You Can't Always Get the Marquess You Want (37 page)

Mathias stared at the long-faded scar on the other man's face. He glared at Norgrave because his father—Blackbern—had refused to discuss the reasons for his feud with the marquess. Mute with rage, he was unable to refute the man's story.

“The man I once considered a brother married Imogene and cut all ties with me because he didn't want anyone to know that your mother was carrying my son.”

“Enough. Just stop,” Mathias pleaded, too shaken to listen to more. Had he unknowingly married his half sister? How many times had he pleasured her with his body and filled her with his seed? There was the possibility that she already carried his heir within her womb. The brandy in his stomach burned like acid at the unsavory thought. “You are not my father.”

This time, there was little conviction in his strained voice.

Mathias scrubbed his face with his hands and felt the sting of unshed tears. He mentally cursed both Blackbern and Norgrave and their bloody debauchery—their secrets.

The notion of giving up Tempest stripped him of his soul.

The other man must have sensed the direction of his thoughts. “And this is why you have to let Tempest go,” Norgrave said wearily. “You have to believe me. She is your half sister. However, I have a plan. With a hefty bribe, no one has to learn why you are seeking an annulment. Return her to her family. Warrilow is a good man and he cares for her. I will talk to him again. Once he knows you will not stand in his way, he can step in and marry Tempest. That way, if she is carrying your child, no one—”

A soft gagging noise drew their attention to the door. Tempest looked as sick as Mathias felt. She gagged into her cupped hand again. “It isn't true. You will say anything to hurt me.”

“Daughter, why do you think the Rookes severed all connections, and that your mother and I honored their decision? An intimate connection between Chance and any of my daughters would be disastrous.”

Mathias walked to his wife, and she cringed when he attempted to touch her. He did not want to call her father a liar, because his words were rather damning. “Do you believe him?”

“I don't know,” she cried, the admission ripped from her chest. “What have we done?”

His jaw tensed and flexed as he swallowed his anger. “I need to speak to my mother and my father.”

“What if I am your half sister, Chance? Let's face it, your parents have lied to you your entire life and refused to discuss the origins of the feud. Even you cannot deny that your family disapproves of our marriage and would support an annulment.”

“Love, do not ask me to give you up,” he begged, capturing her face with his hand and pressing his forehead to hers.

Tears coursed down her face and over his fingers. “I cannot stay here. I have to leave.” Tempest pushed him away.

“No!” he shouted, intent on following her. “We only have
his
version of the truth. Give me time to meet with my parents.”

Norgrave placed a firm hand on Mathias's shoulder. “Son, it is best for everyone if she leaves with me immediately.”

Mathias shrugged off his touch. “You are not my father,” he growled. A man could sense his own sire, could he not? “Tempest is staying with me. Damn it, she is my wife!”

“If the ton learns of your true parentage, you will ruin her. She is my daughter, Chance,” Norgrave said, and when he opened his arms, Tempest rushed to him. He cradled her against his chest while she sobbed. “If you love her, you will allow me to protect her—and you.”

The muscles in his throat were so tight, he could barely breathe. Tempest was crying and refusing to look at him, and he felt so helpless. “Take care of her. I need to—” He cleared his throat. “If an annulment is warranted, then I will see that it is done discreetly.”

“And soon,” Norgrave said, wordlessly reminding him that an annulment was needed so Tempest was free to marry Warrilow to stave off any speculation that she carried Mathias's child. “You know I speak the truth. There is no reason to dredge up the past for Blackbern and your mother. Give them some measure of peace by rectifying this mistake on your own.”

Five minutes later, Tempest and the father he never suspected of having were gone. He felt sick and lost, and the thought of facing his parents with Norgrave's outrageous story and the risk of discovering it was true was starting to push him over the edge.

Mathias picked up one of the chairs and threw it at the wall. Stepping over the wreckage, he grabbed the bottle of brandy on the table and headed for his desk. He planned on getting drunk, and with any luck he would pass out so he could numb the agonizing pain in his heart.

