The Duke of Morewether’s Secret (31 page)

The third man stuck out his hand in formal greeting. “Viscount Sheridan at your service.” He slurred the words into one long sibilant sentence. Christian looked at the proffered hand as if it had leprosy. Eventually it was withdrawn only to have the palm rubbed vigorously against the owner’s soiled pants leg. Christian shifted his attention back to the man with no shoes.

“Yes, anyway, Sherry and I said, ‘Certainly not.’.” He imitated himself with a great deal of drunken dignity. “We’ve come to satisfy the wager since no one at White’s knew the answer solid.”

Christian took in the three weaving sots who blinked back at him with various levels of clarity. The man identified as Baldwin grinned like a fool. “Baldwin you say?”

Baldwin nodded, belched, then added, “Exactly.”

“How much is your allowance?”

“One hundred.”

“Can you believe it?” Sherry asked with enthusiasm.

“Why in God’s name would you bet one hundred pounds on whether I have a peg leg?” Christian asked the idiot.

Baldwin nudged his fallen hat with his toe before pulling his attention back to the question of the moment. He flung his arm to the right and hit No Shoes in the stomach to which his friend grunted heartily but maintained his feet. “Those rogues called me an idiot.”

Christian cocked an eyebrow. “Why would I have a peg leg?” This might be the stupidest conversation he’d have all year, but it was interesting. That was indisputable.

The drunks looked at each other before they said in chorus, “The pirates, of course.”

“Oh, blast,” Christian thundered and the other gentlemen flinched. “There were no bloody pirates. This is too much.”

“So you’re sayin’ you don’t have a peg leg, then?” Sherry posed the question with soggy glee.

“No!” Christian roared, fists settled at his hips. “Nor an eye patch. Not even tentacle marks or scurvy.”

“Pay up, man,” Shoe-less said with an outstretched hand.

Baldwin went from a ruddy drunken hue to deathly pale. “I’ma need proof.” He settled gingerly on his hands and knees and crawled towards Christian’s trouser leg.

Christian held his ground. “If you touch my leg, I promise I’ll kill you in my own front hall.”

Baldwin’s forward movement, wobbly as it was, ceased. No Shoes and Sheridan plucked at their friend’s jacket and yanked on his arms. “Come,” Sherry said. “I trust we can take the duke at his word.”

“Unequivocally,” No Shoes agreed with an impressive word considering the man was teetering. “Good day, Your Grace.”

Christian ignored the rest of their boozy apologies and fawning, turned on his heel. “Get them out of my house,” he told Riley as he passed.

The men didn’t seem to be giving the butler any difficulty, as he ushered them towards the door like a flock of sauced ducks until the great knocker banged on the door once again. Christian ignored it. Surely whoever was at the door would only bring annoyance, and he had control of his temper by the barest margin. Best to keep moving away from the circus in his front hall.

“Oh ho!”

“I say!”

“Right smashing!”

Don’t look.
Still, the excited voices of the drunken horde were too intriguing and he ignored his own advice.

He was right. He never should have looked and now he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t seen her. Besides, Veronica was never a woman to be ignored. She’d never burned down a centuries-old oak tree, but he wouldn’t put an epic scene past her either, especially when she had an adoring audience of foxed young men to fawn over her. He could almost write the gossip column himself.

What peg-legged duke has been seen entertaining a famous actress in the same house with his runaway bride? A story told by three eye-witnesses!

“Aren’t you Veronica Clarke?” No Shoes asked.

“Of course she is, are you blind?” Sherry stuck out his hand to Christian’s ex-mistress. “Gregson here and I saw you play in
The Devil to Pay
thirteen times.”

Veronica extended her glove clad arm in a slow, elegant gesture, playing the part of famous actress to the hilt. It was her favorite part and one she excelled at. “Isn’t that the sweetest thing to say.” She said as Sherry kissed her hand in a sloppy gesture of adoration.

“What a lark,” Gregson added.

“I sent you flowers, tulips,” Baldwin interjected. He blushed — which Christian would have thought impossible considering how ruddy from drink his face already was — when Veronica gave him her full attention.

“Yes, I received them. Thank you so much. They were lovely.”

