“You cannot leave,” the young woman said with a firm shake of her head. “I forbid it.”
Warmth unfurled in her chest at this undeserved show of support and kindness. “I must leave,” she said with a gentle firmness that merely brought Chloe’s shoulders back.
Then her eyebrows shot to her hairline. “Why, he is sending you away.” Before Jane could respond, a shocked gasp filled the office. “He will not do right by you.”
“That is not—”
“I never expected this of him.” Chloe, who’d apparently already made up her mind as to the circumstances, began to pace. “He is proper and polite and all things stuffy.”
Surely, the other woman did not even now speak of her brother, Gabriel? A man who kissed with his passion could never be considered any one of those things.
“A man such as he would always do right by you.” No, most gentlemen of his lofty station would not. Only, Gabriel had been the first nobleman who’d seen beyond her bastardy. He’d known of her birthright and offered for her anyway. She slid her eyes closed a moment. That defining piece of her life had mattered so much to everyone and yet he’d not allow that fact to keep him from marrying her. Her heart swelled with some dangerous emotion she didn’t care to examine.
“Well, this will not do,” Chloe muttered to herself as she increased her frantic back and forth pattern upon the carpet. “My mother will assuredly gather what has transpired and return posthaste.”
The horrifying possibility of the distinguished marchioness returning to right a wrong that only Jane was responsible for jerked her to the moment. “He did offer.” She drew in a slow breath. “I politely declined.”
Chloe stopped mid-stride with such alacrity her satin skirts snapped noisily about her ankles. She spun to face Jane. “What?” The young woman’s mouth formed a round moue of surprise.
“I could not in good conscience trap your brother. Not when I should never have joined his employ in the first place.”
“Yes,” Chloe said with a nod. “Yes, you should have.”
“Why?” She turned a question on the young woman. “To preserve a name that doesn’t require protection?” Gabriel’s sister did not know the circumstances of her birth. But it was only a matter of time before the ugly truths were whispered about drawing rooms, spread by Montclair and anyone else who would hear the tale of the Duke of Ravenscourt’s high-handed bastard. A question shone in Chloe’s eyes. “I am not a lady,” she settled for.
Chloe pursed her lips. “By whose standards?” She slapped her fingers upon her open palm. The sharp noise reverberated in the office. “And so you will not wed him, for them?”
A niggling at the back of her mind took root. The outing to the modiste. The pink gown. “I will not wed him for me,” she said. “There is my school,” she put in, interrupting Chloe before she could speak.
“But what of Gabriel?”
“Gabriel?”
“My brother.” Chloe clarified unnecessarily.
All the times Chloe had left Jane alone with her brother to see to her friend, or some other such business. The young lady had been matchmaking for her brother. Oh, Chloe. Sweet, loving Chloe, who swore off marriage and yet would try to arrange that same blissful state for her eldest sibling. Surely, she’d had greater expectations for her brother’s eternal partner than a liar such as Jane? “I daresay your brother will wed,” a woman of his station and rank. “It just will not be to me.” With that truth, an ugly, green emotion slipped inside and twisted like a snake, spreading its venom. An emotion that felt a good deal like jealousy. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, in a desperate need to be free of Gabriel’s office, his sister, and anything and everything connected to the Edgerton family.
She reached the entrance of the door when Chloe spoke softly, staying Jane’s retreat.
“I wanted it to be you.”
Jane turned slowly about.
A sad smile wreathed Chloe’s cheeks. “What will you say? I knew you but a week?”
Yes, there was that.
“You have spirit, Jane. You are not afraid to go toe to toe with my brother. And you don’t think he is stuffy or stodgy.”
Her lips twitched. “No, no I do not.”
“You see, he’s been very stuffy and stodgy for so long, I’d ceased to believe he could feel anything. With you, he smiles and laughs, and is…alive.” At the passion in the young woman’s eyes and response, Jane’s throat moved. “Those things matter, Jane. He hasn’t smiled in the twenty-one years I’ve known him and he is smiling now, and that is why one week matters so very much.”
