The earl took Miranda’s hand and brushed a kiss along the back. “You do look remarkably like our old friend Fannie,” he said. “You must forgive our stares.”
“Actually,” Miranda said with an apologetic smile, “Fannie was my mother.”
The earl’s hand spasmed around hers. “What did you say?” he rasped.
“Fannie Fontaine was my mother.” Gently, she tugged at her hand, which the earl finally relinquished. “My lord, you must understand that you have made a mistake in challenging the duke. He was otherwise engaged the evening you issued your challenge. I stand as witness.”
“Enough.” Wylde took her arm. “Miranda, you should go home. This is men’s business.”
“Did you say Miranda?” Arenson whispered. He traded glances with Rothgard.
“Stop,” Rothgard said when Wylde would have led her away. “Perhaps I have been too hasty in rejecting your apology, Wyldehaven.”
“What?” Wylde frowned in confusion.
Wulf leaned forward. “Do not question it, Wylde.”
“I was angry over what was done to my son,” Rothgard said. “But if you were not the perpetrator of that misdeed or the man who insulted me over cards, then I have no quarrel with you.” He looked back at Miranda. “When did your mother marry, my dear? Was your father a kind man?”
Miranda stiffened. “My mother never married, my lord.”
“I see.” He studied her, his gaze sliding from her hair to her face and back again. “Might I ask your age, Contessa?”
“Actually, my name is Miranda Fontaine. The Contessa della Pietra is a name I use when performing.”
Rothgard sucked in a breath. “What is your full name, my dear?”
“Miranda Katerina Fontaine.”
“Miss Fontaine,” Darcy whispered with a nudge at Wulf.
“And your age…?” Rothgard prompted again.
“I am twenty-two years old.”
“And your birth date?”
“For pity’s sake, Rothgard,” Wylde intervened. “This is not an inquisition! Miss Fontaine has nothing to do with our issue. Allow me to put her back in her carriage and return her home.”
“I beg your indulgence,” Rothgard said, raising a hand. “Tell me your birth date, Miss Fontaine.”
“The twenty-ninth of December,” she replied, exchanging a puzzled glance with Wylde.
“And you stand as witness that Wyldehaven was not at Maynard’s the night before last?”
“I do. And my maid stands as witness that there truly is a man who is pretending to be the duke and looks very much like him.”
“The game where the insult occurred was in the wee hours of the morning,” the earl said with a kind smile. “So as much as I admire your attempt, I fail to understand how you can stand as witness—”
“I was in the duke’s company the entire night.” Her cheeks flamed at the gasps of the gentlemen around them, but she did not shrink away.
“Blast it, Miranda.” Wylde turned her to face him, but when he saw the stubborn loyalty in her eyes, the blistering lecture he had intended to give faded away. He gently stroked her cheek. “I did not want this for you,” he murmured.
She gave him a warm smile. “I could not let you pay the price for something you have not done. Not this time.”
Rothgard sent a seething glare at Wylde. “Damn you, Wyldehaven. Just when I was prepared to accept your apology, you give me perfect reason to go through with the duel!”
“For pity’s sake, Rothgard. What could I possibly have I done in the past five minutes that would have injured you enough to challenge me?”
“Wyldehaven, if what I suspect is true…” The earl gazed at Miranda. “…I believe you may have compromised my daughter.”
Chapter 19
It was a stunned group that adjourned to Wyldehaven’s house to discuss the new developments. Rothgard had withdrawn the challenge, and Miranda’s head spun at the thought that she may have actually found her father.
They sat in the breakfast room—Wyldehaven, Miranda, Rothgard, Arenson, Darcy, and Wulf—and enjoyed a piping hot breakfast as they tried to sort through the unexpected surprises of the day.
Arenson stabbed at a piece of sausage and glowered at Rothgard. “I cannot believe you did not tell me about you and Fannie. It has been over twenty years!”
