You Can't Always Get the Marquess You Want

by Alexandra Hawkins

  The door to the billiards room closed, and she realized he had walked away.

  Charlotte chased after him, cursing under her breath. When she opened the door, he was staring out one of the windows.

  “So why specifically an annulment? What could you possibly tell Fairlamb that would cause him to—?” She paused and pondered for a moment what connection her husband had with the young marquess that he could exploit. “There is Tempest, but he had already outwitted you by marrying her. A virile young man would not delay in consummating the marriage.”

  With his back to her, Norgrave sipped a glass of port but remained silent.

  “So not Tempest.” Charlotte scowled, her anger renewing when she thought of her heartbroken daughter crying into her pillow. “You threatened Blackbern and his wife. No, Fairlamb would simply have challenged you. A bullet in your old hide would have discouraged you from—” No, there was another card her husband could play. One difficult to refute when the Rookes and Brants were so good at keeping their secrets. It made her nauseous to even consider. She marched over to him and tugged on his sleeve until he looked at her.

  “You didn’t. Even you wouldn’t be that cruel.”

  “You will have to be more specific about my alleged misdeeds,” he calmly informed her.

  “Oh, not all your sins are mere speculation. Lady Imogene Sunter comes to mind.” She leaned closer and whispered, “Have you forgotten that I was one of the few people who saw your face and bruised body when Blackbern was finished with you? He tried to kill you, and both of us know why.”

  Norgrave stroked his scar and grinned. “Blackbern tried his best to claim his pound of flesh.”

  “Do not deny the cost was much higher, and you were not the only one who paid for it in blood. Just as you know—Dear heavens,” she said, taking a step away from him. “You told his son what happened twenty-four years ago. How could you? Have you not ruined enough lives?”

  * * *

  McKee opened the front door to the Rookes’ residence to find an intoxicated Chance on the other side.

  “Good evening, my lord,” the butler said, noting the half-empty bottle of brandy in the marquess’s hand. “Were you pounding on the door with the bottle?”

  Mathias shrugged. “It was sturdy enough for the task. Is he home?”

  “Who?”

  “Blackbern,” he chuckled, and rubbed the grit from his eyes. “The man who claims to be my father.”

  McKee stilled at the marquess’s choice of words. “You mean your father.”

  “I want to talk to the man who lied to me my entire life!” he shouted, enjoying how his voice echoed in the front hall. “And let’s not forget my mother, too.”

  “Chance?”

  Mathias spun halfway, but the world tilted and twirled like a child’s toy. He blinked and came face-to-face with his mother. She must have been in the conservatory. The delight in her expression faded into concern when she noticed the bottle in his hand, and his less-than-sober state.

  “Has something happened? Where is Tempest?”

  “She left me,” Mathias said, the pain having welled within him. “They are asking for an annulment, so you have to tell me the truth.”

  “Chance.” Blackbern descended the stairs. “I am so happy you returned. I have been thinking about what I said—Where is your wife? I owe her an apology.”

  “Something is wrong, Tristan,” his mother murmured. “Chance, why don’t you give McKee the brandy—”

  “Damn right you owe her an apology!” he yelled at them, waving the bottle of brandy about. “I bring home an angel, and you treat her as if she were a whore with the pox.”

  “You’re drunk.” The duke’s lips twitched as he fought not to grin.

  “Tristan, you aren’t helping,” his mother complained, and decided to take charge of the brandy herself. “There, there, give me this. I will have McKee—”

  Mathias squinted at his mother. “Is that why you despise her?”

  “Who?” She exchanged baffled looks with the duke and McKee. “Maybe we should have several servants carry him upstairs and put him to bed. That will give him a chance to sleep off all that brandy.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that Norgrave was my father?” he blurted out.

  Two things occurred at once: First, the Duchess of Blackbern fainted dead away at his feet, and second, his father slammed his fist into Mathias’s jaw with such force, he could have sworn he heard several teeth crack. He dropped to his knees and then landed face-first on the marble floor.