Christian rolled his eyes. He’d been in her dressing room back in the days when they’d been together. She received dozens of bouquets after every performance. It was part of what was so exciting about having landed the celebrated Beauty, she was in such demand by young and old alike. There was no way she remembered any particular tulips from anyone such as Baldwin, but now he’d be forever a devoted admirer since she fooled him into believing she thought him important.

Veronica flirted and the lads who continued to gush over her, to the point where Christian was actually nauseated. “Get them out,” he told the butler indicating the trio of sots. When only Veronica was left in the foyer, he asked her with as much malice as he could contain. “What do you want? You aren’t hiding more of my children from me are you?”

She flashed him a brilliant smile. “Good morning, Your Grace.”

“What do you want?” he repeated.

She ignored the question. Surely she’d written a script for this conversation in her head. Christian should know by now she’d stick to her play until she got the topic to where she wanted it. “How was your honeymoon?” Her smile was knowing.

“I’m in no mood for games.” Christian told her. He grasped her arm above the elbow and steered her into the closest parlor with alacrity.

Veronica called over her shoulder. “Send for tea, Riley.”

“Needn’t bother,” Christian growled. “She won’t be here long enough for that.” He released her arm and she took a couple of reflexive steps back to maintain her balance. “What do you want this time?”

“Good news,” she told him. “I’ve come to relieve you of Lucy.”

Chapter Thirty-one

Thea had been expecting a visitor shortly, but she’d really thought it would have been Christian banging on her door. Despite his best efforts, she’d had many visitors since she instituted her showdown. Of course there had been Lucy the first time with the carpet picnic. Her step-daughter had been a frequent visitor over the last several days. She’d brought cards and reading material, even the great orange cat one time. Her mother-in-law had sneaked in several times with gossip and sewing to pass the time. Anna brought fashion news and tales of their friend’s new baby. Alexios had come back a second time to relate with a great deal of excitement what had brought him to England and all the plans he had breeding his horses with her husband’s. The boys had brought their bug boxes to show her. Each time any of them had come to keep her company, they brought snacks. So much food had been smuggled into the room she had the beginnings of a fine pantry assembled in the wardrobe.

“Who is it?” she said in a high-pitched, sing song voice.

“It’s Lucy. Please let me in.”

The panic in the child’s voice caused Thea to unlock the door immediately. Lucy’s face was tear-streaked and flushed. She rushed into the room and flung her arms around Thea’s waist. “Sweeting, what is the matter?”

“Please don’t make me leave. I love it here.”

Thea pulled Lucy’s face away from her chest so she could understand her. “I’d never make you leave. What’s happened? Has your father demanded it?” Anger swamped her like a flashing torrent.

“No, but it’s going to happen.”

“Please tell me what’s going on.” She towed Lucy to the bed and sat her on the edge, then she stooped in front of the girl so she could look her in the eyes.

“My mother is here. She wants to take me home.” She burst into a fresh spate of tears.

Thea stood in a rush. “Now? She’s here now?” Before Lucy answered, Thea was already heading towards the door. She’d be damned if this selfish husband of hers was going to send his daughter away. How could he even think it?

For a split second she thought it might be a ruse to get her to open the door, but Lucy’s heartbreaking sobs convinced her otherwise. She tore through the doorway and set off along the hall in a run, the weeping child following behind. “Stay with your grandmother,” Thea told Lucy when they passed her surprised mother-in-law on the stairs. Her youngest brothers were loitering in the front hall, looking as inconspicuous as possible.

“Where are they?” she asked. Hektor pointed to the front parlor.

Georgios grabbed her hand and looked at her with an earnest and worried expression. “You won’t let her take Lucy, will you?”

“Don’t eavesdrop at doors.” She turned stern eyes on her brothers as she told them. “It’s rude. And, no, I won’t let Lucy go.” She didn’t pause when she reached the parlor. Instead, she pushed the door and strode inside, like a goddess preparing for battle, and waded into an unexpected morass of tension.

