The Duke I’m Going to Marry (Farthingale Series Book 2) (12 page)

She sighed, and then closed her eyes a moment to gather the thoughts still muddled in her head. “What I’m trying to say, and doing a rather bad job of it, is that I heard Felicity’s mother died. I’m so sorry, Ian. No matter what your mother says, I don’t believe you abandoned her or ripped the child from her arms. You’d never hurt the mother of your child.”

He shook his head again. “Mother of my...? Is that the gossip? That I’m Felicity’s father.” He let out a deep, groaning laugh. “That’s rich.”

“You’re not?” Dillie’s heart leaped into her throat. “Why would your mother spread such a cruel rumor about you?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Of course you care. Anyone would care.” Unbidden, she repeated what his mother had told her. She watched his expression, but it remained unreadable. His mother had maliciously distorted the truth in order to damage his reputation. Not that Ian had much of a reputation to protect. Still, he wasn’t the beast his mother made him out to be.

“At first, I didn’t know what to believe. That’s why I went in search of you. Pruitt believes you’re an honest man.”

“Your butler?” He shrugged again. “High praise indeed.”

“It is. He’s never wrong. That’s why I had to seek you out. I know you’ll tell me the truth.” Her hand was still resting lightly on his arm. She felt another twitch of his muscle beneath her palm. She could feel the tension flow through him like the angry flow of molten lava. “Will you talk to me?”

“No.” He returned his gaze to the stars.

“Please look at me. Please, Ian.”

“No. You shouldn’t be out here. People will make something of it. Your reputation will be in tatters. You don’t want to be caught on the terrace with a murderer, do you?”

She wanted to pummel him for his obstinacy. “I’m not out here with a murderer. I’m gazing at the stars with you.”

He surprised her with a sudden, harsh laugh. “So, you think you know me?”

“Actually, not at all. And I don’t wish to know you, because I may end up liking you more than is safe for me. Though you’re doing your best to make yourself unlikeable right now.”

“It’s what I seem to do best.”

“It’s the way you defend yourself from pain. I understand that now, for after a few moments with your mother, my head is aching and my entire body feels numb.”

Though he said nothing, she felt the slightest easing of his tension. She took it as a small sign of encouragement and continued. “I don’t believe the rumors, and I don’t understand why you’re allowing them to circulate. You’re a fighter, not a coward. Why aren’t you defending yourself?”

“Because it’s pointless to do so. And I don’t really care what anyone thinks of me.” He turned to her once more, staring down at her as he crossed his arms over his chest. “At least those marriage-minded mamas will turn their attention elsewhere. Not even the most desperate ones will encourage their daughters to marry a heartless killer.”

She shook her head and sighed. “You know as well as I do that nothing, not even the hint of murder, will stop them. You’re a rich duke, too good a catch to slow down their chase even for a day.” She crossed her arms over her chest, mimicking his stance. “I know you didn’t hurt anyone. I know you wouldn’t ever harm an innocent. That’s why I came to find you. I thought it important to let you know that you have friends. You don’t have to fight every battle on your own.”

“Consider the news delivered. Now go back inside and leave me alone.”

“What you need,” she said with a deflated grumble, “is a swift kick to your backside. However, what you need more is someone to put their arms around you, to hug you fiercely and let you know that they believe you. That they believe
in
you.”

“You’re not that person, Dillie.”

The comment hurt, but she refused to let it show. “Perhaps not, but you’d better allow someone good into your life or you’ll become just like your mother. Cold and bitter.”

Oh, I’ve really crossed the line this time.

He moved close enough to take her by the arms and shake her soundly. Surprisingly, he didn’t. His own arms remained folded over his chest, which only accentuated his broad shoulders.

“Go away, Dillie.” His arms were like a closed gate through which no one would be allowed to pass.

Would Ian ever allow anyone in?

***

Ian was so hungry for Dillie he wanted to devour her. She wasn’t a typical
ton
beauty, tall, blonde, and elegant with boring conversation and a calculating heart. She was a soft-hearted little snoop with big blue eyes that set his heart pounding whenever she glanced at him. She had a body that made him ache to hold her, and dark, silky hair he yearned to slip through his fingers.