  * * *

  The next time he opened his eyes, he was lying on the chaise longue in his mother’s sitting room. Someone had been kind enough to drape a wet cloth over his sore jaw. Mathias sat up and cursed.

  “Good, you’re awake,” Blackbern said, looking stern and unapologetic that he had punched his son in the jaw. “Your mother was worried that you fractured your cheekbone on the marble.”

  Mathias touched his face. “What were you hoping?”

  “That you had expired while I was tending to your mother. Then I wouldn’t have to strangle you for upsetting her,” he growled.

  “Is he awake?” his mother asked, entering the sitting room. She sat down beside him and inspected his jaw and his bruised cheek. “Does it hurt?”

  “Less than I deserve, I guess.” The duke’s punch and the nap had sobered him. “How long have I been napping?”

  “An hour,” his father said, prowling the sitting room. “Now that you have rejoined the living, I need to know one thing: How did you come to the asinine conclusion that the Marquess of Norgrave is your father?”

  Blackbern was so furious, Mathias was reluctant to explain that hours of speculation fueled by brandy had sent him on his fool’s errand. “I sent a message to Norgrave. You were too angry about my marriage to Tempest that I thought I might get answers about the feud from her father.”

  “All the wrong answers!” he shouted at Mathias. “What did he do? Hit you over the head with a bottle and steal your wife?”

  “Tempest left me.”

  “Mathias, what happened?” His mother clasped his hand. “Did Tempest leave because of what was said in this house?”

  “No, I assured her that once everyone calmed down, you and Father would eventually accept her as my wife.”

  His mother winced, and was probably embarrassed by her behavior.

  “What did Norgrave say when you asked him about the feud?” his father asked.

  Mathias stared at his mother, silently pleading with her to look at him. “He told me that you and Norgrave had an affair and that you knew you were carrying his child when you married my father.”

  His father cursed. “I should have challenged him years ago.”

  “At first, I was convinced he was lying.” Mathias squeezed his mother’s hand. “He entered my residence with the sole purpose of convincing Tempest to leave with him. I was prepared for his threats but the tale he told me—suffice to say, it left me speechless. You and Father refused to talk about what happened twenty-four years ago, and his version of events made a certain amount of sense. I didn’t know what to believe, so I had planned to come to you and demand an explanation.”

  “Damn it, why didn’t you!” His father glowered at his son.

  “Everything happened so quickly my head is still spinning. Then I realized Tempest had overhead what her father said to me. Neither one of us took it very well that we might be half siblings. Norgrave took advantage of our doubts and pressed for the annulment. He was concerned that his daughter might be already carrying my child, so he insisted that she marry Lord Warrilow immediately to conceal the truth.”

  “Who is Lord Warrilow?” his mother asked.

  “Norgrave handpicked him for his daughter.” Blackbern and Mathias sneered. They had identical expressions, a fact that only his mother could appreciate. “I confess, I panicked and feared that I had ruined Tempest’s life by marrying her. I vowed to fix things, even if that
meant annulling the marriage.”

  “You are an honorable man. However, your father is correct,” she said, and her lips trembled as she tried not to cry. “Norgrave lied. He is not your father, and Tempest is not your half sister.”

  “Have I ever given you a reason to doubt that I am your father?” the duke shouted at him, and Mathias winced. His doubts had hurt his father’s feelings.

  “No, sir.” Mathias shook his head. “There was a note of sincerity in his eyes when he mentioned Mother that convinced me he was telling the truth. He spoke of love and loss. Of betrayal, and how Father scarred him during their fight.”

  The duchess’s head shot up. She stared into her son’s eyes. “Your father didn’t give him the scar on his cheek. I did.” She exchanged a quiet look with his father, and then she leaned forward until her lips were an inch from his ear. “I don’t want you to say anything. Just close your eyes and listen.”

  Mathias dutifully shut his eyes, and his mother shared how she had been tricked by Norgrave into visiting the house he currently resided in with his cousin. More than twenty-four years had passed, but he could hear the pain in her voice as she told him what happened in the bedchamber that had been destroyed in a fire set by Blackbern years later.

