Obsession (14 page)

There was a clatter of china as they put down their teacups, rose from their chairs, and, with hastened curtsies and a muttering of breathless “Your Grace”s, they hurried from the room, met by frantic maids who hustled to retrieve their wraps.

The butler appeared behind me and eased the sodden cloak from my shoulders, disappearing as quickly as he had appeared, closing the door behind him.

I gave my grandmother a stiff bow, more mocking than it was respectful.

“How dare you,” she declared, voice shaking with anger, “come into my home unannounced and terrify my guests. Haven’t you disgraced me enough?”

“You haven’t an inkling of the extent I intend to go to disgrace you, madam, unless you tell me what, exactly, you’ve done with my daughter.”

Her thin eyebrows raised and she lifted her chin. “Ah, your pitiful little nurse must have come to her senses, at last.” She smirked. “What a shame.”

“I always thought you a heartless, manipulating bitch, but you continue to surprise me.”

Her gaze raked me as her mouth formed a thin smile. “So very much like your father. His taste for tarts superseded his intelligence.”

My eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you saying? Father loved my mother very much. He would never have—”

“Silence!”

Grabbing up her cane, she stood, her clawed hands gripping the crook and her weight leaning heavily upon it. Her eyes were like cold flint in her gaunt face.

“I’m too damn old to tolerate this belligerence and stupidity any longer. I’ve fought for the better part of my life to keep this family from annihilating itself, and what have I to show for it? Years of heartbreak and humiliation, that’s what. A reminder every time I looked into your father’s eyes—every time I looked at you and Clayton, a bitter reminder that I was little more than the duke’s unwanted responsibility.”

“I didn’t come here to discuss your miserably failed marriage. I came here to discover where you’ve hidden my child, and I don’t intend to leave until I’ve wrung the information from you in whatever manner I must to get you to spew up the truth.”

She moved toward me, shoulders humped, the cane thumping on the floor. I was struck by her advancing age more than I had ever been.

Clayton and I had often quipped that she would live forever just to spite us. But in that moment, Death appeared to radiate around her like some black, hovering spirit. I felt it in the air. Smelled it, rank and odorous. While age normally mellowed the most hardened soul, it only lent a more cruel disposition to her lined face and glittering eye.

Drawing herself up as much as she was capable, she met my fierce gaze with her own, her expression unnervingly smug. I was jolted by the real possibility that she was about to confess that she had murdered the child.

“So you want the truth,” she said. “I wonder if you’re man enough to handle it.”

I fisted my hands, prepared for the blow, no doubts in my mind that I would surely kill her if she had harmed Sarah.

As if she could read my thoughts, she smirked. “I blamed myself, of course, and was willing to forgive my husband. At least in the beginning. I understood his disappointment and desperation.”

“Madam,
where
is my daughter? If you’ve harmed her—”

“I had failed to provide him an heir,” she continued, watching my eyes narrow as I attempted to make sense of what she was saying. “So when my husband came to me with the news that he had gotten some baron’s daughter with child, I was heartbroken, yes. But I was reasonable. And naive. His suggestion that we go abroad for a year, until the child was born, seemed reasonable. No one need know that the child wasn’t mine.”

As her words began to chip away at my concentration, forcing me to focus on her meaning, I whispered, “Christ, what are you saying?”

“I was grateful, for God’s sake. Since he at last had a son, an heir, he would content himself with his home life. He might even be appreciative enough of my sacrifice, and my willingness to keep his filthy little secret, to remain faithful.

“Did you ever wonder, Your Grace”—she sneered the “Your Grace,” her gray lips pulled back, showing her long yellow teeth—“why your parents had no more children?”

She chuckled, a mephitic sound to match the hate in her burning eyes. “Because my husband’s son enjoyed the company of men.”

I blinked, her meaning coiling in the pit of my stomach. I felt caught like a fly in a web, looking into the eyes of a predator intent on devouring me.

Yet I could no more look away than I could flee, despite the dread that made my heart slam painfully against my ribs.

She lifted the cane and slid the crook around my neck, drawing me close, so close I could smell her aged skin, the odor like dust.

