Dangerous Secrets (87 page)

A sniff of disdain met this bluntness.
‶
The
sniveling ninny has lucked into being a duke′s heir, and he hasn′t
got the sense to appreciate his fortune. Not to mention his lack of ability in
running the affairs of his own wardrobe, never mind an estate the size he will
inherit.″

Again, Miranda chose to meet the
dowager′s acidity with a blunt question.
‶
Do you find his accidents
suspicious?″

The dowager paused in her stitching.
‶
Odd,
yes, but not suspicious. He is simply clumsy — carriage accidents, riding
accidents, bees ... ″ Her voice trailed off and she met Miranda′s
eyes sharply.

‶
I find them suspicious.″
Miranda did not elaborate.

As the needle flew, the older woman dismissed the
possibility.
‶
Who
could possibly benefit from his untimely death — especially now that Simon is
married? You, perhaps?″

The dowager shook her head, answering her own
question.
‶
But
not unless you had a male child to be Simon′s heir. Otherwise, you have naught
but a few coins and baubles to pawn in your later years.″

The needle slowed.
‶
Is that a
possibility?″ Her voice, uncharacteristically tentative, whispered across
the distance between them.

Inside, Miranda quivered, but she did not allow
that to show in her curt answer.
‶
I am not expecting a
child.″

‶
I didn′t think so.″
Her smile was bitter.
‶
I do know my son after all these years.″ There
was an infinite weariness borne of sadness in her words.

Miranda abandoned any suspicion that the
dowager might have poisoned Arthur. She couldn′t believe it of her. For
as much as Simon and his mother hurt each other, there was love beneath it. The
dowager had never tried to physically force Simon to her will. She had fought
her battles with words.

Nerves raw, Miranda could not stop her own
sharp words.
‶
And
yet, you don′t know him well enough to know what he wants most from
you.″

‶
Perhaps I do know. And,
perhaps, in hard-won wisdom derived from all my years, I know that it would
only make him hate me more.″

‶
What is it that divides
you?″ Miranda leaned forward, wondering if she might find the key to
unlock Simon′s heart in the dowager′s answer. If she answered.

‶
The truth.″

‶
How can truth divide you? I
have always found it to be a healing thing.″ Except when she tried to
tell Simon she loved him. Then it seemed to be razor sharp.

‶
The truth is a regrettable
thing in this case. And it would hurt Simon more if I were to tell it to
him.″

‶
The truth can never be
regretted, only dealt with,″ Miranda said with a practicality born of
dealing with her own odd differences that had caused so much dissension for her
with her parents.
‶
Simon seems to be able to face truth. Why
don′t you try to patch up whatever rift has split you?″

‶
If only circumstances had not
been different. For a moment, I had hoped…but no, I cannot tell him.″

Angrily, Miranda turned to leave.
‶
Of
course you won′t. Instead, you will poke and prod until his control hangs
by a threat. Sometimes it seems you mean to provoke him to murder.″

The dowager′s mouth tightened so that her
lips turned white at the edges. But then, to Miranda′s astonishment, she
merely nodded.
‶
Perhaps.
I can see what you say. Although I can′t appreciate how horrible you make
me sound.″

‶
What I think of you is of no
import. It is your son′s desire to understand, to heal the hurt between
you that you must concern yourself with.″

‶
And if it is not in my power to
heal him? If I hold the power to hurt him immeasurably more?″

‶
It seems impossible to me that
either of you could hurt the other more. Especially if you tell the
truth.″ Miranda felt the tears rising in her eyes, and added,
‶
You
might regret not having tried when he is gone.″ As she would. She knew
she would.

‶
And he will be going soon, will
he not?″

The dowager paled at the reminder of her
son′s pending death.
‶
I suppose there is only one way left to break
through to him. I shall tell him what he demands to know.″

Miranda felt as if a burden had been taken from
her.
‶
You
will not regret it.″ She hoped this would be the beginning of peace between
them. And then she looked into the dowager′s face.