  Even though it cost her to speak of such intimate and humiliating details with her son, she wanted him to understand who the true villain was that day so he could see that any sentiment the marquess harbored in his heart regarding the lady he had brutalized was false. His goal had been to create doubt between father and son, and divide the Rooke family. He also was determined to end Tempest’s marriage to Mathias by any means.

  His mother pulled back so she could observe her son’s reaction when she said, “Initially, I feared I might be carrying Norgrave’s child after his attack. He had planted the fear in my head, and when I realized I was indeed with child.” She blinked back tears and shook her head. “Your father—Blackbern, never had a doubt. Not once. His belief was unflagging, and when you were born and I held you in my arms, I knew he was right. You could never be Norgrave’s son. I swear it.”

  Mathias brought his hands to his face. His family had kept secrets. At first it had been done to protect her, and later it had been done out of love to spare him and his siblings the painful truth. Their silence had also given Tempest and her siblings a measure of peace.

  No one wanted to believe that their father had the capacity for true evil.

  He let his hands fall away and embraced his mother. He held her as she cried, and he stared at his father, his face filling with remorse.

  Blackbern acknowledged his silent apology with a curt nod.

  “You need to find your wife, Mathias,” his father said, his voice raw and gruff from emotion. “Do whatever it takes to convince her that Norgrave lies to trick her into marrying this Warrilow fellow.”

  “Will you go with me?” His mother stiffened at the question, so he appealed to his father. “You have already spoken out against the marriage. Tempest left me convinced you and Mother are against our marriage because everything her father revealed is true. If both of you stand with me and openly challenge Norgrave’s claims, she will believe us.”

  Her father’s confession had devastated her, but Mathias knew Tempest was too stubborn to give up on them so easily. Almost from the beginning, she had trusted him—and found the courage to love him.

  “We will help you,” his mother said, her voice soft and apprehensive about their impending confrontation.

  It was time to put an end to Norgrave’s machinations and bring his wife home.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Norgrave and Blackbern had not spoken a kind word to each other in twenty-four years.

  Mathias doubted their confrontation would change anything this evening.

  Nevertheless, the Duke and Duchess of Blackbern stood beside their eldest son while Lord Norgrave stood alone at the base of his staircase. He didn’t have a sword or a pistol in his hand as he stared at his unwelcomed guests. To add further insult, the marquess had not invited them upstairs to his formal drawing room or even into his library.

  He wanted them to leave, but Mathias refused to walk out of the town house unless Tempest went with him.

  “Blackbern, the gossipmongers will be wagging their tongues come morning when they learn that you called on me,” Norgrave said, sensing he had the upper hand since the Rooke family had willingly entered the lion’s den.

  “I owe your daughter an apology,” his father said; his stance looked as if he were relaxed, but Mathias knew differently.

  “I have been waiting for an apology from you for twenty-four years,” Norgrave said, managing to sound peevish, even though he had not offered one of his own.

  “And I am content to keep you waiting,” Blackbern said, his voice sharpening. “Tempest, on the other hand, does not deserve our condemnation for a past not of her making or the sins of her sire. Send one of your servants upstairs to fetch her so my wife and I can make amends, and then we will be on our way.”

  “A pity,” the marquess drawled. “I was about to offer you refreshments.”

  “You are a gracious host, Lord Norgrave,” his mother said, even though he could only guess what it cost her to be civil to a gentleman who had once been cruel and abusive to her. Mathias’s estimation of the duchess increased tenfold. “I had hoped that I might pay my respects to your wife.”

  Lord Norgrave grinned, sensing they were playing some kind of game, but no one had told him the rules. “I regret my marchioness has been indisposed, but I will pass along your kind words.”

  “Excellent.” His mother placed her hand on Blackbern’s coat sleeve, an unspoken reminder of her loyalties. “And tell Lady Norgrave that I will pray for a speedy recovery. When I spoke to her at Lady Karmack’s, your lady appeared to be in good health. I hope it will continue.”

