Phillip shook his head, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.
“Crusts of bread, Warrick.” The duke walked toward one of the massive windows that looked out onto regal gardens and stared down. “I said I did not think to hate another human being more than you. Can you guess who I hate more, Sir Warrick?”
“Trent.”
The duke shook his head. “I have an ocean of loathing for that man but he is not the soul I have in mind.”
“I cannot imagine it. I don’t think anyone dead or living could edge out my villainy in your eyes.”
Northland turned back to face him. “You are wrong. You see, there is one more man to be blamed for her downfall and he is the blackest villain of all. He is me.”
“No,” Phillip protested in shock. “That seems unlikely!”
“I was a weak drunkard and so full of vanity and pride, it sickens me to think of the way I swaggered through my youth, Warrick. I seduced a virtuous and beautiful creature and told myself that my desire and need were all the justification required. Then I fell in love with her.” Northland sighed. “When she came to me in tears to tell me that there was to be a child, my father threatened to disown me. He threatened scandal, poverty and even exile if I married her—and I nearly held firm and defied him. Nearly.”
Northland began to pace in front of the fireplace, astonishing Phillip with the familiarity of a habit he’d seen Raven enact dozens of times.
“For my father demonstrated what ruthlessness really looked like. He hauled me down into the servant’s hall and lined up no less than six pretty maids I’d tumbled in the previous year. He mocked my protests that I had reformed, he dared me to claim that I hadn’t already fathered a bastard to two, he likened my darling to a common servant, and cruelest of all, told me he would be sure to introduce my future duchess to every slice of quim I’d plundered and make sure there was no question in her mind of what a worthless whoring rake she’d spread her legs for.”
“My God.”
“He made promises to provide for Arabelle and I…I was so humiliated and weak, I allowed it. I fled to London and drank myself into a stupor so foul and all-encompassing that by the time I lifted my head from a puddle of my own vomit, Arabelle was dead. My father had lied, providing nothing for her support. The birth of our daughter proved too much for her and I learned later from the midwife that she had died of a broken heart.”
“You couldn’t have known what was to happen.”
“I arranged for Raven’s care without ever seeing her. The midwife knew of a childless vicar and his wife who had suffered their own losses. I instructed her to make the arrangements and then I never looked in that direction again. I returned to my drink and my grief, I nursed my hatred and inherited my title. I was twenty-two years old.”
Shit.
“By the time I heard of her orphaned status years later, I was barely fit. Drink had made me ill and Trent—Trent appeared like a savior offering to amend the situation and give Raven the care that she deserved. The rest, I believe you know the rest.” Northland stopped pacing. “I recognize villainy when I see it because I am familiar with a looking glass, Warrick.”
Phillip shook his head. “No. These are tragedies, not a testament to who you are. I refuse to paint you black and allow that to stand.”
Northland smiled. “You defend me? I thought you had come to offer your own defense.”
“What defense can I lay down? That I was also young when I earned Trent’s displeasure? That I blindly followed my passions to a love I cannot relinquish? That I hurt her in a fit of rage that I will regret until the day I die? What help to tell you that I doubled back for her, that when I couldn’t find her I lamed a horse racing to Oakwell Manor only to get another dose of Trent’s vile poison? Six months of searching the same roads over and over because I needed to know what had happened but all the while, cowering in the dark begging God not to allow me to know the worst?” Phillip pressed his fingers to his temples to tame the spikes of pain there. “That the blackest moment came when I stopped looking? Is ignorance a defense if I acknowledge that I was terrified of being robbed of her memory so I tried hating her instead?”
“And now?”
“I love her. I never stopped loving her. She and I have reached a truce and I have vowed to never leave her again. I will spend the rest of my life striving to deserve her and doing whatever I can to make her happy.”
“Marriage?”
“If she desires it. So far, she has refused to entertain it. Your daughter is a very independent creature and also somewhat…unconventional.”
“Yes.” Pride shone from Northland’s eyes. “Yes she is.”
“She is my life.”
The duke’s gaze narrowed. “Why are you here, Warrick?”
“I’m here because I don’t know you. Because I think her business with Trent is about to come to a finish and in the crush of my worries for our future, I realized that I could not leave this alone. I will be a part of her life, Your Grace. If you hate me for what I’ve done, if you harbor resentment or a need for vengeance, then I wanted to make sure that I’d faced you openly. I want my debts paid so that there are no more phantoms haunting my steps. I’ve wasted too much time looking back over my shoulder. It ends today.”
“You don’t know me. What will you do if I start yelling for pistols at dawn?”
Phillip blinked. “I honestly hadn’t gotten that far. I suppose I’d make the suggestion that your daughter won’t forgive you for shooting me in an illegal duel and recommend making it look like an accident instead? You are a wealthy enough man to hire an assassin and prevent her from making the connection.”
“True enough.” Northland smiled grimly. “An accident, eh? Throwing yourself on my mercy. A huge risk considering that you really do not know me at all.”
“Apparently a larger one than I’d anticipated.” Phillip held his ground and waited.
Northland’s expression changed, his smile betraying a flash of mischief in smoke-grey eyes. “My God, I like you! Sit down, Warrick. Have a lemonade with me and let’s see if we cannot arrange for your survival.”