He didn’t want to think about that soft, kissable mouth of hers.

Unfortunately, all he could do was think about that mouth and how soft it would feel against his lips as he kissed her into eternity.
Hell.
He wasn’t merely thinking days, months, or years with Dillie. He was thinking a lifetime and beyond.
Eternity.

This was bad. He hadn’t even slept with the girl. Nor would he. Not ever.

He kept his arms crossed firmly over his chest, fighting the urge to give in to all his damn urges and sweep her into his embrace, plant his lips on hers, and pour his heart and soul into one long, wild kiss.

More than one long, wild kiss.

Plenty of them. Wickedly wild, hot kisses.

She mistook his silence for disapproval. He knew by the way she sighed and dejectedly slumped her shoulders. In the next moment, her gentle hand was on his arm again. What was wrong with the girl? It would take nothing for him to ruin her reputation. Merely being caught alone with him, as they were now, would be enough to raise eyebrows. It could destroy her chances with Charles Ealing. The clunch would not be pleased to find them together.

Apparently, Dillie wasn’t concerned. Was she even thinking of Charles?

She gazed up at him again, and he knew what she was going to ask before she’d opened her mouth to speak again. The girl loved family. The girl had a big, generous heart. She was thinking of Felicity.

He had to redirect her mothering instincts. He’d buy her a cocker spaniel to nurture, one with big, chocolate brown eyes and a happily wagging tail.

“If Felicity isn’t your child, then whose is she?”

“None of your business.”

“But—”

He fully turned to face her, now so close he could smell the scent of peaches in her hair. He felt a surge of anger—not aimed at her, of course. She squeezed his arm lightly, as though sensing his anguish. He was desperate to suppress all feeling. He was hurting. Dillie made him hurt. Dillie made him wish for things that were impossible.

Dillie almost made him feel good about himself.

He hated the feeling.

He wanted her to believe the lies his mother had been spewing. He wanted her to be angry with him, to condemn him and call him a lying bastard. He’d dealt with hatred all of his life. He knew how to handle it. He’d never received support and assurance. Until now. Until Dillie. She believed in him.

He didn’t know how to respond to that.

He was
afraid
to respond to that.

If he let her in, he’d inevitably disappoint her as he’d disappointed all who had ever mattered in his life. “Stop trying to save me, Dillie. I don’t give a bloody damn what anyone thinks of me.”

She sighed. “But I do. I can’t seem to help myself. Do you want to know why?”

He kept silent.

“I’ll tell you anyway. It’s these words my father often says—though they’re meant to apply to his business dealings, the caution is appropriate for friendships and other matters of the heart. He says that people don’t change.” She paused again, obviously hoping he’d respond. He wasn’t going to encourage the girl.

“So,” she continued, “I’ve given quite a bit of thought to what you are. Would you care to know what I think?”

“The answer is still no. Stop meddling in my business.”

She let out a short, sweet laugh. “You forget that I’m a Farthingale. I can’t help meddling. It’s what we Farthingales do best. Snooping, prying, it’s in our blood. Taking care of family is also in our blood. I can help. We all can help. Felicity—”

“Not this time. I know you mean well, but you needn’t worry about the child. I have a capable staff to attend to her every need.”

She shook her head. “That’s where you’re wrong. The child needs more than a roof over her head and food for nourishment. A child needs love. Lots of it. Something I suspect you’ve never had.” She arched an eyebrow and cast him a gentle grin. “See how pitifully you turned out. Is that what you wish for Felicity?”

Despite his efforts, he laughed. “Did I mention you were stubborn and insufferable?”

She rolled her eyes. Lord, she had beautiful eyes. “Too many times to count. How old is she?”

He groaned inwardly. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“No, not until I have my way. I’ll stay here as long as it takes.” She glanced toward the ballroom. The first dance of the evening was about to end. Guests were starting to drift to the doors and would soon be on the terrace, seeking the cool outdoors. “I’m not worried about my reputation. My family is too wealthy to be snubbed. So am I, though I won’t come into my funds until I’m twenty-five, or sooner if I marry.”