And without any suitable reply, Jane turned once more and left with Chloe’s haunting words trailing after her.
Chapter 20
Seated in the dark office finished in Chippendale furnishings, with the ormolu clock ticking away the moments, Gabriel stared at the Duke of Ravenscourt. He had her eyes. The crystalline blue depths with silver flecks. They were the eyes of a man who’d not even the courage to claim his daughter and protect her. Gabriel tightened his grip upon the arms of the seat he now occupied.
The duke, of advancing years, sat back in his desk chair. “Waverly,” he said in clipped tones. “There was a matter of business with which you’d wished to speak with me.”
A matter of business.
Even as he’d penned those words last evening, it had felt like a betrayal of sorts. Seeing Jane with her hope for a finishing school and her wide, blue eyes as a matter of business. And yet, that is what she was. “I am here about your daughter,” he said without preamble. He’d never been one to prevaricate or waste time with pleasantries and niceties. He’d not begin now for this man. This was a matter of business.
The duke arched a blonde eyebrow. “My daughter?” His tone dripped the frozen austerity reserved for the handful of dukes in the realm.
Gabriel gritted his teeth. He’d read the gossip columns that morning and well knew he and Jane’s names were being bandied about. The other man did not necessarily yet know of the gossip and, if he did, that the young woman in question was, in fact, his daughter. “Jane Munroe. I am referring to Jane Munroe,” he said with the same cold, emotionless tone he’d adopted early on. The duke was not the only one who’d perfected icy rigidity. Eager to have this matter discussed, addressed, and, at last, done, he continued. “You are likely unaware of,” Shame twisted in his stomach and he resisted the urge to tug at his cravat. “Of a scandal,” he settled for. “Last evening.” For the other man’s disregard for Jane through the years, he was still her father and Gabriel had compromised her beyond redemption. “Between myself and Jane…Miss Munroe. Your daughter,” he finished lamely.
“I am a duke, Waverly.” The implacable lines of his face gave little indication as to his thoughts. “I am aware of everything as it might pertain to me.”
In short, he knew Gabriel had Jane’s skirts rucked about her legs with said actions discovered by Lady Jersey and Lady Castlereigh. “Er, yes.” He placed his palms on his legs and drummed his fingers. “That is what brings me ’round then.”
Jane. And her future and her happiness and her school, and then restoring his world to rights. That latter one proving to be more important.
The duke winged an eyebrow upward. “You do not believe I’d expect you to wed the lady.”
Gabriel cocked his head and tried to sort through those callously spoken words. “Your Grace?” he said tersely, certain he’d misheard the man. Yes, Jane was illegitimate but certainly, as his daughter, still deserving of the man’s protection.
Her father flicked a hand about. “Oh, come, I knew your father quite well, Waverly. We frequented the same…” A hard grin turned the man’s lips up at the corners. “Clubs, and got on quite well.”
He froze, as the blood coursing through his veins turned to ice. This was the man who’d sired Jane. A friend of his thankfully dead father. Odd, how he and Jane had both failed to realize their shared connection to vile, depraved monsters.
“Her mother was a whore, Waverly. Surely, you don’t think I’d expect you to wed the gel?” With a wholly undukelike manner, he snorted. “It is enough I’ve had to shuffle the girl about from household to household after she’d lifted her skirts to any and every employer she’s had.”
A black haze of rage descended over Gabriel’s vision. In all the years of his father’s abuse, never before had he been consumed with this urge to reach out and choke a man by his throat the way he did in this moment. He concentrated on his steady, even breaths and when he trusted himself to speak, said, “She is your daughter.”
“She is possibly my bastard,” the other man said simply.
Through the late marquess’ depravity and vileness, Gabriel had believed himself long ago immune to any shock where a person’s parentage was concerned. He’d been wrong. His fingers twitched with the urge to bloody the man’s pompous face. “I offered her marriage.” He wanted him to know the truth. That Jane was a woman of strength and courage and convictions. “She did not accept my offer.” And she was far nobler than Gabriel and the duke could or would ever hope to be.
