Chapter 34
William entered the study with grim finality, the door clicking shut behind him. The stranger rose at once.
“My lord,” the man said with the deference of someone either deeply respectful or very skilled at appearing so. He bowed reverently.
William said nothing for a moment. He merely looked at him with all the unbending hauteur of his breeding, all the cold command of his years in the field. The air in the room seemed to drop a degree.
The young man, so confident in the entry hall, swallowed hard beneath Lord Blackmeer’s gaze. He looked at him as if he were something unpleasant tracked in from the street, and this alone seemed to wilt the practiced charm right off him.
At last William spoke, his tone clipped. “What is the matter you wish to discuss—and what is the nature of your involvement with my sister, Lady Charlotte?”
The man seemed to recover himself slightly at the question. “My lord, the matter I came to discuss is of a delicate nature, but your sister is not directly involved. Not in the sense you might fear.”
He paused, clearly for dramatic effect. William’s eyes narrowed.
“I should advise you,” he said, ice running through every syllable, “my time and my patience are limited.”
The stranger gave a small, apologetic dip of his head, composing himself. “Quite so. Forgive me, my lord. Lady Charlotte acted with admirable foresight to prevent a scandal that could cause your noble family no small amount of distress, if the particulars became known.”
William remained stone-still.
“You must know,” the man said smoothly, “she introduced me to a young woman under your protection—a most amiable creature, no doubt.”
William’s expression didn’t shift.
“You must realize, my lord,” he continued, confidence creeping back into his tone, “the young lady in question is quite fortunate. My family is well regarded. Landed. My father sits in the Commons. And while she can claim noble blood on her father’s side, her mother’s people are…
” He gave a tight, polished smile. “Tradesmen, I believe.”
William raised an eyebrow. He had no idea what this was about.
Some charitable project of Charlotte’s, no doubt.
Had she promised a dowry for one of her protégées, and this man had come to ensure it was honored?
Entirely possible. The cost would hardly register.
The Duchess’s wardrobe for the Season likely came to more. But why would that prevent a scandal?
Nevertheless, he felt himself relax—just a touch. “Whatever sum was promised to you for the lady’s dowry, rest assured it will be met. In that, my sister’s word is gold.”
The man’s mouth curved—not with gratitude, but with something far too knowing.
“A dowry was not discussed with her ladyship,” he said. “But of course, a dowry is necessary under the circumstances. And it should reflect the burden I’m being asked to take on.”
William’s gaze cooled. “A burden,” he repeated.
The man spread his hands lightly. “I do not say it unkindly. But facts are facts. Though my primary concern lies elsewhere. I have long wished to enter the Treasury—my experience in banking makes me particularly well-suited—and I have sufficient family connections to rise, though not quickly. His Grace’s endorsement would change that. ”
William remained motionless, his stare hard as flint.
The stranger went on. “Lady Charlotte assured me your father would not hesitate to assist—particularly considering the, ah, circumstances. It is one thing to marry below oneself, my lord. Quite another to bring this shame upon oneself.”
A faint roar began in William’s ears.
The man smiled faintly. “I am not laying blame to anyone, my lord. The lady is comely enough. And to have her under your roof, and not dip a finger in the honey—well, that is perhaps too much to ask of any man. But it is I who must now reap what another has sown.”
William blinked once, slowly.
“I would not make such requests lightly,” he continued.
“But a modest estate would allow me to begin my own line. A title in time, perhaps. A baronetcy, at least. With proper service at the Treasury, who knows? I aim to build something, and my sacrifice should ensure your family’s continued patronage. ”
William still hadn’t moved.
“My lord,” he said, tone hardening, “I am not a fool. I know what is being asked. And I am prepared to raise the child. But imagine if it’s a boy. All my sacrifice? Wasted on someone else’s blood. My heir will be a duke’s natural son,” he lamented somewhat theatrically.
For a moment, William genuinely did not understand what the man was talking about. A child? His father’s? Some illegitimate affair hidden under Charlotte’s skirts? It would be like him. God knew it wouldn’t be the first time.
“I see,” William said at last, his voice clipped. “And you did not see fit to make the full list of demands known to my sister?”
The man gave a thin smile. “Some things are not for the delicate ears of ladies, my lord. And the young lady in question had other suitors—though none so suitable as myself. The others were mere merchants, hoping to buy social polish. But I offer something better. Position. Security. Respectability.”
William’s jaw tightened. His hand flexed once at his side.
“Miss Ansley, at least, thought so,” he added with an oily shrug. “She seems to have a level head—for a woman giving her favors so freely.”
The name struck him like a cannonball to the chest. He froze, feeling sick to his stomach. Then took one step forward.
