“You lived with him in Egypt. Don’t you know if this is his handwriting?”
William dropped his gaze. Lanora was dangerously near the truth. Did he dare tell her? Moments ago, he’d vowed to, but that was before the handwriting. Now, he didn’t know what to think. Good God, what if she and her father were conspiring with the marquess? But to what end?
That was the answer. The marquess. The old man would know the truth.
William folded Lord Solworth’s letter. “May I borrow this? I will take it to the marquess and demand an explanation.”
“That’s your answer to me? That you know nothing and must leave?” Her look was incredulous.
“It is. Give me an hour. Perhaps two. I will return with the truth.” All of it, if she wasn’t part of this.
Lanora threw up her hands. “Do as you will, but do not fail to return with some explanation. I believe you, William. I am taking you at your word about who you are, and what you know of this.” Her green eyes were luminous, beseeching. “Please don’t break my trust.”
The need to kiss her was nearly insurmountable, as if this might be his final chance. Refusing to believe that, he tucked the letters into his coat and stood. “By your leave.” With a nod, he left.
William strode from the townhouse, wincing as he jogged down the steps. “Take me to the old man,” he ordered his driver, and climbed into the carriage. It wasn’t until he set out that he realized he’d left the bulk of Darington’s letters behind.
Hooves clattered on cobblestone. William winced with each bounce. He hadn’t told his man to hurry. Evidently, his attitude had been enough.
They reached the old man’s townhouse in record time. William took the steps at a quick pace, giving the butler the barest nod as he shouldered open the door and hurried by. To his surprise, footsteps sounded behind him.
“My lord.”
The butler never spoke without being addressed. William halted, turned.
“My lord, the marquess is not in his office.”
“He’s not?” William pulled out his watch. The old man was always in his office at this time of day.
“He’s above stairs. In bed.”
William tucked the watch away. He eyed the staircase. He hadn’t entered the private areas of the house in nearly a decade. “I see.”
Steeling himself, he went up. To reach the marquess’s room, he must walk past his own, Charles’s, and the room where three marchionesses, including his mother, had suffered at the hands of the marquess. Jaw clenched, William made the march. Unlike Cecilia’s home, where the walls were blessedly bare, here they were lined with ancestors. Grim eyes followed William down the hall.
The old man was indeed abed. He lay propped on pillows, shadowed in the vast canopied bed. The only light was his eyes, glinting evilly in the dark.
William strode across the room and yanked open the curtains to let in light. The window followed, for a fetid smell lurked in the perfume-soaked air.
“You heard I was dying and came to gloat.” The voice was wheezing, thin.
“I did not. I should rather never have laid eyes on you again.” Bracing himself, Willian went to the bedside.
The old man smiled, his skin stretched thin and translucent. “That’s my boy. I have made you over well. No sentiment to weaken you.”
“Not where you’re concerned, old man.”
“Not anywhere. Even gave up your mistress, when she made a fuss over you marrying. Good lad.”
William shook his head. Yes, that’s the conclusion the marquess would come to. He’d known as much when he wrote to Lethbridge about it.
A skeletal hand reached out, plucking at the bedcovers. “Can’t marry Solworth’s chit, though. I forbid it. They say you love her. Love is weakness, boy. When will you learn? You never learn.”
“I will marry whomever I please.”
“You won’t. I sent Lethbridge to get the will. I want your word you won’t marry the chit or I’ll sign it. No heir of mine is marrying for love.”
“That’s odd, because I am your heir and I shall.” He enjoyed the fury that sparked in the old man’s eyes. “Sign a new will if you like, if you’ve the strength left. It matters little to me.”