A momentary flash of surprise lit the duke’s eyes.
“She wants her freedom.” And seeing the life of ill treatment she’d known with men of Gabriel’s station, he now knew why. He didn’t much like himself in this moment for no other reason than for having been born to the same gender and station as Ravenscourt and the Montclairs of the world.
“Oh?” the duke asked, his tone mildly curious.
“She wants the three thousand pounds you settled upon her,” he said bluntly. Three thousand pounds when she was deserving of so much more.
The Duke of Ravenscourt furrowed his brow.
A pit settled in Gabriel’s stomach; an intuition that was born of years of learning to rely on his instincts alone, and so he knew before any words were spoken, knew by the confusion, and the reprobate’s previous, heartless thoughts about Jane Munroe.
“Three thousand pounds? I did not settle anything upon her.”
Christ.
The air left him on a loud hiss. “The lady said you had—”
“I understand what the young woman might have said, Waverly,” the duke interrupted. “But there has never been, nor will there ever be funds for Miss Munroe.” He slashed a hand through the air. “If I began settling thousands of pounds upon any young woman professing to be my offspring, how many more do you think would come crawling from whatever whorehouse or hell they dwell in?”
Disgust tasted like a bitter acid in his mouth. “You knew her mother,” he said slowly. The man had admitted as much just moments ago.
“But neither can I be sure I was the only one who knew her. You probably understand that, Waverly. Especially being your father’s son.”
If he remained any longer, with his fists he’d prove just how much his father’s son he, in fact, was. It was too much. Gabriel shoved back his seat so quickly it scraped along the wooden floor. Fury, rage, and hurt for Jane made his movements jerky. The duke looked at him, a question in his eyes.
Jane’s eyes.
Gabriel settled his palms upon the edge of the man’s immaculate desk and leaned across the broad surface and shrank the space between them. “You sit upon your chair, condescending and calculated. In truth, you are a vile, pathetic excuse of a human being the world would be better off without.” But then there never would have been Jane. The thought of that slammed into him.
The duke’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “How dare—”
“How dare I?” he asked on a lethal whisper. “How dare you? Your daughter may be illegitimate, but she has far more worth and strength than you or any other member of the nobility.” Gabriel straightened and with the man sputtering behind him, started for the door. He reached the entrance and with fury thrumming through him, wheeled back around. “And I am nothing like my father,” he bit out. With that, he yanked the door open and took his leave, with but one question rattling through his mind.
Now, what?
So it was, a short while later, with the question of what to do with Miss Jane Munroe in mind, Gabriel entered the hallowed doors of White’s. The din of conversation came to an immediate cessation as all pairs of eyes in the distinguished club swung to him. With his gaze trained on his back table, he strode purposefully through the club, daring anyone to ask questions or utter one damned word about him and Jane last evening.
He reached his table and waved off a servant who made to pull out his seat. With a growl he yanked out the chair and then sat. He’d wager everything that was unentailed there was already some form of wager or another that involved his name, in that famed book at the center of the club. The irony of that was not lost on Gabriel, in the least. He’d studiously avoided scandal or any shameful behavior that could or would link him to his sire and had condemned Alex for being a consummate rogue…and yet he should be the one in that blasted book, with every occupant at White’s presently looking at him.
A servant appeared at his shoulder and set down a bottle of brandy and a crystal snifter. With curt thanks, Gabriel pulled out the stopper and poured himself a healthy measure. He raised the glass to his lips—
“Waverly,” his friend’s amused greeting cut into his solitude. Then was there truly any real solitude at White’s?
Gabriel took a sip and looked over the rim at Waterson.
Waterson snorted. “Will you not invite me to join you?”