“By the time we realized his son’s proclivity, I no longer gave a whit about my husband. He had the morals of a tomcat. Therefore, when he announced once again that he had managed to conceive with some young harlot, I had little care. I was content with my own dalliances and comfortable with the rewards of my station.

“I didn’t give a damn when he and his son quietly arranged for a marriage between the man who would pass as your and Clayton’s father, and the whore. The duke would be assured of his heirs, and the man you believed to be your father could continue with his sordid relationships with those of his own sex.

“So you see, Your Grace, I’m not at all surprised at your appetite for whores and females of inferior blood lines. You are, after all, my husband’s son.”

As I stood rooted to the floor, the blood draining from my face and sickness churning in my gut, she returned to her chair before the fire and sank into it with a sigh and grunt. The cane fell to the floor, then she reached for her teacup, smiling.

“You do realize what this means, of course.” She chuckled. “Since you were conceived out of wedlock, you’re no duke at all. Should you continue this idiotic quest to marry your little nurse, I’ll expose you and Clayton for what you are.

“While such a revelation will hardly affect your brother—unlike you, he has managed to attain a rather grand fortune on his own—you, thanks to your stupidity, have nothing but your title to keep you afloat. What little respect you still have among the ton will vaporize like mist.

“You’ll be a pariah, if you aren’t already. You’ll be penniless. And you’ll be homeless. What will you do with the remainder of your sorry life…break your back toiling in another lead mine, barely reaping enough coins to keep your belly fed?”

Slowly I walked to the chair and stared down on her gray head as she continued sipping her tea. “You’re a bloody liar.” My voice shook.

“Am I?”

I turned away and moved to the window, looked out on the bustle of traffic, the clatter of horses and coaches muted by the veil of constant rain.

The realization that my grandmother—nay, not my grandmother; a cold, heartless crone who was no more bound to me by blood than the passing strangers—was telling the truth paralyzed me.

Flashes of childhood memories bombarded me. Images of my parents—companionable, friendly, but expressing no outward show of marital devotion.

Everything I was—and stood for—had been a lie.

Should I turn my back on her, my title and what few monetary possessions I still held would revert to her.

I turned to find her watching me, a smile on her lips.

“Bitch,” I said through my teeth. “Miserable bitch.”

14

O
N THE BLEAK HILLTOP ABOVE
T
HORN
R
OSE
Manor I sat on my heavily breathing horse and stared down at my home, with its grotesque carvings of crumbling griffins and its rambling paths flanked by wind-twisted firs.

I was drunk with ale and self-disgust.

Once again, I had allowed the dowager duchess to manipulate me. I had only fooled myself since retrieving Maria from Menson, believing that the Devil Duke was capable of altruistic ideals.

That true love conquers all.

Blatant rubbish. The foolish idea of a black-hearted scoundrel who briefly believed that there was a modicum of goodness squirming around inside him—and who was desperate to find it in hopes of saving himself from complete spiritual ruin.

Aye, I had succumbed to the duchess’s blackmail—to sacrifice my own flesh and blood, my daughter, and Maria’s sanity. What choice did I have?

What twisted fate that I, who had done my best to humiliate Clayton because his goodness had been a constant reminder of my failures, must now spare him the embarrassment of our filthy familial secrets.

News of our sullied lineage would destroy not just Clayton, but his children, as well. I knew too well the snobbery of our peers. A man was only as good as his title and blood line. Despite my own heinous reputation, my title kept the hungry financial wolves from my door.

I rode to the stables and left my lathered horse with Maynord, who was as soused as I. As I made my way to the house, I froze at the sound of dogs’ frenzied barking.

“Damn,” I said through my teeth as the pair of snarling sheep dogs rounded the house, driving through the flurry and fog straight at me, their tails tucked low in anticipation of the attack.

I knew every bristled hair upon their backs, well acquainted with their hatred of me. My brother’s dogs had the uncanny ability to recognize a devil when they saw one, and more than once I had anticipated their total mutilation of my person.

But worse even than their snarling threat was the realization that Clayton was at Thorn Rose. He was the last person on the face of the earth that I desired to see in that moment.

“Down!” came the shout, and I looked toward the door to discover my brother smirking at my discomposure. The dogs immediately fell back, turning from four-footed fiends to tail-wagging darlings that grinned at their master with such adoration, my resentment for Clayton flourished so fiercely I was wont to slug him.