 

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“What have you done?” Charlotte demanded, following her husband down the staircase. Her skirt and petticoat prevented her from keeping pace with his long stride, but she was on his heels.

“I brought our daughter home,” Norgrave replied. “I thought you would be pleased.”

Tempest had locked herself in her bedchamber, and she refused to speak to anyone. The quiet sobs Charlotte heard on the other side of the door broke her heart.

“Did you say something to her? Threaten her?” She abruptly halted on the bottom step when her husband turned around to confront her.

“Threats were unnecessary. Tempest regrets her hasty marriage to Lord Fairlamb, and now that foolishness is over, she is prepared to accept Warrilow's offer of marriage,” he explained, apparently quite pleased with his role in breaking up the young lovers.

“What about Fairlamb? Several people told me that boy was madly in love with our daughter.” Her eyes narrowed. “You couldn't buy him off. What did you say that convinced him that he should divorce Tempest?”

“An annulment will suffice.”

“I highly doubt Tempest and Fairlamb would be granted one. The normal circumstances would not apply. You would have concocted something quite devious to separate them.”

“You have a low opinion of me, Wife.”

“Only because you have never sought to rise above it,” she said, recalling that he had done everything he could to destroy the love she had felt for him.

The door to the billiards room closed, and she realized he had walked away.

Charlotte chased after him, cursing under her breath. When she opened the door, he was staring out one of the windows.

“So why specifically an annulment? What could you possibly tell Fairlamb that would cause him to—?” She paused and pondered for a moment what connection her husband had with the young marquess that he could exploit. “There is Tempest, but he had already outwitted you by marrying her. A virile young man would not delay in consummating the marriage.”

With his back to her, Norgrave sipped a glass of port but remained silent.

“So not Tempest.” Charlotte scowled, her anger renewing when she thought of her heartbroken daughter crying into her pillow. “You threatened Blackbern and his wife. No, Fairlamb would simply have challenged you. A bullet in your old hide would have discouraged you from—” No, there was another card her husband could play. One difficult to refute when the Rookes and Brants were so good at keeping their secrets. It made her nauseous to even consider. She marched over to him and tugged on his sleeve until he looked at her.

“You didn't. Even you wouldn't be that cruel.”

“You will have to be more specific about my alleged misdeeds,” he calmly informed her.

“Oh, not all your sins are mere speculation. Lady Imogene Sunter comes to mind.” She leaned closer and whispered, “Have you forgotten that I was one of the few people who saw your face and bruised body when Blackbern was finished with you? He tried to kill you, and both of us know why.”

Norgrave stroked his scar and grinned. “Blackbern tried his best to claim his pound of flesh.”

“Do not deny the cost was much higher, and you were not the only one who paid for it in blood. Just as you know—Dear heavens,” she said, taking a step away from him. “You told his son what happened twenty-four years ago. How could you? Have you not ruined enough lives?”

*   *   *

McKee opened the front door to the Rookes' residence to find an intoxicated Chance on the other side.

“Good evening, my lord,” the butler said, noting the half-empty bottle of brandy in the marquess's hand. “Were you pounding on the door with the bottle?”

Mathias shrugged. “It was sturdy enough for the task. Is he home?”

“Who?”

“Blackbern,” he chuckled, and rubbed the grit from his eyes. “The man who claims to be my father.”

McKee stilled at the marquess's choice of words. “You mean your father.”

“I want to talk to the man who lied to me my entire life!” he shouted, enjoying how his voice echoed in the front hall. “And let's not forget my mother, too.”

“Chance?”

Mathias spun halfway, but the world tilted and twirled like a child's toy. He blinked and came face-to-face with his mother. She must have been in the conservatory. The delight in her expression faded into concern when she noticed the bottle in his hand, and his less-than-sober state.

“Has something happened? Where is Tempest?”

“She left me,” Mathias said, the pain having welled within him. “They are asking for an annulment, so you have to tell me the truth.”

“Chance.” Blackbern descended the stairs. “I am so happy you returned. I have been thinking about what I said—Where is your wife? I owe her an apology.”