Lucy’s mother stood in the light of the parlor window. Her blonde hair was encircled with light, and she fairly glowed with good health and beauty. Her clothes were of the latest fashion. Thea should know, since her friends had kept her busy while waiting for Christian’s return by nearly constant shopping. There wasn’t a shop on Bond Street they had not patronized. Thea recognized Veronica’s dress as one designed by one of the
ton’s
favorite dress makers. It fit Veronica much better than Thea ever hoped it would fit her. She was a bit taller than Thea, she noted, and certainly thinner, so the silk hung from her frame with artful sophistication. Just like the last time, Thea felt the woman’s appraising gaze and she was certain she came up wanting. She could never compete with this woman — certainly not in beauty and grace.

Stopping in mid-sentence, Christian gave her a steady look that managed to mask his surprise at her presence. “Ah, here is my darling bride now. I was beginning to pine, my dear.” He tossed her a flirting smile and grasped her by the elbow to pull her to him. Kissing her cheek while slipping his arm behind her waist, he tucked her next to his side. “Thea, this is Veronica Clarke, Lucy’s mother.”

“Yes, I know.” Thea maintained a calm exterior, not allowing her fury to jeopardize her goal. She nodded to the other woman. “Miss Clarke.”

“Your Grace.” Veronica used the honorific, yet somehow it sounded condescending when she said it, as was her perfunctory curtsey. “We didn’t have the opportunity to meet the last time. I was whisked away so quickly.”

Christian narrowed his eyes at his former lover. “I’ll ask you to be respectful to my wife, especially in her house.” He turned his attention back to Thea. “Although, I probably should be thankful to her, hmmm? I suspect she’s the reason you’ve emerged.” He leaned in to kiss her and she turned her face so he caught her cheek instead. “You look fetching.”

“You’re flirting?” Veronica sounded outraged.

He raised a sardonic brow. “I happen to love my wife. It’s your fault I haven’t seen her all this time.”

Now was probably not the time to be disloyal, but that was a ridiculous assertion. She pulled herself away from him. “Hardly.” She scowled and crossed her arms over her chest. “You bloody well know why we’re not talking, and that woman has nothing to do with it.”

Veronica tossed her hand in a flippant and dismissive gesture. “Look, I’m not interested in your marital disputes. I’m here to collect Lucy and go.”

“Absolutely not, I forbid it.” Both heads turned in Thea’s direction. The golden-haired one was masked in a battle-ready expression, the darker one held a smile of, dare she assume, admiration.

The actress advanced toward her, her index finger jabbing into her own chest to emphasize her point. “She is
my
daughter. You don’t even know her. What could you possibly want with her?” A disgusted expression altered the beauty of her famous face into ugliness. “You can hire a lady’s maid; you don’t need my girl slaving for you.”

Thea thought of a string of apt Greek epithets appropriate for the occasion. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She took a step forward to meet the other woman on the carpet. “All of a sudden you’re her devoted mother? You left her here like a sack of unwanted potatoes so you could run away with some man.”

“You’re one to talk. The runaway bride.” Veronica said with a sneer. They were standing nearly toe to toe by this point. Veronica continued, her eyes narrowed to fearsome slits, “You’ve made a fool of yourself and your husband. Every tongue in London is wagging.”

“Well at least I’d never leave my child with virtual strangers.” Thea matched her sneer for sneer.

Christian must have thought the situation might degenerate into hair pulling, because he slipped between them. “I can’t believe I’m suggesting we all act like adults here, but we really should try, ladies.”

“Oh, shut it, will you, Christian.” Even Thea couldn’t believe that came out of her mouth, but now she was gaining momentum. She wheeled on her husband. “You have no business trying to take the high road with me. You two are in here talking about Lucy’s life like this is a competition on who can be more callous. How dare you ignore your daughter for ten years?”

“I didn’t ign —”

Thea shook her head vigorously. “How could you not have any curiosity about your own flesh and blood? She’s such a smart child, do you know that? She can quote Shakespeare and Francis Bacon. She’s delightfully funny and charming. Do you know any of this?”

“Settle down there, you.” Christian removed her pointy finger from his person. “Of course, I know this. I spent weeks with her on a miserable boat while she charmed every sea dog from here to Santorini and back.”

Veronica must not have wanted them to forget she was in the room, because she appeared at Thea’s left elbow. “I know all this about my daughter, and that why I’m taking her home with me.”

“I’ll get to you in a minute,” Thea told her. Then back to him, “Then why?”