An Heir of Deception (6 page)

God no.
It would destroy her. But she had no claims on him. She was the last person who should begrudge him happiness, even in the arms of another woman.

Turning from her sister, Charlotte advanced to the bay window. “Perhaps a little.” This time she couldn’t look her sister in the eye when she voiced the lie. Moreover, it was how her sister would expect her to feel given she’d just admitted she hadn’t truly been in love with him.

“Then you’ll be disappointed to hear he remains unmarried. But the rumor is he will soon be paying court to Lady Mary, the Earl of Cranford’s daughter. It appears not only are the earl and his wife keen on the union, but the duchess as well. They hope to see them wed before year’s end.”

Charlotte couldn’t see the beauty in the profusion of budding daisies and violets landscaping the front lawn for pain and grief swelled her heart. Ready to send her to her knees. But truly, it was a small miracle he wasn’t already wed with several children by now. Perfectly legitimate aristocratic children.

“I see.” Charlotte paused. “Well I wish him well.”

And she did. She sincerely did.

It would be utterly selfish of her to begrudge him happiness. And by God she wasn’t selfish. Her absence from his life attested to that.
Marrying him
would have been selfish.

“Charlotte, do you know what I believe?” Katie said softly from behind. She hadn’t even heard her approach.

Charlotte turned. Her sister took her cold hand in hers and looked her directly in the eye. “I don’t for a moment believe there was ever another man—this husband. And I don’t believe you left because you didn’t love Alex.”

Charlotte went stiff, her spine ramrod straight, feeling vulnerable and exposed. “What?”

Katie’s mouth curved but it wasn’t a smile. It was entirely too sad to be described as such. “My dear, do give me some credit. I’ve known you all your life. Perhaps, the story you’ve so convincingly rehearsed would have fooled strangers, acquaintances, and perhaps even James and Missy. But this is me. We occupied the same womb for nine months and bedchambers for fifteen years. You would have walked barefoot across the desert for Alex. And as for finding someone else? You had eyes for only him, which would have made that impossible. You loved him then and I’m quite convinced the years apart haven’t changed that one little bit.”

It should have been a diatribe, for Charlotte had lied to her, but it was not. Katie had exposed her web of well-rehearsed lies in calm, gentle tones, her only proof being her sister’s intimate knowledge of her.

Thoughts of issuing an emphatic denial flitted through her mind but the lure of understanding in Katie’s eyes had her head dropping as if her neck could no longer support its weight. Her admission conveyed the truth without a single spoken word.

“Nicholas is Alex’s son, is he not?”

Chapter Three

Alex returned home and executed a swift change of clothes. His waistcoat suffered the loss of three of its four shanked, brass buttons. His rage ripped his linen shirt near the seam of the arm. He savaged the button closure of his trousers with his impatience. His drawers were the lone garment to survive the ordeal unscathed. He tamped down his anger long enough to ensure donning his riding clothes was a much less destructive affair.

He made good time getting to the stables, his long strides clashing with hard earth. Minutes later he sat bent over Shalais, his favorite Arabian mare, his gloved hands closed tight about the reins, flying across Reading’s flat, grassy terrain with the wind at his back.

With his every labored breath and every stretch of dirt kicked up by Shalais’s hooves, he tried not to think about
her
. But since the moment he’d left, his attempts at this had been wholly unsuccessful. Her image and the memories would not go willingly into the dark recesses of his mind, refusing to be bowed by the strength of his will.

Little by little, they seeped back into the forefront of his thoughts as his gray-stoned manor house shrank against the backdrop of a deceptively cloudless, sunlit sky. She had returned, bringing with her ugly and unforgiveable lies, effectively darkening the skies like a swarm of locusts.

Dusty-rose lips, just as soft and full as he remembered from countless dreams, looked too tempting to be the vehicle of such egregious lies. But those same lips had lied to him before.
I love you. Yes, Alex, I’ll marry you. I can’t imagine my life without you.

With a squeeze of his thighs, Alex urged Shalais into a full-out gallop, trying to expend himself physically to quell the lure of oblivion a glass of alcohol could bring. He needed exhaustion enough to prevent him from the insanity of barreling a path through heavily wooded trees and underbrush to return to Rutherford Manor and force the truth from those same lying lips.

For years his feelings for her had drifted on the plane of indifference. He ceased to care where she was, what she did, and he never allowed himself to even venture near thoughts of with whom. Her return upended his long-dormant emotions. He’d never thought he’d ever feel this deeply again, whether it be in anger or love. Today she’d proven him wrong as she’d done so adroitly in the past.

It galled him that after all these years she still had
that
power over him. That despite everything she’d done, she was the only woman who could turn him inside out with just her presence.

But, he vowed, this time would be different. If the last five years had taught him anything, it was that only a fool didn’t learn from his mistakes.

To his face and behind gloved hands and silk fans, he’d been called self-destructive, boorish and unfeeling. But they’d never accused him of being a fool and he’d make damn sure it remained that way.

He returned to the house two hours later sweaty and hot. He was greeted by his rather anxious-looking butler, Alfred, who approached him the moment Alex stepped a dusty booted foot in the corridor leading to the main part of the house.

Alfred’s powdered wig and severe black garb should have demanded a mien of stoicism, instead of the wringing-of-the-hands look on his face.

“My lord, Lord Cranford is awaiting you in the withdrawing room.” Alfred had a tendency to speak as if he’d lived a century ago.

Alex quirked a brow. “Pardon?” he asked sharply, taking a moment to digest his shock.
What the hell is he doing here?
He almost blurted the question, but good manners—at least the vestiges of those he still ascribed to—prevented him from doing so.

