“You will please explain what was happening when I arrived last night,Arden.”
The marquess did his best. His racing feat was not admired.
“Is the actress your mistress?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do not bring her, or her successors, to this house again.”
The marquess stiffened, but it was in acknowledgement of the justice ofthe reprimand. “Very well. I apologize, sir.”
The duke inclined his head slightly. “And the boy?”
“He appears to have found favor with the servants, sir. I thought tofind him a place.”
The duke inclined his head again. “I understand you still owe him aguinea. I am sure you honor your debts.”
The marquess marveled that the duke always seemed to know what wasgoing on. There was, however, the slightest possible lightening of hisfather’s expression. “Of course, sir.”
The disciplinary part of the interview was apparently over. Themarquess felt the tension seep out of him. Whatever had brought the duketo London so unexpectedly was obviously not to be laid at his door.
“Sit down, Arden. I have something to discuss with you.”
As the marquess took the opposing wing chair he detected something inhis father’s voice which led him to another concern. “I hopeMamanis well,” he said.
“Completely.”
Despite the reassuring reply, the duke’s untypical uneasiness worriedthe marquess considerably. He felt an alarming need to fiddle with hiscravat or cross and uncross his legs. This elegant room, with its richgold brocade curtains and Chinese carpet, held no particularly unpleasantmemories, but the duke carried the atmosphere with him. Wherever theirmeetings took place Lucien de Vaux felt as if he were back in his father’sformidable study at Belcraven Park quivering under a caustictongue-lashing or stoically listening as his tutor was instructed as tothe number of strokes his latest escapade warranted.
He had always preferred the latter. The system had been quite clear tohim from an early age. Beatings were rarely harsh and were reserved forthe kind of mischief common to boys. The sting carried the message that hehad done something of which his father disapproved but which did notseriously distress him.
A dressing down by his father was an indication that he had fallenbelow the standards of the de Vaux, that his father was ashamed of his sonand heir. Arden had frequently wept.
Why did this occasion recall those painful times when it was clear theduke was not angry?
Eventually the duke broke the silence. “There is no way to dress thisup with ribbons and bows, Arden, but I’m not sure in which order the newswill be easiest.” He fixed his heir with a direct look. “I have to tellyou that you are not my son.”
The shock was total. “You aredisinheritingme? For God’s sake, why?”
“No!” said the duke. “The very opposite. I have known since your birththat you are not my son.”
Icy shock was replaced by hot fury, and the marquess shot to his feet.“You slander my mother!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said the duke wearily. “I am as tender of theduchess’s reputation as you. Ask her if you wish. It is the truth. Thebriefest indiscretion with a childhood sweetheart.. .”
The marquess saw the old pain in his father ? no, not his father. . ..
The world shifted around him, and he grasped the back of the chair bywhich he stood. His heart was thundering in his chest. It seemed an effortto breath. Surely grown men did not faint. . .
He heard the duke as if over a vast chasm. “It happened when I was inScotland after grouse. I broke my leg. There was no question of my havingfathered you.”
His father would not lie. His father . . . this man sitting rigidlybefore him, had always been truthful, if cold. So much, so much wasexplained. The marquess felt as if his heart had been ripped out of hisbody. It was a draining effort, but he focused on essentials. “Why did youacknowledge me?”
The duke shrugged, not looking at him at all. “There were two sonsalready. It happens in every family now and then, and I loved your motherdeeply. She would never willingly have parted with a child.” He flicked aglance at his heir and then looked away quickly, paler still. “Then therewas the accident and she was near her time. We could have pretended thechild had died, I suppose. I have wondered . . . but it would havedestroyed her.” He sighed heavily. “She clung to you as to none of herother babes. It was not a time of rational thinking.”
The marquess felt things begin to settle, to settle into a new anddarker world. He looked down and saw his hands were bone white where theygripped the chair. He was quite unable to relax them. “What you aresaying,” he said, seeking in coldness a mask for the fury of hurt burningwithin him, “is that you have since wished me out of existence.”
He looked up. The duke met his eyes firmly, but there was a whitenessabout his mouth. “I have wished, and still wish, the de Vaux bloodline tocontinue unbroken.”
