She straightened her shoulders, drew herself up, and met his eyes. “If you… like.”
He reached out and slowly traced her cheekbone with a finger. She shivered. “Did you know about this? Is that why you want a child?”
She sharply drew away from him. “What? You’re not serious.”
“You’ve always cared too much about titles and social standing.”
She lifted her chin. “That’s not fair. No, I haven’t. Besides, have you ever considered that perhaps your problem is that you’ve always cared too little about them?”
He drew his hand away and stared her in the eye. “Fine. You may not have known about the codicil, but are youstillgoing to pretend you married me for love and not because you knew the entire time that my grandfather was a duke?”
She glanced away. Yes, she’d known. For some reason she still didn’t understand, he hadn’t wanted to tell her who his family was. If it were up to him, he’d have pretended he was the son of a shoemaker, with no ties to the aristocracy, for their entire marriage. He’d deliberately withheld information fromher.
It had been a fateful day indeed when, three months into their marriage, he’d confronted her with the fact that she knew who his family was and had kept it from him. He obviously still distrusted her.
“You know I knew,” she replied simply, turning her head to the side, not looking at him.
“Yet you pretended to marry me for love.” His voice was tight with anger.
“I never pretended,” she whispered through clenched teeth.
He opened the door to his bedchamber, stepped inside, and turned to face her. “Our bargain will have to wait longer, I’m afraid. I don’t have it in me to bed you tonight.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The next morning, Mark sat in his study attempting to get some paperwork done, but all he could think about were two things: the fact that his cousin was dead and the fact that he’d stubbornly refused Nicole’s bed last night. Both seemed incomprehensible.
John was dead. Why did the notion arouse Mark’s guilt? Because he’d never publicly acknowledged they were cousins? They ran in completely different social sets. John was a darling of theton,running about town to dinner parties and balls, attending the theater and frequenting his club. Meanwhile, Mark had beenworking.He’d spent his years ensuring the country wasn’t overrun by the French, been on the frontlines of the wars, nearly died a handful of times, and when he was in London, spent his time with members of the Home Office and the people he worked for and who worked for him. He’d never given a toss about balls and dinner parties,unless they might be politically advantageous. Even then, they were just more work.
He’d seen John from time to time. More than once, John had looked as if he’d like to speak to Mark. But he never had and Mark told himself that was the way he liked it. Now there would never be a chance to know his cousin. Mark might be known as the stone man, but he didn’t wish death upon anyone. It had been heart wrenching seeing the horrible effect his cousin’s death had on his uncle. The man had lost his only son, his only child. Mark could not imagine that type of pain.
Mark tossed down his quill and scrubbed his hands across his face. It only made things worse that his cousin’s death meant he would have to renounce a duchy of all blasted things. Could he do it quietly, without anyone finding out? He’d have to discreetly inquire about that as well. Blast. Blast. Blast.
Meanwhile he’d acted like a complete arse to Nicole last night. What the hell was wrong with him? She was here to get with child. He’d agreed to do the job. After so many nights spent alone, he should have jumped at the chance to end his self-imposed celibacy. He tried to tell himself he’d refused her because of the news of his cousin, and that was certainly part of the reason, but it would be disingenuous to blame it entirely on that. It wasn’t because he was in mourning. He barely knew the man. He was sorry his cousin was dead for his uncle’s sake. The poor man was near to breaking over it. Mark wasn’t madeentirelyof stone.
He leaned back in his chair and rested an arm atop his head. If he was honest, he was also sorry his cousin was dead for his own sake. Why couldn’t John at leasthave sired an heir first? It was an unkind thought, but Mark wasn’t in a kind mood.
He hadn’t been angry with Nicole last night because of that. He’d been an arse because the fact that he was suddenly a marquess brought up too many of the feelings he’d had early in their marriage, when she left. After she admitted she’d known all along that his grandfather was a duke, Mark realized she’d indeed married him for his connections, while allowing him to think she’d married him for love. Love? Ha. That’s what he got for spending time with the daughter of an earl. Such young ladies had only one thing on their mind: marrying advantageously. Still, refusing to bed her last night had been idiotic. It punished him as much as her. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. He picked up his quill again, determined to finish his paperwork before midday.
A knock at the door interrupted him. Abbott opened the door and cleared his throat. “A man is here to see you, General.”
Mark looked up and narrowed his eyes at the butler. “Who is it?”
“He says his name is Oakleaf. Daffin Oakleaf.”
Mark knew that name. “Show him in.”
Daffin Oakleaf was a friend of Cade and Rafe Cavendish, two of his best spies. He was also the best of the Bow Street Runners, a small private police force that solved cases in return for bounties.
Oakleaf strolled into the study, whistling. “Good morning, General.”
The man was tall, broad, and blond. He even looked like the Cavendish twins, only while their eyes wereblue, Oakleaf’s were bright green. Mark had heard that Cade Cavendish, a privateer with more aliases than a Drury Lane actor, had pretended to be Oakleaf a time or two. The man standing before him was definitely Oakleaf himself.
“Oakleaf,” Mark said, glancing up from his paperwork. “Take a seat. To what do I owe the pleasure?” His tone was jovial, but a skitter of apprehension worked its way down his spine.
Oakleaf settled himself into a chair in front of Mark’s desk. “I’m here to talk to you about your cousin’s death.”
Mark nodded. He’d suspected as much. Oakleaf knew exactly who his family was. “I plan to visit John’s house today. My uncle told me he collapsed at dinner, a heart condition.”
