His Wicked Wish (32 page)

Alfred started to rise from his chair. “You would dare speak to His Grace in such an insolent manner—”

Houghton waved her cousin back into his seat beside Theo, who watched silently, his eyes wide behind the gold-rimmed spectacles.

“Madelyn is right,” the duke said in a saddened tone. “I
was
cruel. And as punishment, I lost my only daughter. I never saw Sarah again.” His chin wobbled as he returned his attention to Maddy. “How … how did she die?”

His remorse caught Maddy off balance. She had believed his sorrow of the previous night to be the result of shock, and that today he would be arrogant and disdainful. She had expected him to lift his haughty chin and stare down his hawklike nose at her. She had prepared a series of cutting remarks designed to bring him down a peg or two. But now it seemed churlish to be so harsh toward him.

“She suffered an accident when I was thirteen years old.” Maddy described what had happened, that an axle had broken on their wagon and her mother had fallen beneath a wheel. She told them that her father had died of a lung ailment two years later, never having fully recovered his high spirits after her mother's untimely death, saying in conclusion, “That was when I left the traveling players and took a position with the Neptune Theater.”

“I've seen several of your plays,” Theo piped up. “You're smashing good.”

Maddy smiled warmly at him. “So was my mother. She was a very gifted actress. She taught me everything I know.” Her gaze went to her grandfather and she pursed her lips. “Did you even realize her talent? Did you ever try to find her?”

Houghton slowly shook his head, his shoulders slumped. “For many years, I wouldn't even let Sarah's name be uttered in my presence. I banished her portrait and pretended she'd never been born. But when a man grows old, he looks back on his life and sees all the mistakes he's made. I only hope you can forgive me.”

“Stuff and nonsense,” Alfred said crisply. “Aunt Sarah disobeyed your wishes. She chose her own fate. I don't see why we should even care what happened to her.”

Maddy's spine went rigid. “If our grandfather wants to know about my mother, then I will tell him. It is no concern of yours.”

The moment the words came out, Maddy was startled to realize she'd taken the duke's side. Was her heart softening toward him? What had he done to deserve it?

He had expressed regret, that was what. He'd blamed himself, not her mother. And he had placed Mama's portrait in a place of honor above the fireplace. Never in her wildest dreams had Maddy imagined she might actually
like
her grandfather.

But could she forgive him? It was far too soon to decide.

The duke took a sip of tea and the cup rattled slightly as he replaced in its saucer. His stern gaze was fixed on his elder grandson. “You would do well, Alfred, to accustom yourself to my granddaughter's presence in our lives. I have every intention of writing her into my will. Along with you and Theodore, Madelyn will inherit an equal portion of the wealth that is not entailed.”

The announcement hung in the silent air. Maddy's shocked brain could not quite grasp the enormity of what he had said. Did he truly think she had come here for
money
?

Alfred shot to his feet. “Good God! You can't do that. She's a nobody.”

“I can indeed,” Houghton said, his chin lifted as he stared down his grandson. “And I shall. You have no say in the matter.”

An ugly fury came over Alfred's narrow features. “I'll have you declared incompetent, then. You can't change your will on a whim for a blasted fortune hunter.”

Maddy set down her teacup. “That isn't why I came here,” she said sharply.

But no one was listening to her.

The duke reached over to a side table. He picked up a bell and rang it imperiously. The tinkling sounded incongruous in the thickness of tension.

A moment later, a portly man in a sober dark suit stepped into the morning room. It was as if he'd been waiting just outside for this very summons. “Yes, Your Grace?”

Glowering at his grandson, the duke said, “Alfred, I'm sure you remember Dickenson, my solicitor. Tell us, Dickenson, is there any chance the courts will declare me incompetent?”

“No, Your Grace. I am prepared to swear to the soundness of your mind before a tribunal of judges.”

“Excellent. You may go.”

Dickenson melted out the door as swiftly as he'd arrived.

