Page 17 of Too Wicked for Heaven

She straightened in her seat, her eyes narrowing. “Because of what? What happened between you two to make him hate you all these years?”

Damn it, his petty urge to let her know the truth about her precious uncle had blown up in his face. He hadn’t meant to mention that fiasco. He didn’t want her to know. It would only reinforce her poor image of him. With a groan, he set his brandy down and rose to pace the room. “What happened between us is none of your business.”

“Oh, yes, it is!” Her tone was controlled but he could tell from her set chin that she was disturbed by all he’d told her. “I’m risking my future because of this duel, so I have a right to know why it’s happening!”

She had a point. She did have a right to know.

He turned to stare into the fire, his hands folded behind his back. Then he sighed. “Eight years ago, your uncle’s mistress left him for me. Nan was his third mistress, but he was very attached to her. So he decided that I’d used unscrupulous methods to get her, when in truth, Nan had come to me herself. She was a greedy woman, and she fancied me because she thought a younger man might be more extravagant with his gifts. She only lasted with me a few months, before I found her trying to make some extra money by . . . er . . . being friendly with yet another man while under my protection.”

His voice grew taut as he faced her. “Nan was a low opportunist not worthy of Kensingham’s anger. But he didn’t see it that way. She’d humiliated him by leaving him for a youth barely old enough to have a mistress. And I’d humiliated him by taking her. He’s never forgiven me for that.”

For a moment, she looked stunned as she stared at him, mouth gaping open. Then she closed her mouth with a prim little expression of disbelief. “So you expect me to believe that this whole thing is the result of some . . . some woman I didn’t know existed? You expect me to believe that my uncle, who is the soul of virtue, is a . . . a loose-living debaucher who would fight a duel out of peevishness?”

Her tone of disbelief cut at him. She was so convinced of her uncle’s good character that she’d rather believe in it than accept the truth. Neville gave a weary shrug. “I don’t expect you to believe anything. I shouldn’t have brought it up, since your thirst for truth obviously doesn’t extend to your uncle.”

“Truth? That’s not truth! It’s lies!” She crossed her arms over her chest, her body trembling. “Y-You’re only saying these awful things to blacken him in my eyes. You want me to believe everyone is as wicked as you. You can’t accept that there are a few men who are decent and upstanding and⁠—”

“I’m saying it because it’s true, whether you like it or not,” he bit out, angered by her blind defense of her uncle. “Everyone knows your uncle is a rakehell, everyone in the whole bloody city.” Her lower lip began to quiver, but he went on relentlessly. “Why do you think he spends so much time in London? Without you?”

“He comes here on business,” she protested, but her voice shook.

“Aye. And to see his current mistress and to go to one or two gaming hells before getting drunk at his club.”

“But he’s always been so strict with me! He’s always chastising me for things I say . . . and do . . . and . . .” She broke off with a sob that she muffled with her fist.

Her distress hit him hard. Too late he realized the source of it. Her uncle had obviously made her believe she had to be a perfect example of womanly virtues while he was off being a perfect example of manly vices. The bastard.

Neville sighed. Maligning her uncle further wouldn’t comfort her. “Of course he’s strict with you,” he said, softening his tone. “You’re his ward. He probably feels it’s his responsibility to keep you from doing anything that would attract the wrong kind of men . . . men like him. Most men are like your uncle. My father was. He had very different expectations for my mother and Isabella than for his mistresses.”

At the mention of his father, sympathy flickered in her eyes. “Y-You’re saying that men like my uncle and your father are two-faced deceivers.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I suppose you could look at it that way. Or you could see it as their way of protecting their women. Your uncle is a normal young male with the same penchant for wenching and gaming as most of his friends. He simply doesn’t want you exposed to that.”

Her lovely throat tightened convulsively. “It’s so hard to believe he could be so . . . so . . . I-I can’t even imagine him as a rake.”

He moved to sit beside her on the sofa. “Come now, Althea, surely you’ve overheard him use some of those terms you asked me about.”

She paled, then gave a hesitant nod.

“You see? He has probably worked very hard all these years to keep his bachelor role separate from his role as guardian. And apparently, he’s been relatively successful.” He glanced away. “Until tonight, that is, when I foolishly opened my mouth.”

She placed her hand on his arm as if to reassure him. “Don’t feel bad about telling me.” Her voice shook. “I’m glad you told me.”

“So you do believe me.”

Ducking her head, she sighed. “How can I not? As you say, all I have to do is ask someone, and I’m sure they’ll tell me with pleasure. It’s a wonder no one has told me before now. But then, no one else is honest with me the way you are.”

Guilt stabbed at him. He wasn’t being entirely honest, was he? “Yes, but my honesty has hurt you, hasn’t it?”

She stared up at him. “Still, I would rather know the truth.” Then her eyes blazed as she dug her fingers into his arm. “It infuriates me the way he . . . he pretended he was too perfect for words, and everyone upheld the image. All this time, he’s been telling me I must be more proper if I want to find the right kind of husband, while he’s been as improper as can be!”

“It’s difficult to be a bachelor raising a girl alone. If anyone knows, I do. I had the devil of a time keeping Isabella out of trouble.”

“Yes, but you didn’t send Isabella off to live alone in the country. You kept her with you in London. You didn’t shield her from the real world. Or pretend you were some . . . some saint who never had a bad thought!”

“And she ran off with a Scottish earl at the age of seventeen,” he put in dryly as he took her hands in his. “I wouldn’t say that’s an argument in favor of my competence as a guardian.”

Her wan smile clutched at his heart. “Her Scottish earl is wealthy and titled. You know quite well she made a good match. She just made it sooner than you wanted.” Her expression grew earnest. “The fact is, you brought her to London where she could experience society at its worst and at its best. You gave her your support, no matter what, and you gave her choices. That’s a good thing, not a bad thing.”