Adrienne Basso - How To Seduce A Sinner

Yet something held his temper in check, kept his fists at his sides. “If you are here, running to my wife with your sorrowful tales, then the duke must have thrown you out. Again.”

“Oh, no.” Roddington’s voice iced over. “I left of my own accord. The decision of how we proceed is now in the hands of the duke.”

“What do you want?” Carter asked crisply, inwardly flinching at the sudden flash of light in the major’s eyes. That did not bode well.

“I want the duke to stand before me and admit what he did, acknowledge that he acted in a heartless, dishonorable manner, and then I want him to beg my forgiveness, on behalf of my mother, for his cruelty and neglect.”

A startled female gasp echoed through the silence. Carter turned and saw Dorothea clutching the fabric of her skirt as she tried to stop her hands from shaking. “The duke is a proud man,” Dorothea ventured. “Even if your claim were proven, I am uncertain he would be agreeable to such a request.”

Roddington drew his brows together quickly. “Then he will have to suffer the consequences of the scandal that will ensue.”

Carter remained impassive, but the barb struck home. Roddington had done his research, he knew where to strike to inflict the greatest pain. The duke’s pride in their family name and legacy was legendary. If there was one thing above all others the duke wanted to avoid, it was a taint to that noble lineage.

“You have far underestimated the duke’s influence,” Carter proclaimed. “He is a man respected and admired by society, by the Prince Regent himself. No one will take your side against him, no one will believe such lies.”

“I am not a lad of fifteen anymore, to be so easily intimidated by the high and mighty Duke of Hansborough,” Roddington sneered. “But more importantly, this is not a lie. And I have the document to prove it.”

Roddy jammed his hat down on his head and urged his horse to a faster pace. The breeze hit him full-on, whipping at his face, but he ignored the sharp bite and crouched lower. The faster he rode, the faster he would reach Town and the faster this would all be over. Or would it?

He scowled. Should he have gone to Dorothea? The doubt of his actions twisted inside him, further confusing his thoughts. The confrontation with the duke this morning had gotten him nowhere but frustrated. Stalking down the halls of that palatial mansion, Roddy had wanted to smash his fist into something, knowing that pounding on something, or someone, was likely the only way he would gain any relief.

Instead, he had sent a message to Dorothea and been informed by the butler that she had gone to visit her sister. Uncertain what else to do, he had followed her to her sister’s home. Given the distant relationship she seemed to have with her husband, he did not know that Atwood would be with her.

Roddy’s scowl deepened. Why could he not simply walk away and forget the matter, let it go once and for all? The duke was never going to acknowledge his paternity. And really, what else did he want from the man? Money? No! To form a relationship, some sort of bond? Hardly.

Yet ever since he had been tossed so unceremoniously from that mansion when he was a lad, he had been obsessed with seeking vindication, and he knew in his heart he could never truly be content until he received the justice he felt he deserved. Not so much for himself, but for his mother.

He turned his horse sharply at the bend in the road, the muscles in his legs trembling with anger and hurt at the memory of his mother’s sad, dispirited face. She was a frail, gentle woman who had been dealt a cruel blow in life, and as soon as he was old enough to understand, Roddy had sought to protect his mother from the censure they had lived under.

He had been a well-behaved boy, a model pupil, never complaining, never causing her a moment’s anguish. Yet still she had suffered, for bearing a child out of wedlock, for proving herself unworthy in the eyes of those who sought to judge her circumstances.

Roddy could feel the sorrow rising in him, pushing next to the regret. When he arrived in London, his initial plan had been simple. He reasoned if he could gain Atwood’s friendship, if he could prove himself to be a worthy man, then the marquess might support his claim, would aid him in making the duke take responsibility. Likewise, he had ingratiated himself with Dorothea, thus strengthening his ties to the family.

Like any intelligent military officer, Roddy had never underestimated the enemy. He had not underestimated the duke, who was as cold and hard and autocratic as Roddy believed, as chillingly cruel as he remembered from their one brief encounter so long ago.

What he had underestimated were his own feelings. The emotions he would feel toward Atwood, his half-brother, a strange mix of admiration and jealousy, a basic desire to be liked but, more importantly, believed. For Dorothea, he felt the genuine affection of friendship and the protective instincts of an older brother.

He wondered what their next move would be, then laughed out loud, knowing he had no idea what direction his own actions would take. He did not have in his possession a document proving the duke’s paternity, because one did not exist. He had lied to Atwood and Dorothea to gain some time, to give more credence to the question he hoped he planted in their minds.

The letters detailing the relationship between his mother and the duke had been taken from him, though he acknowledged they were hardly definitive proof. As Atwood had said, papers could be forged. The one remaining letter he had in his possession had been written by his mother the morning before she died, but it was more a puzzlement than proof. For though she wrote about him, the child she and the duke had created together, on the final line she admitted that she had misled the duke and she asked his pardon.

Not understanding what that could mean, Roddy had attributed those words to her illness, putting no credence in them. When he had so innocently given the duke those letters all those years ago, he had held this one back. Though it proved nothing, he could not destroy it, for it was all he had left of his mother.

How would this all end? With each mile closer to Town, Roddy began to realize that if this final attempt failed, he must somehow find the strength to live in the shadow of rejection. For if he did not…Roddy shook his head. The consequences did not bear thinking.

Dark clouds glowered overhead, suddenly threatening rain. Dorothea looked at Carter. His face was stony. She tried to imagine what he was thinking, feeling, but it was impossible.

“Do you think it is true?”

His voice was flat, emotionless. She inhaled deeply to steady her own rioting emotions. “I think it could be true. There are too many pieces that fit so neatly together. But more importantly, the major emphatically believes that the duke is his father and he is hell-bent on hearing those words fall from the duke’s lips.”

Carter grimaced. “Unfortunately, I agree with you, though in my mind I cannot credit such a tale. My father has always been so straitlaced, so proper. Having an affair with a governess? It smacks far too much of melodrama to be believed.”

“What shall we do?”

He slowly let out a breath. “Go to London and speak with the duke. And then…” His voice trailed off and he shrugged.

Dorothea’s heart ached as she watched the shadows move and shift across his handsome face. “I’m coming with you.”

Something in Carter’s chest twisted. He knew he should tell her it wasn’t necessary, that he would handle the problem on his own, as he always had done. She deserved to be here, with her sisters, sharing in the happiness at the birth of the new babies.

But the words wouldn’t come. Carter swore. He needed her. At this moment in time, when his world was turning upside down, Dorothea was the one constant in his life he could rely upon, the one individual he could trust to be honest and forthright.