Armenia considered how to respond before she said, “I think it has worked out for the best he is not in line to become the Marquess of Devonfield.”
Patrick furrowed his brows.“Because?”
“Donald won’t be forced to return to England to claim a title.His son is now the Marchese Montblanc.”
“Stepson, you mean,” Patrick murmured, leading her toward the Pantheon.If they had timed their arrival for when he originally wanted to be there, they would be inside the circular building when the sun was at its zenith and lined up with the hole in the center of the concrete roof.Given Armenia’s bath and the time it took to dress her, they would be arriving a bit too late to see the full effect of the sun’s rays on the temple’s floor.
When Armenia didn’t offer a reply, he glanced over to see her staring at him with a look of expectation on her face.
Appearing confused, Patrick narrowed his eyes.“Uh...is that not the right word for it?Stepson?”he asked.“I admit to not knowing the Italian word.”When she continued to stare at him, one brow arched, he quickly reviewed the story in his head before realization dawned.
Nicoletta’s son was also Donald’s son.
Apparently Nicoletta’s father believed the Marchese Montblanc was too old to get a child on her, so he had encouragedSignoreSlater’s attentions as a means of ensuring an heir.
Poorly used indeed.
He scoffed, his gaze darting about as he remembered everything he had heard the night before.“Damnation,” he whispered.
“I cannot confirm whatever it is you think you have sorted,” she warned.“But relationships are not always what they seem in that family.”
Wondering if she was implying there was even more to the story, Patrick made an odd sound in his throat.He wasn’t sure he wanted to know any more.