‶
I will tell him.″ She
looked grim.
‶
But
it will not make him happy.″

Miranda felt a chill of fear shiver through
her, but she had no time to ask why.

Simon′s voice cut through the
conversation as cleanly as a knife.
‶
What will not make me
happy?″

Miranda noted that the dowager jumped as
perceptibly as she herself did at the sound of his voice. He had come as if
called — by angel or devil she could not say.

Chapter 22

The dowager craned her neck to look up at the
towering figure of her son. Each determined gaze met and clashed together — and
neither gave quarter as she answered him.
‶
I have decided to answer the
question you have been demanding answered since the day your father
died.″

So she had meant what she said. Miranda grew
numb, knowing what was coming and yet not knowing at the same time. Would the
dowager′s confidences heal the rift, or split them apart forever?

‶
Your tongue could not shape the
truth, Mother.″ Simon lashed out at her as he reached a hand toward
Miranda.
‶
Come,
Miranda, we have guests to see to.″

She did not move.

Simon′s jaw flexed in anger.
‶
Miranda?″
He had not raised his voice, but that did not mean he was not angry. He was.
Very angry. She did not move.

The dowager picked up her sewing and resumed
stitching, the needle flashing in the sunlight
‶
Are you so foolishly spiteful
that you would walk away from me now, when you are only moments away from the
truth you hold so dear?″

Simon glared at her, but did not move toward
the house. Miranda could see his desire to have the truth from his mother
etched upon his face. There was fear etched there, too. She could not help but
wonder what awful secret lay between them to be exposed.

A dreadful thought made her catch her breath.

Was his mother somehow the cause of his fatal
illness? She pressed her hand together. Oh, please, let that not be the case.

Simon′s mother sighed and indicated the
bench next to her.
‶
Sit please, Simon. I have a tale to tell you, and I
do not like to crook my neck to look up at you.″

He did not move.
‶
It cannot take you long to say
one name.″

One name. Miranda tried to puzzle out his
statement. Whose name? How could one name cause such a rift between mother and
son? What infamy could one name hold?

The dowager′s needle paused for a moment
and then resumed.
‶
I will tell the story in my own way, and you shall
be patient. After all, you will have your answer — not, I expect, that it will
make you any happier.″

Her glance caught Miranda, held her, pulling
her into the whirlpool of emotions.
‶
But your wife seems to feel
that I shall never overcome this rift between us if I am not honest with
you.″

His breath caught and his voice was harsh as he
asked,
‶
Have
you told her? You have no right —″

‶
I have told her nothing.″
She pursed her lips thoughtfully.
‶
Although she has guessed some
things, she does not know what ails you, of that I am certain. Should we send
her away before we have this conversation?″

Miranda could see that he was considering it,
and she was torn between wanting to know what had hurt them so very much and
running away from the painful purging she sensed would soon take place.

‶
No.″ His voice was crisp,
decisive.
‶
She
might as well know.″

‶
You trust her, do you?″

‶
With my life.″ His answer
made Miranda′s heart ache with a tightly controlled joy. She wondered if
he would still feel the same way once his mother had spit out her awful truth.

He sat on the ground, heedless of the grass
stains that might mar his clothing and, after a brief glance at Miranda, stared
in challenge at his mother.
‶
Tell me your story, Mother. But do not expect me to
be swayed by touching pleas or sad tales.″

‶
Never, Simon. You are much too
much like me.″

The dowager composed herself, suddenly seeming
to be at a loss for words. And then she began, softly.
‶
Your father ...
″

‶
The duke,″ Simon
interrupted.

