The duke glanced up and frowned. “I take it she’s told you, then?”
Even Prescott knew?
Had she told everyone of his private affairs?
“Devil take it, Prescott, can a man not expect a modicum of privacy?” Marcus tossed his hat on a conveniently placed table and threw himself into the tall leather chair facing the ducal desk.
Prescott’s responded by searching through some paperwork in the drawer to his right. “You have your modicum, Blakely.” He then drew out a small stack of paperwork and handed it across the desk. “Miss Goodnight asked for the investigation in strict confidence. Even Sophia knows nothing of it. The man I hired is trustworthy to an extreme. She had a hunch.”
But of course! She’d not asked the duchess. Why ask the duchess to investigate your husband’s affairs when you have a duke at your disposal?
“Did you not think it might be an intrusion into my privacy, Prescott? Did you not think perhaps to consult with me before sending a hired man to look into my personal affairs?”
The duke lifted his chin. In only a year, the former Army man had undisputedly taken on the mantle of his title. “You’ve essentially been banished from London over this. Lady Blakely’s instincts were spot on. Hadn’t you considered investigating the matter yourself?”
And there.
That.
The crux of it.
For the past decade, Marcus had ignored the tragedy of losing his first love. He’d purchased a ship. And then another. Traveled throughout India, brokering deals and amassing a small fortune. Anything to avoid addressing what had happened between his father, Mr. Thistlebum, and himself.
And Meggie.
There was no child. The news ought to have given him relief. The child had never existed and yet he felt a nonsensical loss.
Emily had casually, carelessly erased the reality of his history as easily as anyone else might wipe chalk from a blackboard. Marcus dropped his head into his hands. How had he managed to lose so much in the blink of an eye? And what had he lost?
A memory? An illusion? Or had he lost something more recently important to him?
She’d done nothing but manipulate him since arriving at Eden’s Court.
A knock sounded at the door before it opened. “Dev? Ah, Marcus. There you are.”
Stephen Nottingham was one of his best and oldest friends. They’d practically grown up together, on neighboring estates. Whereas Marcus had been the heir, however, Stephen was raised out of charity. His cousin, the Earl of Kensington, had inherited the wealth and status and then gone on to harm nearly every person who’d ever loved him.
Stephen knew about Meggie. Had he, too, known the truth?
“Am I interrupting anything?” Stephen frowned upon seeing the displeasure on Prescott’s face.
Prescott looked to Marcus with one raised eyebrow.
“No,” Marcus said with a loud sigh. He no longer cared about keeping this in the dark. What good would it do anyhow? Likely, she was spreading the news like wildfire this very instant. “How much did you know about Meggie?” He suddenly wondered if the information Emily had unearthed had not been common knowledge.
Damn and blast, he’d feel like a bumbling idiot if that was the case.
Stephen paused in a manner that indicated perhaps he knewsomething. “Why do you ask? And why now?”
Oh, hell. Stephen was a year older than Marcus. Had the woman truly made him appear such a fool? Was that why his father had sent her away?
“What do you know?” he demanded. He didn’t wish for his friend to soften the blow. Marcus had always considered himself astute. He’d had good judgment. Most of his acquaintances, both business and personal, would have acknowledged him as intelligent.
Except where women were concerned. Perhaps.
Stephen took the seat beside him and rested his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor in a resigned manner. “Meggie Thistlebum and her husband played you from the beginning.”
Although this merely confirmed what Emily had told Marcus, hearing the words from Stephen stole his breath for a moment.