“My lord, he was quite insistent on awaiting your return.”

The Earl of Cranford, Lady Mary’s father, wasn’t someone Alex wished to entertain today of all days. He’d no desire to entertain a solitary soul, truth be told.

“Please tell him I’ll be with him shortly. As you can see, I’m not fit for company,” Alex replied with a dismissive nod.

Yes, sir,” Alfred said with a bow before he strode off.

Twenty minutes later, Alex presented himself in the drawing room, freshly bathed and dressed from head to toe in cotton and wool in a brown as somber as his mood.

“Ah, Cartwright,” Lord Cranford said upon his entrance, slowly rising to his feet with the help of a wooden cane, his bare hand proffered in greeting. “I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you by calling without an invitation.” His jowls quivered from the force of his smile, which stretched across a small, narrow face unbalanced by the leftward hook of his nose.

Alex forced a smile, taking the earl’s hand in a brief handshake. “I hope you weren’t terribly inconvenienced by the wait,” he said, smoothly evading the question.

“Think nothing of it. I passed the time comfortably. I hope you won’t mind if I sit. My knees have been paining me all day. A sure sign of rain tomorrow.” The earl renewed his place on the brushed-velvet sofa and although Alex would have preferred to stand, he followed suit and took up a seat in a wing-backed chair.

“Can I offer you something to drink or perhaps something to eat?” Alex asked.

Lord Cranford dismissed his offer with a negligent toss of his hand, the diamond on his signet ring glinting as it caught the sunlight pouring through the window behind him. “Your man saw to my needs. I could not eat another bite.”

Which meant his wait had been considerable, possibly over an hour. “So to what do I owe this call, my lord?”

The earl cleared his throat, straightened his legs with a slight wince and shot a look about the spacious drawing room before returning his gaze to Alex. “Our families have been acquainted for many years now. Why, you’ve known my Mary since she was just a child.”

“Almost her entire twenty-one years,” Alex agreed blithely. Although the acquaintance had never been a particularly close one. He’d already been attending Eton when she was born. Their interaction over the years had been infrequent at best. It was only during the prior year that he’d taken any real notice of her.

But the earl confirmed that Alex hadn’t been wrong in his thoughts. He’d come to press his suit on his daughter’s behalf.

“Yes, yes indeed, a good while. My Mary is quite a beauty, is she not?” he asked, inclining his head toward Alex as if to compel him to agree.

“Yes, quite lovely.” An inescapable fact.

Of late, his mother had become more insistent that it was time he married and produced an heir. Lady Mary, a dark-haired beauty whose lineage was said to trace back to William the Conqueror, had been selected as the ideal candidate to fit the future Duchess of Hastings role. Alex had given the matter great thought. A month ago, he’d decided to court her—had had every intention of commencing the courtship. But a day’s delay had slipped quickly and all too easily, until soon he could count the delay by weeks instead of days. Now, given the change in circumstances, he was more than a little relieved he hadn’t done a thing. A courtship and worse yet, a betrothal would have been a nightmare of a predicament to extricate himself from.

Lord Cranford made a pleased sound, like the purr of a tiger, deep in his throat. He smiled again, showing off a row of white, slightly crooked teeth. “It is your parents, mine and the countess’s greatest wish that our families are united. We believe Mary would make you a wonderful duchess. And I’m sure you are aware that my daughter comes with quite a substantial dowry. Not to say, my good man,” he hastened to add in a jovial tone, “that you are in need of it. Why, to your fortune, you no doubt see it as but a paltry sum.”

Alex’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile or a frown. The earl had flown through the courtship and spoke as if they were already betrothed. And truly, since when had thirty thousand pounds ever been considered paltry? Lord Cranford had all the subtlety of a mallet and wielded it with the grace of a lumberjack. But then he
was
well acquainted with the duke.

“My lord, are you asking me whether I have given any consideration to courting your daughter or demanding that I do in fact court her?”

A wash of red suffused a complexion that probably hadn’t been touched by sunlight in years. The earl appeared taken aback and didn’t speak for several moments, eyeing Alex as if attempting to gauge his true feelings on the matter.

“My daughter is much sought after. I’m merely urging you to strike while the iron’s hot, as they say.” He said it with all the pomposity of a father who knew his daughter’s worth.

Indeed, thirty thousand pounds.

“Many men have already approached me for her hand,” the earl went on to elaborate. “She would, of course, be partial to your attentions, which is why this would be a good time for you to press your advantage.”

“In other words, you have the advantage because you are excessively wealthy and heir to one of the oldest and most powerful dukedoms in all of England.

Alex had long since become familiar with aristocratic speak; the polite way to express one’s single-minded ambition for money and position.

Alex tempered a wry smile as he was certain it would not be well received. “Then I would urge your daughter not to refuse any further marriage offers on my account.”

Lord Cranford’s brows lowered and his mouth flattened into a line. His hand tightened on the curved ivory handle of his cane. What followed was a silence that strained every bit of civility in his narrow-eyed countenance.

“Are you telling me you have no interest at all in my daughter?”

“As much as I admire her, I don’t believe we would make a good match.” Another face appeared in his mind’s eye. One with dark gold ringlets and eyes the blue of the Mediterranean Sea. How apropos she’d returned and resumed where she’d left off—wreaking havoc on almost everything in his life. But this time he was prepared. He’d not be fooled by her bewitching innocence that had so entranced him before.

Alex could tell by the dispirited look in Lord Cranford’s brown eyes that the man would like nothing better than to be able to change his mind. “You won’t find another better than my Mary,” he warned, as if Alex had just turned down the treasure of a lifetime. “Your mother said as much.”