“I am Emily Roberts.” She curtseyed. “The Countess of Blakely.” Perhaps if she spoke the words aloud enough, she would begin to believe them herself.
“My son has done it. He’s gone and married himself a feisty bluestocking.”
At least she’d been elevated from chambermaid. “Women have curious minds just as men do.”
The duke chuckled. “Not near the looker of that whore you took up with as a boy, but she does have a spine.”
“Was she?” Marcus jumped into the conversation without missing a beat. “Was Meggie a whore?”
Every muscle in Emily’s body tightened at his words. She knew how much it hurt for him to ask this. His father would have no reason to lie now.
“She came to me.” The duke’s voice cracked. “I had every intention of buying her off before you became too enamored, but by God, the wench came to me first. Demanded one hundred pounds. Told me she’d leave the shire if I paid up.”
“And Mr. Thistlebum?” This from Emily. She wanted Marcus to know the facts. He’d imagined the worst of his father for too long, placing the woman of his past on a pedestal.
“Her husband,” the duke mumbled. “A hundred pounds. Imbeciles, both of them. I’d have paid them a thousand. You were lucky to be rid of them so easily.”
Emily didn’t look at Marcus. No man liked to hear he’d been wrong about something, especially when that something had to do with a woman.
She stared down at the duke’s hands lying on the coverlet.
Dry, frail. And his nails? She peered closer. White marks, where they ought to be pink. White lines.
“So, you did not chase Meggie away.” Marcus sounded stiff. “I owe you an apology.” Emily stepped back again. Not feeling like an intruder so much as wishing herself invisible. Somehow, she believed this conversation to be momentous. He might have hated the Duke of Waters for many reasons, but the man was still his father.
“I would have, though,” the man rasped. In the wake of his words, the clock on the mantle ticked loudly, the only sound in the room.
Emily lifted her lashes to sneak a look at Marcus. His jaw clenched, eyes glassy. This might very well be one of the last times he spoke with his father. The man appeared closer to death than he did to life.
“It’s been an honor to meet you, your grace.” Emily dropped into a curtsey and backed away. She would leave Marcus alone with his father.
The duke’s response came in something of a grunt.
Marcus met her eyes and nodded.
If he came to her tonight, she would have him. At that moment, she knew she could never turn him away.
She loved him.
A Lucky Guess
She did not wait long.
In fact, Emily had barely changed into her night rail when a light tap sounded at the door to her chamber and, without waiting, Marcus stepped in.
Fatigue and worry haunted his gaze.
And something else.
Desire. He wanted her tonight. Heneededher.
And again, she knew. She could never send him away.
“He is dying,” Marcus said without inflection as Emily reached up to untie his cravat.
He’d come directly to her. He’d not gone to his valet first.
Indeed, the Duke of Waters appeared to be living his last hours. But cholera? Something niggled at her brain.
