Page 71 of She Tempts the Duke
“Send your letter, then pack your things. We leave in two days.”
“And then?” she asked.
“I’ve not yet decided.”
“I don’t wish to return to the nunnery.”
“I don’t wish to send you back.” He poured brandy into his glass and downed it. “Mary, I know you considered the nunnery a punishment, but I didn’t know how else to protect you. You were such an impulsive child and headstrong. I was afraid you’d confront Lord David.”
She hadn’t half-thought about it. “So you believed me?”
“I know as a lad he enjoyed pulling wings from flies. But you see I’ve never been good at confrontation. All we had were words that you might or might not have heard.”
“I heard them.”
“If he knew he might have seen you as a threat. The night you went to his ball ... I didn’t want you to go but Fitzwilliam insisted.”
So he’d capitulated. It hurt to realize how weak he was. She had always loved him, thought him a giant among men. But he was so easily dwarfed.
“Were you going to leave me at the convent forever?”
“I don’t know what I’d planned. I was too far into the drink by then. Didn’t want you to see me. But your aunt, bless her, she took matters in hand. The drink calls to me so much, Mary. I was so pleased when Fitzwilliam showed an interest in you. You would be in Cornwall. Safe. I never thought to marry you off as a way to protect you. But your aunt had the right of it. But with the Pembrook lords back now, they can fight their own battles. Lord David will leave you be.” He refilled his glass and downed the amber liquid. “You were deserving of a better father. I will talk to my nephew, make him understand that he must give you a yearly sum.”
With her father’s lack of forcefulness, she wasn’t certain how well that would go.
“Perhaps when we return to Willow Hall, we can put our heads together and come up with something,” she offered.
Nodding, he turned once more to his brandy. She had never before felt like such a burden. She rose gracefully and glided from the room, leaving him to his demons. She thought she would have made an excellent wife to Henry VIII, facing doom with her head held high.
“One of us has to marry her.”
Settled in chairs in the sitting area within Sebastian’s bedchamber, neither Sebastian nor Rafe blinked at Tristan’s pronouncement. Tristan stood at the fireplace, his arm pressed to the mantel, his thumb rubbing on the marble as though he’d discovered a bit of dirt that simply wouldn’t go away.
Sebastian had yet to leave his bedchamber. He was healing slowly and he exhausted easily. He’d asked Tristan to scout around and determine if Mary’s reputation was safe.
Apparently it wasn’t.
“Suppose we could play a round of cards,” Rafe began. “Loser gets saddled with marriage.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you to cheat,” Tristan said.
“Question is: would I cheat to win or cheat to lose?”
“We are not going to decide this with a game of cards,” Sebastian growled. “Besides, the decision has been made.”
“Oh?” Tristan arched a brow. “And who’s it to be then?”
“You. You’re the one who allowed her in here and then let her stay.”
He’d expected his brother to protest. Instead, he simply gave a curt nod. “Right, then. I’d best go ask for her hand while she’s still in London. Word is that her father is sending her away.”
He’d taken but two steps before Sebastian ground out, “Damn you, Tristan. You know it will be me.”
Sporting a mocking smile, his brother returned to the fireplace. “For a moment there, I thought you’d regained your teasing nature.”
He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed initiating a good jest. “You’re the one with the teasing nature. I was ever the more serious. That was how she told us apart.”
“I suspect it went deeper than that.”