  Lord Norgrave’s expression grew contemplative. “I was unaware that you and Charlotte exchanged words recently.”

  “Well, I expected it will happen more often now that our son and your daughter have married,” the duchess said her voice infused with feigned lightness. She glanced at Mathias and some of the stiffness in her expression eased.

  “Chance?”

  Mathias stared up at the top of the stairs in time to see Tempest descending with her mother. Her face bore evidence that she had been crying, but she appeared composed. “What are you doing here?” Her gaze slid to the Duke and Duchess of Blackbern with undisguised curiosity and wariness.

  “Can we speak in private?” Mathias inquired, and inwardly flinched when she shook her head.

  Lord Norgrave stepped forward to prevent Mathias from approaching his daughter. “Since everyone has agreed that an annulment is the sensible course, I think it is unwise for you and Tempest to be unchaperoned.”

  “Do you honestly think you can stop me from speaking privately with my wife?”

  A door opened and Marcroft joined their small gathering.

  “Is there a problem, Fairlamb?” his new brother-in-law asked, silently noting the swelling and discoloration on Mathias’s face. At his father’s command, the earl would gladly add a few more bruises.

  “No, as long as your father steps aside so I can properly greet my wife,” he replied, daring him or any other member of the Brant family to deny him his rights as Tempest’s husband.

  Movement caught his attention, and Mathias noticed that Arabella was slowly descending the stairs and stood next to her mother. She appeared to be bemused to find Rookes standing in the front hall. “Good heavens! Are we celebrating Tempest’s marriage to Chance?”

  “No,” Lord Norgrave snapped.

  “Why not? After all, it seems appropriate,” Lady Norgrave countered. She nodded to the butler standing in the background. “Starling, bring up a few bottles of wine from the cellar while I escort our guests up to the drawing room.”

  “See here, Charlotte,” he said, raising his arm when Tempest reached the botto
m of the staircase. “Blackbern and his wife are leaving. There is no reason to invite them upstairs. And you—Tempest—I will not have you—”

  Tempest stepped out of reach and walked over to greet her new in-laws. Pride swelled within Mathias’s chest as his wife defied her father and curtsied. “Your Graces, I would be honored if you joined me and my family in the drawing room.”

  His father managed to startle Tempest when he clasped her hand and bowed over it. “We will accept your gracious invitation, if you will allow me to welcome you to our family.”

  “There’s no reason to waste your breath on pleasantries, Blackbern, when the marriage will be annulled within a week,” Lord Norgrave said, drawing Tempest away from the duke.

  “I would not wager on the outcome,” Mathias said, claiming Tempest’s other hand. “Now if you would be so kind to release my wife’s hand so I may speak with her alone.”

  Lord Norgrave scowled at Mathias. “We had an agreement.”

  “Only if you told me the truth—something I am told you are unfamiliar with,” Mathias said, not bothering to conceal his annoyance as he slipped his arm around Tempest’s waist and pulled her away from her father.

  “Chance?” There was no hesitation as she moved into his arms, her expression filled with curiosity and hope.

  “What is Fairlamb talking about, Father?” Marcroft asked.

  Lord Norgrave glared at Blackbern. “Will you shut him up or shall I?”

  “Remaining silent is the reason why your lies almost succeeded in destroying your daughter and my son’s happiness,” the duke replied, his anger toward the marquess barely leashed. “Is that what you were counting on? That Chance would be so horrified by your revelation that his shame would prevent him from confronting us while you swiftly secured an annulment for your daughter so she could marry this Warrilow character?”

  “Father?”

  “Later, Croft,” the marquess bellowed at his son.

  “Yes, Norgrave, why don’t you tell Marcroft how you tried to convince me that I, too, am your son because you forced yourself on my mother because she fell in love with your closest friend,” Mathias said, his voice thick with disgust. “How you were willing to let Tempest believe that she had married her half brother so you could manipulate her into a loveless marriage because it benefited you.”