Page 89 of The Boxing Baroness

“I’m not, I swear,” he wailed piteously.

“Why did Dominic write you last year?”

Barnabas dropped his head in his hands. “He wanted to make sure I brought you.” His voice was miserable and muffled. “He swore this time that he’d give me the bloody smuggling notebook if I did.”

“This book must be fairly damning if you are willing to do all you’ve claimed.”

“It is not . . . good,” he muttered.

Marianne shuddered to think what Dominic was holding over Barnabas’s head.

“Where is Dominic’s letter? I want to see it.”

“I destroyed it.”

Of course he had.

Marianne scowled at his bowed head. “I assume the woman in this portrait is wealthy—certainly the miniature and the locket would suggest it. And the fact that she and I share a resemblance tells me I am probably her child. The five hundred pounds would also indicate she was rich and paid a lot of money to see that I was taken care of. No doubt Dominic—with his finely honed sense for exploiting people’s weaknesses—believes he has found a woman he can squeeze for a great deal of money.”

Barnabas nodded. “Yes, that was my thought, as well.”

Marianne laughed.

“I don’t see the humor in any of this.”

“Oh, it’s a dark sort of humor, but amusing all the same. I knew there was only one reason Dominic would ever want to see me again: money. And it turns out I was right.” She fixed him with a cold look. “You can go now.”

“Wait,” he begged. “What are you going to do?”

“I told you. I’m going with the duke to see Dominic.”

“Then I’m going with you.”

“Why would you—oh,” she said, comprehension dawning. “You want your book back.” She shrugged. “Do whatever you want, Barnabas. But you won’t be coming with me.”

“Marianne, please, don’t be this way. I was going to tell you everything on your birthday, when you would finally be an adult.”

“You mean more of an adult than when you urged me to marry Dominic? Was that why you were so persistent and persuasive—why you worked away on me, convincing me it was either marriage to Dominic or a life spent taking weekly beatings?” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you know in advance that the wedding ceremony Dominic arranged was fake, Barnabas? Did you agree to sacrifice me to get your precious book back?”

“No! How could you believe I would ever—”

“Just go home, Barnabas. I’ll get your book of nasty secrets back for you.”

Marianne was suddenly so weary she could hardly keep her eyes open. So she closed them, and laid her head against the back of the chair.

For a long moment, there was no sound.

“I’m so sorry,” Barnabas said softly. She heard his feet cross the floor and then the opening and closing of the door. And then she was alone.

Marianne opened her eyes. Her uncle—no, Barnabas—had put the enamel box on the end table, right beside the locket.

Marianne took the locket and opened it again, staring at a picture of her mother, hoping for some sense of recognition. But she felt nothing other than grief that Sandrine Simpson—the mother she’d loved all her life—had probably been like Barnabas, just somebody else the woman in the picture had paid to take care of her.

It was darkly humorous. As if Marianne had not sunk low enough in the world after her affair with Dominic, it seemed she was now illegitimate.

What else would Barnabas tell her before this mess with Dominic was all over?

Chapter 23