“Something is wrong, Tristan,” his mother murmured. “Chance, why don't you give McKee the brandy—”

“Damn right you owe her an apology!” he yelled at them, waving the bottle of brandy about. “I bring home an angel, and you treat her as if she were a whore with the pox.”

“You're drunk.” The duke's lips twitched as he fought not to grin.

“Tristan, you aren't helping,” his mother complained, and decided to take charge of the brandy herself. “There, there, give me this. I will have McKee—”

Mathias squinted at his mother. “Is that why you despise her?”

“Who?” She exchanged baffled looks with the duke and McKee. “Maybe we should have several servants carry him upstairs and put him to bed. That will give him a chance to sleep off all that brandy.”

“Why didn't you tell me that Norgrave was my father?” he blurted out.

Two things occurred at once: First, the Duchess of Blackbern fainted dead away at his feet, and second, his father slammed his fist into Mathias's jaw with such force, he could have sworn he heard several teeth crack. He dropped to his knees and then landed face-first on the marble floor.

*   *   *

The next time he opened his eyes, he was lying on the chaise longue in his mother's sitting room. Someone had been kind enough to drape a wet cloth over his sore jaw. Mathias sat up and cursed.

“Good, you're awake,” Blackbern said, looking stern and unapologetic that he had punched his son in the jaw. “Your mother was worried that you fractured your cheekbone on the marble.”

Mathias touched his face. “What were you hoping?”

“That you had expired while I was tending to your mother. Then I wouldn't have to strangle you for upsetting her,” he growled.

“Is he awake?” his mother asked, entering the sitting room. She sat down beside him and inspected his jaw and his bruised cheek. “Does it hurt?”

“Less than I deserve, I guess.” The duke's punch and the nap had sobered him. “How long have I been napping?”

“An hour,” his father said, prowling the sitting room. “Now that you have rejoined the living, I need to know one thing: How did you come to the asinine conclusion that the Marquess of Norgrave is your father?”

Blackbern was so furious, Mathias was reluctant to explain that hours of speculation fueled by brandy had sent him on his fool's errand. “I sent a message to Norgrave. You were too angry about my marriage to Tempest that I thought I might get answers about the feud from her father.”

“All the wrong answers!” he shouted at Mathias. “What did he do? Hit you over the head with a bottle and steal your wife?”

“Tempest left me.”

“Mathias, what happened?” His mother clasped his hand. “Did Tempest leave because of what was said in this house?”

“No, I assured her that once everyone calmed down, you and Father would eventually accept her as my wife.”

His mother winced, and was probably embarrassed by her behavior.

“What did Norgrave say when you asked him about the feud?” his father asked.

Mathias stared at his mother, silently pleading with her to look at him. “He told me that you and Norgrave had an affair and that you knew you were carrying his child when you married my father.”

His father cursed. “I should have challenged him years ago.”

“At first, I was convinced he was lying.” Mathias squeezed his mother's hand. “He entered my residence with the sole purpose of convincing Tempest to leave with him. I was prepared for his threats but the tale he told me—suffice to say, it left me speechless. You and Father refused to talk about what happened twenty-four years ago, and his version of events made a certain amount of sense. I didn't know what to believe, so I had planned to come to you and demand an explanation.”

“Damn it, why didn't you!” His father glowered at his son.

“Everything happened so quickly my head is still spinning. Then I realized Tempest had overhead what her father said to me. Neither one of us took it very well that we might be half siblings. Norgrave took advantage of our doubts and pressed for the annulment. He was concerned that his daughter might be already carrying my child, so he insisted that she marry Lord Warrilow immediately to conceal the truth.”

“Who is Lord Warrilow?” his mother asked.

“Norgrave handpicked him for his daughter.” Blackbern and Mathias sneered. They had identical expressions, a fact that only his mother could appreciate. “I confess, I panicked and feared that I had ruined Tempest's life by marrying her. I vowed to fix things, even if that meant annulling the marriage.”