“I apologize,” Rothgard said. “I was in a difficult position. I was expected to offer for Penelope, and yet here I was falling in love with Fannie. We decided to keep our love secret until I could extricate myself and offer for her properly.”
Miranda set down her fork. She had been swirling her food around on her plate rather than eating, her mind spinning with the implications of the morning. “You mean you intended to marry my mother?”
“Indeed.” A wistful smile crossed his face. “Fannie was like no one else. I did not care that she was a poor country girl and an actress, while I was a new earl. I would have married her without hesitation.”
“Why didn’t you?” Wylde asked.
“She disappeared.” Pain flickered across his face. “Vanished from London. I tried to find her, but my Fannie was no fool. She covered her trail well enough that I was never able to locate her, despite years of trying.”
“You kept trying to find her?” Miranda whispered.
“Of course.” Rothgard sighed and picked up his cup of coffee. “At first I was angry. I decided she had never really loved me, and so I went through with my marriage to Penelope. But as time went on, it continued to bother me that she would run off like that. Running away was not Fannie’s style. She would choose to stand fast and fight the archangel himself for her place in heaven rather than run and hide. Something must have happened to send her away.” He sent a tender glance to Miranda. “I can only assume that something was you.”
“Perhaps she was afraid you would not wed her if she were with child,” Wulf said.
“Bah! Fannie?” Arenson hooted with laughter. “More likely she would march right up to Rothgard and demand he do right by her.”
“She was not one to be set aside, that is for certain.” Rothgard smiled, but then the expression faded. “I am distressed to hear that she has passed away. When I heard that you were her daughter, I had hoped…” His voice broke and he looked down at his plate of untouched food.
Miranda hesitated, then reached out and touched his hand. “Why do you believe you are my father?”
Rothgard looked at her, turning his hand beneath hers so their palms met in a brief squeeze. “Your mother was a loyal woman. As long as we were involved, she would never betray me with another man. I told her I intended to wed her but I had to extricate myself from the expectations of Penelope’s family first. She was willing to wait for me. We met at Christmastime 1792, and our affair lasted through the winter months and into the majority of the following Season.”
“I was born in December 1793.”
“Which means you were conceived around April 1793, the height of my affair with Fannie.”
“She disappeared around June of that year,” Arenson offered. “Rothgard and I were both mad for her, and we mourned. I had no idea the depth of their relationship.”
“You look like your mother,” Rothgard said. “Your face is nearly identical, and your voice sounds just like hers.”
“Mama was a blue-eyed redhead. I always wondered where I got black hair and green eyes. My skin is darker than hers was as well. Mama was very fair.”
“We have a Spanish gentleman a few generations back in the family tree. Periodically his darker coloring appears in our offspring. But your green eyes come from me, a noted trait in our family.”
“It seems odd to me that I have family. All I ever had was Mama.”
Rothgard grinned. “You have a brother and sister. Alonso is my heir, a fine boy, though apparently foolish at the tables.” He raised a brow at Wyldehaven, then looked back at Miranda. “And you have a sister, also named Miranda.”
Miranda gaped, a
nd Darcy said, “A wild coincidence, I’d say.”
“Not really,” Rothgard replied. “Fannie knew I was mad for Shakespeare, especially The Tempest. I had always planned to name my first child either Alonso for a son or Miranda for a daughter. I am touched that she remembered that and named you as I would have.” His voice broke and he glanced away.
Miranda stared down at her plate. She had siblings, albeit half siblings. Legitimate siblings.
Unlike her.
“What are you going to tell them?” she asked, the question nearly choking her. How awful it would be to finally find her father but never be able to acknowledge him in public! She reminded herself that he had been as surprised as she was. What if he planned to keep her existence a secret? What if he chose not to acknowledge her at all?
“I must speak to my wife and children and break the news gently. I have no intention of ignoring your existence, my dear. But you do understand this is a delicate matter.”
“Of course.” She nodded with ladylike calm, but inside, her heart was dancing with joy.