Maddy was stunned by the change in her grandfather. Compared to the mournful old man who'd regretted losing his daughter, he was now every inch the autocratic duke. And she easily could see him as the strict authoritarian who had denounced her mother.

Nevertheless, he must not dictate to
her.

Springing to her feet, she turned to face him. “Your Grace, there is no need for you to alter your will,” she said firmly. “I will not accept a penny from you.”

“Nonsense, no one would turn down such a generous offer. Nor shall you. You will have the inheritance. My mind is made up on the matter.”

The steely expression on his wrinkled features told her that arguing would serve no purpose. Glancing at her cousins, she noted the poisonous resentment on Alfred's face. Even Theo looked mistrustful and didn't quite meet her eyes.

As if he, too, thought her a fortune hunter.

 

Chapter 22

Nate stepped into an unoccupied bedchamber at the end of the corridor. Protective cloth covered the bed and other pieces of furniture. The closed curtains blocked the late afternoon sunlight, though dust motes danced in a few rays that slipped through a crack in the draperies.

His gaze strayed to a chair by the fire. Memory transported him back to the day after his wedding when he had pulled Madelyn into his lap and made love to her right here. He could recall in excruciating detail every exciting sensation, the scent of her hair, the undulation of her hips, the erotic sound of her moans. With every ounce of his being, he craved to experience it all over again.

But torturing himself served no purpose. He must never again make love to his wife. To do so carried the risk of conceiving a son who would secure the line of succession and please Gilmore mightily.

The only way Nate could salvage his revenge was to stay far away from Madelyn. He was still furious at her for concealing her noble blood, and he'd resolved to depart England at once.

He shouldn't feel so torn apart by the decision. Leaving her should be no different than casting off a mistress who'd displeased him. Yet somehow, in the two months of their marriage, Madelyn had become central to his happiness. And all the while, she had been deceiving him. What a fool he had been!

Nate strode toward the far end of the room. This bedchamber had once been his, though he hadn't told that to Madelyn. The décor had been changed after he'd departed London a decade ago, and everything of his had been removed. The room no longer looked like a young man's quarters with paintings of horses on the walls, his coat thrown over a chair, his collection of maps strewn over the bed.

But the mahogany writing desk was still here. It stood against the wall in the corner, the lid closed to hide the niches where he'd once kept paper and pens. He had no interest in those things now. Rather, he was looking for something else he'd concealed many years ago.

He crouched down on his haunches in front of the desk. Reaching into the kneehole, he found the secret compartment that was hidden from sight. The latch popped open to the manipulation of his fingers. With a flare of success, he felt a familiar rectangular shape inside, the object of his quest.

He drew out a little wooden chest, undisturbed for over ten years. Rising to his feet, he strode to the window, blew off a coating of dust, and opened the box. Inside lay an assortment of treasures from his youth. A little book of aphorisms given to him by his godmother, Lady Milford. A rock with an imprinted fossil. A baby curl of Emily's russet-brown hair.

Nate picked up a folded square of fine linen embroidered with a border of flowers. The
C
in the corner stood for “Camellia.” He brought the handkerchief to his nose and breathed deeply. Even after all these years, he could still detect the rose scent that his mother had always worn. She'd given the handkerchief to him on her sickbed to clean his face, when he'd come to visit as a twelve-year-old with dirt smudges from a vigorous game of cricket. She had died several days later from complications related to Emily's birth.

A nostalgic ache tugged at him. With the passage of time, the memory of her face had grown indistinct. He had an impression of dark hair, dancing green eyes, and a brilliant smile. Most of all, he recalled her joy for life. Once, she'd awakened him and David at midnight to go out into the garden and play in the first snowfall—until Gilmore had come to angrily order them back inside.

Nate had seldom seen her, for she'd spent most of her time at society events or away on trips to the country homes of various friends. Yet he had adored her nonetheless. He could still feel his fury to hear Gilmore's disparagement of her. He hated that his memory of her had been sullied ten years ago by the earl's accusations about her infidelity.