“They won’t harm you,” Clayton said as I stepped cautiously around the animals, into the house.

“They would rip off my legs at the first opportunity and you know it.”

“Animals sense when you don’t like them.” Clayton fell in beside me as I moved down the hallway, the dogs padding obediently at his side. “I take it you’ve spent some time at the Black Bull.”

“You were always remarkably astute, Clay.”

“Astute has nothing to do with it. You’re popped.”

Herbert appeared, smiling and alert, as he always was when Clayton visited Thorn Rose. The bloody servant believed my brother hung the moon, the sun, and the stars.

As he reached for my cloak, I looked him in the eye and sneered, “Traitor.”

His gray eyebrow shot up, and with a sniff, he yanked the cloak from my hand, turned on his heels, and marched away.

“When did you arrive?” I asked as I turned down the gallery that glowed with lit girandoles and lamps. “I see you’ve provided me plenty of tapers and oil. As usual.”

“Miracle doesn’t care for gloom.”

I froze at the sound of his wife’s name. If Miracle was here, so was—

“Uncle Duke!” The small, feminine creature bounded down the gallery, a child with an exquisite little face, fiery ringlets, the same color as her mother’s, bouncing wildly around her flushed cheeks. And her eyes, sparkling green gems full of such glee over seeing me that I felt my body become brittle. I was filled with a desperation that nearly unbalanced me.

Margaret, with ribbons and lace flapping madly, flung her arms around my knees and beamed like sun rays into my eyes. “Uncle Duke, I’m so glad to see you.”

I forced a smile and patted her on the head. “Hello, Maggie.”

“Did you miss me?”

I glanced at Clayton, whose arms were crossed over his chest, his smile taunting. “Very much,” I managed.

“Papa got me a kitten. Would you like to see it?”

“Of course.”

“Splendid. She’s in the parlor with Mama and Lady Edwina. Hurry!”

She spun on her tiptoes and dashed away, her laughter ringing like little bells.

I followed, feeling suddenly stone-cold sober. Pray God that Edwina had said nothing of my reasons for traveling to Menson. I was an adept liar, but right now, I wasn’t certain I could pull it off.

The scene in the parlor was one of cheeriness, the fire casting tremendous warmth and light, as were the dozens of lamps and candles situated on every available space.

Edwina and Miracle stood as I entered, their faces glowing in anticipation. Yet it wasn’t their anticipating countenances that I focused on—but Maria. Sitting between the women, looking as heart-stoppingly beautiful as I had ever seen her.

Dressed in one of Miracle’s pretty dresses, she cradled the doll wrapped in bunting in one arm as she sipped a cup of tea and gazed serenely into the hearth—far removed from the harridan who had attempted to murder me with a poker a few nights before.

In that moment, I wished with every fiber of my heart that she had managed it. The very image of her with the doll roused a sense of despair and self-disgust so strong, I felt explosive.

Miracle approached me first, her red hair haloed by the firelight, her eyes sparkling like her daughter’s. Despite her usual disapproval of my existence, her mien was one of enthusiasm, and I knew even before Miracle spoke that Edwina had spewed out the reason for my absence from Thorn Rose. I fixed the wench with a glower that made her blush and take a cautious retreat to the far side of the room.

“Tell us,” Miracle hastened, catching one of my hands and gripping it so excitedly, my fingers throbbed. “Was there a child, sir?”

I refocused on Maria, watched as she smiled down into the doll’s big blue eyes.

“Well?” Clayton moved close to my side, drawing my gaze to his. My heart slammed in my ears. Sweat rose to my brow.

“See my kitten, Uncle Duke?” Maggie trilled, forcing me to turn away from Clayton and look down as she smiled and lifted the black and white squirming kitten for my perusal. “I’ve named her Pepper. Isn’t she simply charming?”

I stared into Maggie’s innocent face, some emotion I could not fathom in that moment taking hold of my heart. Until that instant I had never appreciated the child’s extreme beauty, her vivaciousness, or the reasons why my brother became a sap in her company. The idea that somewhere I had a daughter who was equally as lovely made the air suddenly too hot and heavy to endure.