“I’ve had a bit of a sweet tooth lately, Uncle.”
“Indeed.” Uncle John moved to the window as if to admire the lovely view of the Marsh House gardens. He clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat.
“His Grace has offered for you.”
* * *
John,Lord Marsh, had been dreading this confrontation with Jane Emily for weeks. He wished she could be more even tempered, as his daughter was, but he supposed that given all she had gone through, her anger was warranted. Her anger was simply directed at the wrong man.
William’s letter to John, and the contents of the packet brought with Jane Emily from Bermuda, told the story of a life filled with lies and regret. And treason. John felt the shame of his brother’s sins deep in his bones. The wrath of the Dunbar family had filled William with fear until his last breath.
As it did John.
But the Devil of Dunbar did not come to Marsh house immediately upon Jane Emily's arrival as John supposed he might, which meant one thing. The duke did notknowthe identity of William’s family—yet. The logical solution to avoid future destruction, in John's mind, was to marry Petra to the duke. The man would not destroy his wife's family. John thought it a most prudent and intelligent decision.
Until, the Duke of Dunbar saw Jane Emily.
The last piece of the puzzle that was his brother William’s life came together for John the moment he saw the way His Grace looked at her. Bravely, he did not try to hide anything from the duke, instead, depending on the affection the man clearly felt for Jane Emily. His Grace did not seem surprised by John's identity, nor did he condemn John for trying to protect his family. He simply made it clear that Jane Emily, orJemas the duke referred to her, would be his wife. He wished to give her time to come to terms with her anger and come to him willingly.
But Jane Emily, obstinate and still angry, refused to be courted by the duke.
“How kind of him,” his niece said in a brittle tone, her voice raising an octave. “But I'm afraid the duke and I don't suit. At all. I shall have to refuse his generous offer for me.”
John wanted to tell her just how generous His Grace was in forgiving the Marsh family of so much, but the duke made John swear tonevertell Jane Emily the truth about her father. No one must ever know.
“You misunderstand, niece.” Her uncle's hands clenched and unclenched behind his back, not wishing to battle her. “His Grace has offered for you and as your guardian, I have accepted.”
John heard the sharp intake of her breath. Why must she be so difficult? It was clear she and the dukedidsuit.
“You would force me?”
“I doubt you would be miserable as a duchess, Jane Emily, nor do I doubt you would be unhappy with His Grace. He's enlightened me, you see, on your previous relationship.” John felt the blush rise up on his cheeks just thinking about his most recent conversation with the duke. Horrified, John listened while His Grace made it clear that Jane Emily had been ruined, and quite thoroughly, by His Grace.
“Our previous relationship?” Jane Emily's voice shook.
Uncle John ignored her question. Shewouldmarry the duke. Even if he didn’t guess that Jane Emily was in love with the man, he would still have her marry him. She was no longer a maid. Her father committed treason and the duke knew about it. He did not turn to look at her as he spoke. Instead, he tried to focus on his rose bushes in the garden as he looked out the window. “Youwillmarry His Grace.”
“I willnotmarry him.” She sounded as if she were choking on a meat pie. “He cannot force this upon me. I will not do it.”
“Yes.” John unclasped his hands to place his palms on the window sill, feeling a bit of peeling paint and wishing William were here so he could shake him senseless for all the mess he’d laid at John’s door. “His Grace told me you would refuse. He is waiting for you in the conservatory.”
* * *
Jemma flew down the hall,her heels clicking on the gleaming wooden floors, insides churning, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment.
I will never be able to face my uncle over a meal again.
She flung open the thick oak doors of the conservatory to find Nick calmly sitting at the family piano. His fingers picked at the keys, and Jemma caught the bit of a melody she couldn't name. The sunlight streaming through the large paneled windows caused the red in his hair to shine like copper.
He didn't turn as she entered.
“You bastard.” Jemma stood, her entire body shaking, her fists clenched so tightly she feared her nails would make her palms bleed. “You told my uncle. Did you also tell him you killed my father?”
“There you are.” Nick cut off the rest of her heated speech neatly. “I wondered whether you would walk orracedown the hall to confront me. A pity you returned the pistols, I imagine you could make good use of them today.” He spun about on the piano bench, his hair swinging about his massive shoulders. Shadows hung beneath the mismatched eyes, and stubble shown across his cheeks.
“I learned to play as a child. Hours upon hours with Monsieur Dubois, who slapped my fingers with a ruler when I hit a sour note. My grandmother thought learning the piano would soften me. Care to play a duet?” The joking note in his voice did not match the hard set of his lips.
“Bastard.”
