Evan felt like a barrel of gunpowder with a hole in the bottom, all his insides draining out and afraid someone might light a match. Marcus let out a low whistle, and everyone within earshot went statue still.
Lady Diana’s eyes collided with his, and they held as his thoughts ground to a halt and then scrambled around one another in chaotic retreat, refusing to form a line of defense to hold his position.
Marry? Lady Diana Seaton? A duke’s daughter? It was one thing to pretend to be an earl, to wear the clothes and go to the parties and dances, but marry an aristocrat? Him?
And yet there was one hard and fast rule he was learning.
One did not say no to the Prince Regent.
CHAPTER 4
DIANA HAD NO choice but to hurry from the carriage and up the stairs, since her father had an iron grip on her wrist and marched ahead of her into the house. He’d not said a word on the trip home from Almack’s, but his rage was such that even Percival had remained quiet.
The silence broke the moment the duke thrust Diana into the study. She staggered but managed to right herself as he strode past her to his desk. A bottle of whiskey and a glass sat ready on the blotter, and the coal brazier had been lit in the fireplace hours before and glowed a dull red, spilling heat into the room. Everything prepared by a punctilious and wary staff to make his homecoming as comfortable as possible.
And yet Diana was cold to her core. She clutched her velvet cloak around her, but it would be paltry protection from what was to come.
“How dare you?” he thundered, throwing his cane, hat, and coat to the floor like an angry child. “You had exactly one purpose tonight. Behave with comportment and not draw attention to yourself, do nothing shameful. And what do you manage to do in the course of less than an hour? Scandalize the Patronesses by waltzing, not only without permission but with that common cur who isn’t fit for proper society. Not only that, but you drew the Prince Regent into the fray, and now he thinks you should marry that … that … mushroom.” A fleck of spittle formed at the corner of his mouth. “He’s nothing more than a pretender, springing up overnight, no standing, no family, nothing to recommend him.”
Percival slouched by and sank into a chair, draping his leg causally over the arm, a cocky smile playing about his lips, enjoying watching Diana get a tongue-lashing.
“He did save my life, after all.” Percival fingered the quizzing glass hanging from its ribbon on his waistcoat. “He has that to recommend him.”
“Be quiet. If you hadn’t been such a colossal fool on the Continent, you wouldn’t have needed your worthless hide saved and we wouldn’t be in this predicament. You should’ve done as you were told—kept your head down, gathered your information, and brought it back to me. Instead you went glory seeking and nearly died for your troubles.” The duke turned back to Diana, whose mouth had dried to attic dust.
“You’re no better than your sister was.” The duke paced, stomping across the carpet and his discarded cape, red suffusing his face. “No thought to your reputation or mine. Nor to the plans I had in place. Do you have any idea the delicate negotiations I have been engaged in regarding your future?” He turned and shook his fist in her face.
She winced and leaned away from him, her knees trembling and threatening to buckle. None of this was her fault, but she couldn’t even breathe a protest.
The duke grabbed a glass and poured a large helping of whiskey. Tossing it back, he grimaced and filled the glass again. When he’d gulped that one down, he growled and hurled the empty crystal tumbler at the coal brazier. Shards of glass exploded, shooting across the room. Diana ducked, but several pieces hit her cloak, tearing the cloth. She wasn’t hurt, but her heart darted in her chest like a panicked hare.
“What about the money?” Percival asked, acting as if nothing had happened. “If she marries him, the inheritance becomes his the minute they say their vows. You won’t see a shilling of it, just like the old lady wanted. What are we going to do? You promised me some of that money, and I made plans. I’m running low on funds, you know.”
Be quiet, Percival. Diana pleaded silently, but she knew her half brother. He wanted to make things worse for her, if that were possible. He always had.
The duke fisted his hands at his sides, shaking. “I can salvage this.” The words hissed from his clenched jaws. “There has to be a way.”
Percival put both boots on the floor and leaned forward. “Maybe it isn’t as bad as it seems. You know old Prinny. By next week he’ll have forgotten about the whole thing.”
A calculating gleam entered the duke’s eyes. “That’s it,” he said, slowly. “Delay. That’s what we need to do. Delay the engagement, delay any wedding. In a fortnight he’ll be on to something else, and I can go ahead with my plans. I’ve found someone who is willing to split the inheritance with me in order to get his hands on her.” He jerked his thumb toward Diana. “The more fool him. I’ll send him word tomorrow that we are stalling for time so the prince can forget his ridiculous suggestion, and then we can move forward with our plans.”
“What about her in the meantime?” Percival asked, as if Diana weren’t even in the room.
“She will keep her mouth shut if she knows what’s good for her. If she breathes so much as a whisper about the inheritance to that bounder Whitelock …” He paused, listening. A faint wail drifted down the stairs.
Cian.
Lord, I prayed that he would stay asleep. Why won’t You answer even that simple prayer?
Diana dared to look over her shoulder at the door, wanting to go to the baby, to shush him, to comfort him, but she was rooted to the spot until her father gave her leave to move. As she turned back toward her father to gauge his reaction to hearing the baby, his hand came up and backhanded her across the cheekbone.
Stars exploded behind her eyes, and she lurched, falling and bashing her knees into the floor. She put out her hands to stop her fall, but they tangled in her cloak, and her shoulder crashed onto the rug as she twisted to catch herself. Her head followed, hitting hard, and more bright lights flashed through her skull. Tears of pain sprang to her eyes, blurring her vision further. Disoriented, she fought for breath as he towered over her, and she braced herself for another blow.
But it didn’t come.
As if everything had slowed down but the pain coursing through her, he moved back, straightening, rubbing the back of his hand, as if it stung. “The child.” His eyes narrowed. “That is how I shall tame you. You,” he shook his finger at her, “will put the Earl of Whitelock off if he offers for you. Tell him you must consider his proposal, give it some time, since you barely know each other. In the meantime, the Prince Regent will forget his matchmaking, and things will go back to the way they should be. You will marry the man of my choosing, and I will get a large portion of your inheritance. If you don’t, the child goes to the orphanage.”
“No, please.” She pushed herself up, the side of her face already swelling, her lips feeling stiff. She tasted blood inside her mouth where her tooth had cut her cheek. “I’ll do what you say. Just don’t send the baby to a foundling home.”
“I’ll do just as I please, and you will do as I say.” He pointed to the door. “Get out of my sight, and quiet that brat. If he makes another sound, he goes tonight.”