“And you, Wyldehaven.” Rothgard fixed Wylde with a hard stare. “We will discuss your relationship with my daughter in some detail.”
“I intend to marry her,” Wylde said.
“What!” Wulf dropped his toast.
“Marry?” Darcy set down his cup with a hard click.
Miranda gaped at Wylde, then looked at her father. “He only says that because he feels my reputation is at risk. Please pay no attention.”
“Your reputation is at risk. I am gratified he intends to do something about it.”
“I love you, Miranda,” Wylde said, reaching across the table toward her and snagging her fingers. “I did not tell you before because I thought I might die or at the very least suffer horrible scandal. I did not want that for you.”
“What about what I want?” she demanded. She stood, pulling her fingers from his. “I have never intended to marry.”
“Nonsense,” Rothgard said. “Of course you will marry. And I will dower you.”
She sent him a startled look, torn between longing to be accepted by her father and maintaining her independence.
“What about James?” she challenged, turning to Wylde. “You cannot even bear to be around him.”
“Who is this James?” Rothgard demanded.
“Her child,” Wylde replied. “And yes, I can bear to be around him. It will simply take time.”
“Her child!” Rothgard slammed his hand on the table. “Someone explain. Now.”
“It is my friend’s child,” Miranda said. “She died in childbed, and I have elected to raise him as my own.”
“Oh.” The ire faded from his face. “Very well, then.”
“The boy is a Matherton,” Wylde said.
Darcy choked on his eggs. “He is?”
“He will be raised as one, just like Lettie wanted,” Wylde continued. “But he will also be raised with love, as you want.”
Miranda opened her mouth to protest more.
“I love you, Miranda. I love you, and I love him. Already he feels like mine.”
“Oh.” She closed her mouth, saw the truth in his eyes. “You are an impossible man,” she said, sitting down and picking up her fork. “And I have no idea at all why I love you.”
Wylde grinned. “I shall remind you later. Lord Rothgard, I would like to formally ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
“Done,” Rothgard said, then took his first bite of food.
“Well, Rothgard,” Arenson said. “Leave it to you to become a father, a father-in-law, and a grandfather all within one breakfast.”
“I have ever been an efficient fellow,” Rothgard said.
“Where are you going, Linnet?”
Kit jumped at the sinister voice coming from within the depths of the stall. His horse, Satan, shuffled and snorted, indicating an intruder. Kit drew out the small pistol he carried for such events; this section of London was not the best even in broad daylight.
“Who is there?” he demanded.
After several long moments Daniel Byrne stepped out of the shadows. “’Tis I, Kit. Your good friend ‘Wyldehaven.’”
Kit did not relax his grip on the weapon, but he did lower it. While the intruder was not a random thief, Daniel Byrne was far from trustworthy. “What the devil are you doing here? How did you find me?”
“I have ways, as you should know. I received some distressing news. Wyldehaven is alive.” He spat the last, his lip curling with disgust.
“What do you mean? Of course he is alive. Why would he not be?”
“Because I went through great trouble to arrange matters so that Lord Rothgard challenged him to a duel. But something went wrong, and my sources tell me that instead of blood on the green this morning, Rothgard and Wyldehaven and all their seconds and that mistress of his have all returned to Matherton House for breakfast. Breakfast! Not a shot was fired!”
“Mistress?”
“That fetching Italian wench. Wyldehaven has provided a house for her, as well as a carriage and servants. Perhaps I will pay a call as Wyldehaven and give her a go.” He leered.
“I do not know what you are talking about. I know of no mistress.”
“Apparently, he does not include you in everything, does he, Linnet?” Byrne chuckled. “This morning, after my disappointment over the duel, I went to the wench’s house and spied on her. And I discovered something wonderful.”
Kit eyed him, wondering if he could possibly knock Byrne down, mount his horse, and escape before the fellow got up again. But Byrne would track him down. He knew an amazing network of informants, and London was not that big a city to someone with those connections.