‶
Sinclair Watterly took me to
wife for one reason and one reason only — his older son, your brother Peter,
desired a commission in the Navy. At first, Sinclair forbade it and refused to
pay for a commission.″

The sharpness in her face erased for a moment,
as if she had been drawn back in time.
‶
I heard from the servants that
it was quite a battle.″

Simon interrupted impatiently.
‶
I
knew his temper well, Mother. But that happened long before I was born and is
not of importance to me and what I want from you.″

Her eyes focused on Simon.
‶
Sinclair
won the battle, of course. He was the father, and he held the purse strings
tight to himself. Still, he knew it was only a matter of time before Peter
attained his majority and received an income that could not be controlled.

‶
Since he did not want the
dukedom to revert to another branch of the family if anything were to happen to
his son, the duke decided that the solution would be to marry again and have
another son of his own.″

Simon stirred restlessly.
‶
I
know all this, Mother. The duke was fond of telling me the story, as you well
know. He felt he was lucky to have taken the precaution, since my brother died.
I′m sure he was horrified the day he learned I was a bastard.″

Miranda gasped. A bastard? Simon? How could
that be? He did not look at her, but she could see that her reaction had
increased the tension that surged through him. She pressed her hands against
her mouth so that she could make no more sounds, no matter what else was said.

‶
You are no bastard.″ His
mother′s eyebrow rose in an eloquent rebuke.
‶
Sinclair knew that
he was incapable of siring a child before he married me. He arranged for your
conception as carefully as he arranged our marriage.″

‶
You mean, don′t you, that
he condoned your taking a lover?″

‶
Condoned? That is not the term
I would use, but the truth is the truth. Sinclair was your father in all but
deed, and there is no one to dispute that fact but you.″

‶
What about Mr. Watson? He knew
you when you were young. Perhaps I should ask him if he knew my father — or if
he is my father. Or have you sent him away so that I cannot ask him for the
truth? Is that why you are now willing to tell me. To keep him from it?″

‶
Do you think Sinclair would
share such a secret with a stranger? An American?″ Her laughter was
harsh, and yet there was a glint of fear in her eye.
‶
No one would father
his son but a man of his choice.″

Simon′s anger burned at that. Miranda
could see his jaw tighten and his fists clench, pulling up clumps of grass
without even knowing he was doing so.
‶
Are you implying that he put
you out for stud service Mother? I know how proud he was of the direct descent
of our family line. I will not believe he would deliberately allow the Watterly
blood to be drained from the line.″

‶
No. You are right. He would
not. That is why he…″ There was actually a tinge of color in her cheeks,
Miranda saw, wondering whether it boded well or ill.
‶
…he commanded his
son to sire a child upon me before he would provide the commission fee.″

***

Silence lay like a blanket of heavy wool over
the three. He had not expected this. A lover. An affair. But not this twisted …
no. His mother was many things, but he had never known her to create elaborate
fictions to hide her own crimes.

He could not bear to look at Miranda. He had
expected her to be shocked. But she had done nothing but give as small gasp. He
had not believed that she would turn against him. But he did not want to see
her eyes. Not yet.

‶
And you agreed to this?″
His accusation came sharply, cutting through the silent pall. He had no use for
expedient truths. His mother had lain with his father′s son to conceive
him. Could it be true?
‶
How much were you paid for your compliance?″

His mother′s smile infuriated him. Of
course, she was the duchess. What other payment could she expect? The thought
made him ill.

‶
The duke thought it best if I
were to remain unaware of his plans.″ Even now, her voice was cool and
mocking. Even now, when the truth was no longer their secret, but
Miranda′s as well.
‶
Your father came to me in the dark and left before
daybreak.″

He watched Miranda, not his mother. Her eyes
were wide with shock. What did she think of him now that she knew? Would she
repudiate him?

He asked mockingly,
‶
And you
didn′t know the difference between a man of fifty and an
eighteen-year-old boy?″ Had she not always known when he was into some
mischief as a boy, even when he thought himself safe from her eyes at school?
How could she have been so blind?

