy or sense. Once his mind fixes on something, he pursues it at all costs, sometimes past reason or sanity. A bad plan is a bad plan, even if in service of a noble goal. Don’t let him tempt you into some bit of stupidity.”
Troubled, Rob nodded.
“As much as I might have wished to separate you from that rascal Heathercote, though, I didn’t wish this upon you.” Rowland finished his drink and set the glass on the desk. “Are you certain you’re well? Tom hinted you had quite the adventure in Derbyshire.”
Tom should keep his bloody mouth closed, thought Rob in aggravation. “Quite certain,” he snapped.
“Aside from the cane, the scar on your forehead, and the melancholy expression you get whenever you think no one’s looking.” Rob glanced at him sharply, and his father nodded sagely. “Something’stroubling you, and it’s clearly not any business with Beresford. You don’t have to tell me, if it’s none of my concern, but don’t try to persuade me all is well.”
Rob swirled his port and debated. He’d not said a word about Georgiana to anyone, not while Tom was heaping scorn on her name at every turn, but his father hadn’t Tom’s hot temper or rash judgment. And after all these days he was desperate to tell someone about her. “In strict confidence?”
“If you wish,” replied the duke, unperturbed.
Rob jerked his head yes. “There was a lady at Osbourne House.”
When he paused for a long moment, the duke clasped his hands behind his head. “A fetching one, I suppose.”
“Yes.” Rob cleared his throat. “She cared for me when I was ill.”
“Very kind of her,” remarked Rowland.
Rob hesitated again, then decided to tell everything. “In confidence... she saved my life. Not only did she startle off the thieves who were making every effort to beat me to death, she took me back to the house and persuaded them to help me.”
“Why did they need any persuading?” The duke’s tone was carefully neutral, but Rob grimaced anyway.
“The owner of the house, who lost it to me in that card game, wrote to his wife that I was coming to throw her off the property and turn it into a brothel.” He pressed one fist against his temple. “I have no memory of saying that, let alone what I intended by going into Derbyshire with the deed. But needless to say, the lady of the house was not anticipating my arrival with eager delight.”
“Hmph,” was his father’s only comment.
“So Georgiana told them I was her fiancé, thinking that would move them to kindness. And it did,” he added quickly. “They were very good to me.”
“Because they thought you were someone else.” The duke reached for the decanter and poured himself more port. “There’s a lesson in that, if you ask me.”
No doubt. Rob nodded once.
They sat in silence for a while. Rob finished his drink and carried on with his story. “She didn’t have to help me, but she did, and now I can’t stop thinking about her.”
“Were you one of the people she told this story to, about you being her fiancé?”
His blood warmed at the memory. “Yes.”
His father cocked his head. “And you liked it, didn’t you? Not knowing it was a lie.”