He wasn’t even permitted an opportunity to formulate a reply as his friend tugged out the chair across from him and sat. At the amusement in the earl’s eyes, Gabriel directed his attention to his drink and glared into its contents. He’d not take the carefully laid bait. Not today. Not in light of the scandal he’d caused with Jane and her father’s subsequent rejection and he finished his drink in a long, slow swallow. He reached for the bottle. He had every intention of getting completely and utterly soused, for then perhaps he might have some answer to…Jane.
“Well?” Waterson questioned as a servant came over with an empty glass. He accepted it and then took the liberty of pouring himself a healthy drink.
Do not ask. Do not ask. Do not… “Well, what?” he gritted out and then downed his brandy.
Waterson swirled the contents of his drink and reclined in his seat. “Do you know with your absence at the clubs these past days—?”
“I was here but three days ago,” Gabriel felt compelled to point out.
“I had attributed it to brotherly devotion,” Waterson continued over him. The demmed annoying grin on his lips widened. “Not that you are not the most devoted of brothers, you are.”
“Shove off,” Gabriel commanded as he picked up the bottle. He splashed several fingerfuls into the glass, thought better of it, and then poured it to the rim.
The earl widened his eyes. “Oh, you are in a bad way, my friend.”
Do not ask. Do not ask. He swallowed the dry bite. “In what way?”
The room echoed with Waterson’s thunderous laughter, earning them curious stares. “And now lying?” He made a tsking sound and then glanced about, seeming at last mindful of the attention being shown them. When he returned his attention to Gabriel, a mocking grin pulled his lips up in the corners. “I say, don’t you have brotherly obligations to see to? Attending Lady Chloe and all that?” he asked, with a wave of his hand.
Except the knowing glint in his friend’s eyes indicated that Waterson knew precisely why Gabriel was here. Waterson knew. Hell, everyone knew. Following his meeting with the duke, he was in ill-humor and didn’t have time for the always-affable Waterson’s games. “Say whatever it is you intend to say,” and be done with it. There was Jane’s situation to sort through. He tightened his grip upon his snifter so hard, his knuckles turned white. The same agonized disquiet that had besieged him since his meeting with the duke coursed through him and he took a much-needed sip of brandy.
Waterson set his glass down and then folded his arms at his chest.
“I just thought, considering our friendship, you would speak on anything new or that might be of import to your life. Oh, say, that you’ve been so ensnared by a lady you’d ruin her at Drury Lane.”
“The London Opera House,” he muttered under his breath.
Waterson leaned across the table and angled his head. “Beg pardon?”
“I said, oh, go to hell,” he finished as Waterson exploded into another round of laughter. “I am not ensnared by the lady,” he said at last when his friend managed to get his hilarity under control. No, you only think of her kisses and dream of the satiny softness of her skin and…
His friend guffawed. “Regardless, you are now thoroughly trapped.”
Not even his only friend in the world knew of Gabriel’s sworn disavowal of marriage. Waterson, just like the rest of the world, saw a marquess so devoted to his title that he’d put responsibility before all else. How little they knew. Jane, however, had seen that glimpse of truth he’d hidden from all—that he had fears and desires. His heart sped up. And that she knew him as she did, terrified the hell out of him.
For now, with the duke’s rejection and Jane’s absolute lack of funds, there was no recourse as they’d both believed…. Hoped? Other than marriage.
Marriage.
A dull humming filled his ears and sucked the breath slowly from his lungs. He dimly registered his friend’s mouth moving as he spoke, but for the life of him could not string together a single clear utterance from the other man. Horror and terror sucked away all logical thought and robbed him of speech.
Concern replaced the amusement in his friend’s eyes and cut across his rapidly expanding panic. “Waverly?”
Incapable of anything else, Gabriel managed a jerky nod. This is how the legendary King and Queen of France had surely felt on their final day. Waterson spoke of marriage to Jane and in this, the earl was indeed correct. There was no other recourse. The slender, sometimes insolent, always passionate young woman as his wife. Forever. For that was, after all, what a wife was. A person he would be eternally bound to for the remainder of his days. He shoved back his chair and leapt to his feet.
To Love a Lord Page 20