“Tell me what you discovered,” he said, hoping it would satisfy the madman and send him on his way.
“Wyldehaven’s mistress has a child,” he gloated. “Only months old. She must have whelped in the country while he was in exile with his bloody music.”
Kit’s jaw dropped with surprise before he could think to hide his expression.
“Ah, you did not know. He is a quiet one, that darling duke, I must give him that. No doubt he sent for her once he decided to stay in London.”
“He only stayed in London because of your exploits,” Kit replied. “Otherwise he would have returned to the country right after Michael’s funeral.”
“And I would never have known of this new weakness! Think of how he mourned the death of his wife and the brat she carried. I must admit, I am surprised he took a mistress so quickly. I did not credit that saintly Wyldehaven would bow to the same physical needs as the rest of us. But he did and the results are there for the taking.” He rubbed his hands together.
“For the taking?” Dread crept over him with icy fingers.
“Wyldehaven is going to take his little baseborn son for a ride in the park—at least as far as the servants know. Think of how marvelous it will be when he discovers that I have slipped away with the child and will trade the babe’s life for his!”
“Trade…you would kill an infant?”
“Only if it becomes necessary. Do not fret, Linnet. You know as well as I that Wyldehaven will charge to the rescue.”
“I cannot allow that.” Kit raised the pistol again and pointed it right at Byrne’s heart. “This has gone on far enough. I will not be party to innocent deaths!”
“Well.” Byrne’s wild green eyes narrowed with menace. “Then I suppose you shall not be.”
Byrne shot out his hand, jerking Kit’s wrist skyward and squeezing. The pistol fell to the ground. Kit countered by kicking Byrne in the gut, sending him sprawling into the straw. Then he shoved his foot into the stirrup, flung his leg over the saddle, and kicked Satan into motion.
He had gotten only a few feet beyond the stable when he heard the report of the pistol. Fire tore into his shoulder and the pain nearly blinded him. The world tilted. He struggled to hold on, to remain mounted.
Darkness crept into the e
dges of his vision.
“Say you will marry me,” Wylde said.
Rothgard and his seconds had left Matherton House. The earl intended to inform his family of Miranda’s existence immediately; he wanted to lose no more time as her father. Darcy and Wulf had also taken their leave, discussing among themselves the need to locate Viscount Linnet and inform him of the amazing events of the morning.
Which left Miranda alone with Wylde in the gardens.
“Say you will marry me,” he repeated. They sat on a stone bench surrounded by rosebushes, with Annie wandering the paths several feet away for the purposes of propriety. Wylde had agreed to pay a call on Rothgard on the morrow to officially discuss his marriage offer, but Miranda still hesitated to accept him.
“Last night was my gift to you,” she said. “Please do not feel forced to offer marriage simply because I have a father now.”
“I have not been forced into anything. I want you for my wife.” He tilted her chin and pressed his lips to hers.
As always, his touch sent answering sparks all through her body. She wanted nothing more than to lose herself in his arms and let him take care of her forever. But there was something inside her that held back.
She pulled out of the kiss. “I want to continue to perform.”
“We do not need the income.” He grinned, a boyish expression that lightened his whole face. “But if it means that much to you, I have no objection to you performing whenever you want. It will be every hostess’s honor to have the Duchess of Wyldehaven singing at her affair.”
Some of her defenses melted at the sincerity she could hear in his voice. “What about James?”
He took her hand and ran his thumb over her fingers. “He will be raised as the son of the Duke of Wyldehaven. He will never be able to inherit; I cannot change the law. But he will be as treasured as any other child our union might produce.”
She could not help speaking the thought that was uppermost in her mind. “But how can you treasure him when you cannot even make yourself hold him?”
He let out a long sigh. “The pain at losing my own child fades more every day, but it may take my heart some time to heal. Eventually I will be more at ease with him.”
To Ruin the Duke Page 23