He held up his hands, as though in surrender. “Very well. I’ll answer the question, if only to be rid of you. Felicity is about six months old now, just a little younger than Ivy. She isn’t mine, though no one will believe it because of the family resemblance. Felicity is my niece.”

“Your niece,” she repeated in a whisper, the very softest expression written on her face. She didn’t know anything about his family, yet she believed him.

“Felicity’s mother is my half-sister. Her name is... was Mary Rose. We shared a father, though Mary was the result of an illicit affair. I didn’t know her, never even knew she existed until fairly recently. My father’s solicitor told me about her. She’d gone to him asking for my help and I gave it.”

“How did she die?”

“Giving birth to Felicity. I don’t know who the father is. She refused to reveal his name. I expect he’s a married man.”

“Probably a pillar of the community,” Dillie remarked with a snort. “Isn’t it always the way? I’m so sorry. I know you did your best to protect her. I’m glad you told me. Let me know if you need my help. In truth, I’ve been feeling lost lately, not quite sure what I’m supposed to be doing or where I belong in that big, empty house.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Empty? Isn’t it filled to the rafters with Farthingales now that the season is underway?”

She winced. “Yes, but it’s different. Lizbeth and Charles are quite grown up now, and I hardly recognize them. Aunt Julia is married, so she and Harry are happily residing with her new husband. None of the Yorkshire Farthingales have arrived yet, and I doubt the Devonshire Farthingales will join us this year.”

“Poor Daffy.”

She poked his shoulder. “Stop calling me that, you ungrateful wretch. I came out here to help you.”

“I know.” His expression turned serious. “I also appreciate your desire to help Felicity. I’ll take your suggestions into consideration.”

She nodded. “Just remember, you don’t have to be perfect. You just have to love her. She’ll respond to that. And if you happen to bring her down to London, please think of me. I’d love to have my earrings tugged on and my fashionable hairdo destroyed.”

He gently tugged on her ear. “Duly noted.”

“Well, I had better go back inside.” She held up her crumpled dance card. “Charles Ealing has claimed the second dance. Would you care to claim me for a dance?”

He arched an eyebrow. “No.”

“I see. Of course.” She looked so disappointed, as though she were a little cocker spaniel and he’d just kicked her.

He tugged on her ear again. “It isn’t safe for you. That’s all. Otherwise, I’d claim every damn one of them. Now that would set the gossips in a frenzy.”

She appeared startled. “You would?”

He cupped her chin in his hand and tipped her head up so that their gazes met. “I would. Every dance.”

And with those words, he felt the granite-hard shell he’d so carefully built around his heart begin to crack and crumble. He watched Dillie as she hurried back into the ballroom, her steps light and movements graceful.

He had to repair that protective outer shell. Fast.

He couldn’t let Dillie in. Not ever.

He seemed to be saying that a lot. Yet she was getting in anyway.

IAN HAD UNDERSTOOD
long ago that his mother didn’t love him and never would. His father hadn’t loved him either, his method of showing his disdain perhaps crueler, for he never shouted at him or beat him. He treated him like a ghost. Invisible. Beneath his notice. As dead to him as his brother actually was.

His parents’ contempt had been obvious to all in the Markham family. Unlike the Farthingales, his was a small family. One uncle and two male cousins on his father’s side. Two spinster aunts on his mother’s side. Since they all took their cues from his delightful parents, none of them liked him or cared a whit about him. Not a one, even though he had never shown them any discourtesy while growing up.

He rarely thought about them now. Until this week. Something was going on, some new plot hatching, and he needed to find out what it was. His mother hadn’t visited London in years, preferring the quieter life at Bath with her sisters. Yet, here she was, attending the Wakeford ball escorted by his cousins, Simon and Edmund.

She’d wasted no time in efficiently spreading lies about him.

The attacks to his reputation were commonplace. He’d endured the rumors and snide gossip for years, had often gone out of his way to prove them true. He wasn’t a saint. But the war years had changed him. As strange as it sounded, he’d gained a purpose to his life in fighting Napoleon’s army, and actually liked doing the right thing, protecting king and country.

Still, nothing was going to change the way his family felt about him. Not medals, not royal honors. What were they hoping to accomplish by coming to London? He had the support and trust of the royal family. If anything, his scheming family would only land themselves in trouble.