Replacing the handkerchief in the box, Nate picked up an old note from his brother and unfolded it. “I am very sorry that Papa thrashed you. It was my fault for smuggling biscuits to you after tea. I promise to try to convince him to be more fair next time. David.”

Nate ran his fingertip over the neat black script. He'd never felt that he measured up to his brother. David had always been honorable and well behaved, while Nate had been the troublemaker, being sent to bed without supper for one infraction or another. Whenever David had tried to help him, Nate had been the one blamed for leading him astray. Back then, Nate had been too defiant and resentful to thank his brother.

When he'd told that to Madelyn, she'd said,
You took David's thrashings for him. That's something
.

Perhaps she was right. Nevertheless, Nate wished he'd had the chance to express his gratitude. In the decade of his absence, he'd never even written to David. He'd allowed his bitterness to carry on into adulthood. Then, because of Lady Milford's letter, he had returned to England believing his father had died and David was the new earl.

He'd hoped to see his brother again, to make amends. Instead, David was gone. Forever.

Nate rubbed his stinging eyes and told himself not to dwell on the past. He could not change the chain of events. He could only try to do what was right in the here and now.

He folded the note and put it back inside the small box, closing the lid. Gripping it in his hands, he headed out of the bedchamber. This time, he would take these few mementos with him because he wasn't planning to return. Perhaps he'd add something of Madelyn's …

No. It was best to forget his wife. Already, the prospect of parting from her twisted in his gut. He had to go before he succumbed again to her powerful allure. He had to recoup what he could of his revenge.

He'd be damned if he gave Gilmore a blue-blooded grandson.

*   *   *

Maddy hesitated by the connecting door in her bedchamber. She had returned from the duke's house a short while ago. The shocking interview with her grandfather still resonated in her mind. He intended for her to inherit an equal share of his wealth along with her two cousins. She had no inkling as to the exact amount, but judging by the magnificence of his house and the outraged reaction of her cousin Alfred, it must be a staggering sum, indeed.

She didn't want a farthing from the Duke of Houghton. It would feel like blood money, a bribe to compensate for the mistreatment of her mother. Not even a king's ransom could make up for the pain Mama had suffered in being cut off from her family.

To calm herself, Maddy took a deep breath. She must not allow herself to become overwrought. For the moment there was nothing to be done on the matter. But she could try to reconcile with Nathan. Gertie had said he was back home now from wherever he'd gone.

Maddy rapped on the white-painted panel. When there was no answer, she cautiously opened the connecting door. In all the weeks of their marriage, Nathan had always come to her bedchamber. How odd to think she had never even set foot in his.

Stepping inside, she found herself in a large dressing room with a number of masculine accoutrements on display. On top of the clothes press lay a stack of linen cravats, another of folded shirts, and yet another of trousers. Boots and shoes stood in a neat line against one wall. A mound of coats and waistcoats sat on a dressing table. Even the pitcher and basin on the washstand had been moved aside to allow space for a pile of stockings and undergarments.

Why was everything pulled out of the cabinets? Had there been an infestation of mice? Or was a spring cleaning under way?

Then she noticed an open trunk. It was an oversized traveling trunk made of leather with brass fittings.

Cold apprehension swept down her spine. Dear God. Nathan couldn't be preparing to depart already … could he? It was only mid-May and he'd promised to stay until the end of June.

She hurried through an open doorway and into his bedchamber. The spacious room was similar to her own in size, with a canopied bed bedecked in shades of blue and an assortment of mahogany furnishings. A clock on the mantel chimed the half hour. In the aftermath, the silence felt heavy, ominous.

Nathan wasn't here. Could he have left already, giving instructions to his valet to pack the trunk and deliver it to the docks?

She trembled, her hand moving to cup her flat belly. He couldn't go just yet. It was too soon. He didn't even know about their baby.

But of course that news wouldn't keep him in London. He didn't want their child. The previous evening, he had made his opinion on the matter perfectly clear.
I've no wish to give Gilmore a grandson—not anymore. Then he truly would win.