The duke began to laugh as he rang for refreshments and Phillip found himself doing the same.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Geoffrey climbed down from his carriage, waving away the helping hand of the liveried footman. He rewarded the man with an icy look of reproof. He was not some dottering old man to require help down a step, for God’s sake!
Trent’s ill humor slid away as he acknowledged that he felt more like a boy escaping school. Adam had been particularly sticky the last few days, but he was not infallible. Geoffrey had diverted him for the afternoon with a manufactured, forged note from the Reform Club claiming that one of their most revered members wished to see him regarding an engineering project of vast urgent importance to Her Majesty.
Stupid Tree! By the time he realizes it’s a ruse, I’ll be home with my feet up after a delightful day spent in the company of the delicious Lady Serena Wellcott—and several steps closer to putting a collar on my tigress.
He had the vigor of a man of five and twenty these days and the notion that winning Serena also means snatching her out from under his sniveling nephew’s nose makes the promise of victory ever sweeter.
A tantalizing bit of gossip had reached him just that morning and if the earl knew anything, he knew that a wise man struck while the iron was hot.
Lady Wellcott is in the throes of some secret love, is she? Well, let us see if we cannot relieve her misery. Adam is an idiot but he is right about one thing. A woman like Raven needs a strong confident hand even if she is too proud to admit it.
It was a small garden party, his least favorite kind of social gathering but he’d have sought an invitation to paper boat races if it afforded him an opportunity to publicly demonstrate his indifference to the lady. His plan was simple. He would torment her with his presence, following every little rule just beyond her reach, to drive h
er wild with wanting and force her to admit regret for her insistence on the formalities.
I will reward my duchess with the mantle of respectability that comes with marriage and teach her what true carnal pleasures can provide to a hedonistic amoral little vixen.
He walked through the house, ignoring the smaller gatherings of guests lingering inside for conversation and refreshments and made his way to the walled gardens. The weather was momentarily fair but dark clouds gathered in the east and Geoffrey marveled at people’s talent for optimistically ignoring the looming signs of a typical summer rain. A good size lawn surrounded by low hedges and concentric walkways provided ample room and Geoffrey frowned as he realized that hoops had been set up across the grass with several people selecting mallets to begin a game of croquet.
God, I hate croquet!
The sound of feminine laughter arrested his attention and he spotted Serena amidst the players.
God, I love croquet!
He hurried over just as it appeared that they were dividing up into teams.
“Lady Wellcott, that means you have—“
“I should love the chance to partner with you, Lady Wellcott,” Geoffrey said. “What say you?”
“Oh.” Her surprise at his quick arrival warmed his blood. “A generous offer, your lordship, but we are playing as singles. Would you like to take the blue?”
He would rather have used the guise of partnering and mentoring her play to touch her publicly, but Geoffrey decided that he would make the most of the day. “The blue it is!”
Play commenced and Geoffrey made sure that he mirrored her moves as a subtle excuse to converse while they awaited their turns.
“Did you enjoy the music the other night, Lady Wellcott? It was…such a lovely surprise to see the Duke of Northland, was it not?” he asked sweetly.
You sent for your father because you wished to give me the chance to ask for his blessing, didn’t you, Raven? What a twist to find you old-fashioned when it comes to these matters!
“It was a delightful performance,” she conceded. “But after hearing your opinion on the theatre, I am wary of asking what you thought of it.”
“How clever of you! A bunch of warbling violins and noise with a smattering of Italian thrown in, it’s a wonder anyone wastes a moment.” He bent over to make a brutal strike that sent her ball hurtling off the course. “I can think of better ways to spend an evening, can’t you, Lady Wellcott?”
There! There’s indifference! I am not some fawning adolescent, am I? I am a man you will strive to please, Raven. Your every joy will be measured out by my generosity or not at all.
She walked after her ball without complaint, smiling as the other players lamented her bad luck. Geoffrey frowned at the lack of a feminine pout or tempestuous stamp of a foot but play resumed.
Indifference was more challenging to manufacture than he’d anticipated as she coolly minded the strategy of hoops, her strikes keeping her just beyond his reach. She laughed and jested with several of the other ladies, cheering politely when they scored as if she cared nothing for her own points.
Geoffrey hated losing. It was a strange battle between his frustration at uncooperative croquet balls and his sexual frustration at a woman who floated in his peripheral vision.
Humiliating! I should know better. How in the world does any man think to appear his best hunched over a stupid stick batting about colored balls? It’s a woman’s game, this!
The sky had darkened gradually but when the heavens opened up into a cold downpour, Geoffrey nearly laughed at the blessings of Providence. Guests merrily scrambled for the cover of the house, ladies squealing in mild protest as their cloth parasols proved less than adequate protection from an English monsoon. He bolted toward Raven, thinking to offer her the haven” of his jacket over their heads but she thwarted him by opening her own parasol.
“Here. Let me walk you in, Lady Wellcott.” He held out his arm but she kept both hands on the parasol handle.
“If you insist.” She began to walk briskly toward the house and he jogged next to her, increasingly irritated by the fear that he looked like a puppy on her heels.