‶
I′m certain you cannot
credit it, Simon, but at the time I was young and innocent.″ His
mother′s answer was so dry, the voice he hated when she′d used it
to argue with the old duke when she knew she could not win. Not against Sinclair
Watterly, Duke of Kerstone.
‶
I had no reason to suspect that my husband was not
the one exercising a husband′s right. But now that I have told you what
you wanted to know, I hope you see that you are the true-blooded duke and no
bastard.″

Simon stared at her in bitterness for a moment
and then suddenly stood.
‶
Thank you for telling me the name of my father. I
believe you are not lying about that. But this absurd fabrication about the
duke condoning — ordering — it, that I cannot accept. Our indisputably direct
descent was a source of pride for him. I cannot believe that he would sully it
with a bastard.″

‶
He never considered you a
bastard, Simon. You were of his blood and his making — his son would never have
bedded me without your father′s command.″

‶
Perhaps it is well that my true
father died, then, for he could not have been a man of great character. The
duke always hinted that he was not cut out for running the estates.″

‶
I did not realize that Sinclair
ever spoke of Peter to you.″ She seemed surprised, even somewhat alarmed.

For the first time, he wondered why the duke
might have been so insistent that Simon was a better man than the duke′s
older son.
‶
He
said little, only that Peter was cut out to be a warrior and didn′t
understand duty and loyalty.″

A spark of anger lit in her eye, surprising
him.
‶
Your
father had a different dream, Simon. That does not make him lacking in
character. You have no idea what the sacrifice cost him. He left before he knew
that we had conceived you.″

Simon remembered her cryptic comment that he
might not have been born if ... it was too painful to consider.

‶
He confronted Sinclair, refused
to continue the charade, forced him to pay the commission fee, and left that
very night. We never heard from him again.″

‶
What if you had?″ The
horror struck through him.
‶
What if you had to live here with him? All of you
knowing—″

‶
Do you not recall Sinclair
clearly enough? Do you think that would have perturbed him? If Peter had come
home, to become duke and leave you as second son, Sinclair would have been
overjoyed.″

‶
And my father?″

‶
Who can say?″ The dowager
looked away, her eyes closed, her face shut in tight lines of pain.
‶
The
duke did not realize what harm he had caused, of course.″

She sighed.
‶
Not even to his dying day. He
sent news of your birth to Peter.″ She put down the stitching she had
been gripping in her hands.
‶
It was shortly after that when we received the news
of his death. He never even knew he had a son.″

His gaze sought Miranda, sitting silently
through the news of his disgrace and humiliation. Her glance was one of
sympathy, as she rose in one graceful move and came toward him, her arms held
out. He remembered the time long ago, the night of her scandal, that he had
known even then she would not hold his birth against him.

‶
Thank you for this information,
Mother.″ Simon′s eyes did not focus when he glanced toward his
mother. He had to get away. Away from Miranda, away from his mother, away from
this ill-fated life. His bow was brief, and then he was gone. Gone as far away
as he was able, to ride away from this house of guests who all thought him the
Duke of Kerstone. To ride away from his pain, his shame.

His brother his father, his father his
grandfather.

His mother — could she have told him the truth?
Could the old duke and his son really have acted so callously? Creating him as
a spare against the possibility that Peter might not return?

***

Miranda had never seen the dowager more shaken
than she was now. There were tears running down her cheeks, although she made
no sounds of sobbing as she watched her son′s retreat.

She asked calmly,
‶
Why did you lie to
him?″

The dowager looked shocked.
‶
I
did not lie to him.″

‶
I heard you in the garden. I
heard you with the American. He is Simon′s father, isn′t he? Not
Peter.″

The sewing fell from her fingers to the ground
unnoticed.
‶
I
can hold on to none of my vile, hurtful secrets, can I?″ Her fury was
intense when she raised her eyes.
‶
Peter. Mr. Watson. They are one
and the same.″ Her anger faded.
‶
And yet not. Mr. Watson has
taken America as his land and will not give her up.″