“Wait!”
She turned in surprise, thunder underlining the strangeness of his request. “I have no wish to drown, Lord Trent, nor to catch a chill. Come, we are nearly the last to get inside as it is.”
He caught her by the waist before she reached the steps, aware that the angle of the verandah and stairs put them in a small pocket of invisibility from anyone looking out from the windows. Even the din of the storm gave them another layer of privacy and he reveled in it. “You used to love the rain. Remember? You would dance practically naked in the gardens until that nanny made such a fuss that we had to forbid it.”
“I was a child then.” She pushed against his chest and regained her freedom. “How dare you take liberties with my person! You’ll keep your hands to yourself, your lordship.”
“We are not meant for cautious rituals and restraint, my dear.” Geoffrey watched the pink rise up in her cheeks and he knew he had her. “There is something feral in your nature, Lady Wellcott. I was the first to recognize it and I cannot help but think there is a lovely bit of irony within reach if I were ultimately the man to help you explore and expand that gift.”
He reached for her again, intending to kiss her, but this time she eluded him, stepping away from the steps.
“Get back here! They’ll see you!” He held out his hand, willing her to take it.
“Lord Trent. What do you know of me? I mean—of my nature?”
“You are a passionate creature. You always have been. Now, come kiss me, woman.”
She shook her head. “You mistake me for a young girl who can be fooled by private seductions and secret declarations. I find I have a strong aversion to clandestine love affairs, Lord Trent. But I will not be made a whore for the world to see.”
“I would never treat you that way. I mean to court you as slowly and cautiously as a woman has ever been courted, but you are driving me mad!” Geoffrey shifted on the steps. “One kiss.”
“I cannot. You are right, Lord Trent. I am a passionate creature. I am—ruled by my passions. As a result, I do not dabble. I do not…play. Toy with someone else. You crafted me, Geoffrey. You made me what I am. My desires do not come in half measures or small doses. My reputation for abstinence is not borne from a lack of desire, but the opposite.” She sighed. “We have always spoken plainly, you and I. So I will tell you that I am not willing to be fucked senseless within twenty yards of my charitable committee and several members of the House of Lords.”
His eyes widened at her raw language, his posture betraying his immediate arousal as he shifted to try to hide it from her and he suspected she already knew he was her willing slave. “I wasn’t going to…go so far.”
“No?” She smiled, a wicked wanton smile that promised him the world. “As I said. I do not dabble. Do not insult me again by insinuating that I am willing to settle for less than everything you have to offer.” She tipped her parasol back to allow the rain to anoint her hair and face, a pagan goddess evoking the worship of fire. “I require more than passion, Lord Trent.”
Everything I have to offer…yes!
Before he could give his willingness a voice, she went on. “Tomorrow night. I will be at Milbank’s masked ball. Decide, Geoffrey, once and for all. Either you will step forward and publicly declare yourself at the height of the evening or you will never speak to me again. No half measures.”
“No half measures,” he echoed and she brushed past him up the stairs and disappeared into the house, leaving him to take a moment in the cold rain to try to gather his thoughts and cool his blood.
“To hell with half measures!” he said again, and then laughed. Milbank’s was the perfect setting for his proposal of marriage, for Adam to have his public comeuppance and defeat and it was even the perfect place for a man to pull his warm and willing fiancé into an alcove to be fucked sen
seless into submission.
Tomorrow night will be a night to remember for years to come!
**
Serena barely made it home before the shock wore off.
Quinn took her coat, his expression one of alarm. “Your ladyship, you are soaked to the bone!”
“Lady Mortimer’s lawn party may have not been the best choice for an afternoon’s entertainment.” She peeled off her wet gloves and shivered. “Can you alert Pepper that I’ll need a hot bath as quickly as it can be arranged?”
“Of course.”
Serna lifted the sodden weight of her skirts and climbed the stairs, ridiculously exhausted from the day. From an objective point of view, it had been a successful outing. She’d issued a direct challenge to Trent for Milbank’s with no witnesses to any of it. If he’d skipped the garden party, she would have been forced to put pen to paper to issue her ultimatum. She was always reluctant to create tangible evidence of their connection.
Luckily, it hadn’t come that.
But if she had any small doubts remaining about Trent’s desires, they were gone.
She shivered again. He is not my father—nor really an uncle but…oh, God, I nearly vomited on his shirt front.
It was a visceral response she needed to get under control before the ball tomorrow night.
She achieved her bedroom and Pepper was just behind her. “You’re as pale as a ghost!” Pepper moved quickly to help her undress. “And as cold as one, I’d warrant!”
Serena was about to toss out a clever retort but her teeth were chattering too much. Instead she pressed her lips together.
“That’s bath’s pulling together in the dressing room, and I’ll make sure Mrs. Holly makes a nice nourishing broth part of the menu with dinner. Pneumonia is not what I’d have slated for your calendar this week, your ladyship.”
“I’m not sick. At least, nothing that won’t be cured by tomorrow night.” Serena let out a long, slow breath to steady her nerves. “I hate Geoffrey Parke.”
Lady Triumphs (The Black Rose Trilogy Book 3) Page 18