“Say her name again,” he said, very quietly.
The man faltered, momentarily surprised. “Miss Ansley. Your governess. I thought it was understood.”
The room went silent.
“A decision must be made soon,” the man said, matter-of-fact. “She is heavy with child, or so Mrs. Radcliff told me. I could hardly tell—those high-waisted gowns the ladies favor hide a great deal.”
William didn’t breathe. He didn’t blink. He stared at the man as if trying to understand a foreign language spoken in the middle of a battlefield. It was as if the world had tilted, and he’d forgotten how to stand.
“My lord?” he prompted. “I trust you understand?”
His voice, when it finally came, was low. Stripped bare. “Let me disabuse you of your illusions.”
Mr. Marlowe flinched upon seeing the expression on his face that bordered on murderous. He opened his mouth—perhaps to plead—but William silenced him with a look.
“You presume to name your price. Influence. An estate. A future. Let me offer you mine.” He took another step toward the man, with all the command of an officer, the measured grace of a duke’s heir.
“You will not speak of Miss Ansley. Not to your friends. Not to your family. Not to your damn tailor. You will not so much as whisper her name to the mirror when you're alone at night.” He stepped closer, until the air between them thinned to something dangerous.
“If I hear so much as a syllable of this conversation repeated—if Miss Ansley’s name crosses the lips of any man in London in any tone but respect—I will see to it that you are cut out of every circle you aspire to enter.
No office. No seat. No place in decent society.
Not in Town. Not in Parliament. Not in your own bloody family pew. ”
A pause. No heat in his voice. Just finality. “And should I find cause to doubt your silence, there are ways of ending a man’s prospects, Mr. Marlowe. Quiet ways. Permanent ways.”
The other man blanched and started visibly trembling. “Now get out of my sight.”
Marlowe’s mouth worked uselessly for a moment. Then he bowed—too fast—and turned without another word.
The door closed behind him. William didn’t move. Not for a long time. He stood in the center of the study, hands clenched at his sides, heart thudding in his chest.
She was with child. And she had said nothing. His palm pressed to the back of the nearest chair, gripping the wood so tightly his knuckles blanched.
He had left her. He had called her faithless. He had not believed her innocence. He had paraded prospective brides in her face. And now some fortune-hunting bastard had come to claim what was his. She was his. The child was his. And he had nearly lost them both.
* * *
William’s boots struck the marble floor hard enough to echo. The butler, entering from the east corridor, startled at the sight of him, still half-expecting him to be out for the morning.
“My lord?” he asked.
“Where is Miss Ansley?”
“I—I believe she is in the gallery with Lady Margaret, my lord.”
William didn’t thank him. He was already moving.
Down the corridor. Past the great hall. Through the double doors into the long, sunlit expanse of the Westford Gallery.
The space was quiet, dignified, golden in the morning light.
And from the far end, the unmistakable voice of a child—bright, enthusiastic, lifted in delight.
“There! That one,” Margaret was saying, standing on tiptoe before a large canvas. “It’s Diana, isn’t it? Look, there’s her bow—and the skull of a stag! And see the moon on her brow?”
Jane sat on the bench behind her. Pale. Tired. But composed. Her hands were folded in her lap, posture as straight and proper as ever. Regal, almost. Then she looked up—and saw him.
She rose at once. “My lord—”
“William!” Margaret ran to him, flinging her arms around his waist. “Did you know Diana was the goddess of the hunt, and wilderness, and nature—”
“And childbirth,” he said coolly, his eyes never leaving Jane.
“Oh yes, you’re right! But do you know how she was born? Miss Ansley said—”
“Margaret,” he said sharply, “not now. Go and find Charlotte.”
The child blinked. “But—”
“Now.” He hadn’t raised his voice. He didn’t need to.
Margaret looked at Jane, confused. Jane’s tone was low, steady. “Go on, dearest. Find Lady Charlotte. I’m sure she’s eager to hear all you’ve learned about Diana. His lordship requires a private word with me.”
Margaret hesitated, then gave a small curtsey and slipped out, casting one last glance behind her. The door clicked shut.
Silence. William stepped forward. Jane did not move. She stood tall, hands clenched at her sides. Her eyes held his, unyielding—but she knew.
His gaze dropped—not to her face, but to the swell beneath her gown. He reached out, slow, deliberate, and pressed his hand to her belly. There was no mistaking it. The curve was real. Solid. Undeniable. She didn’t flinch. But the color drained from her cheeks.
When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “How long were you planning to keep this from me?”
Her throat worked before she answered. “I don’t know.”
A pause. Then, clipped: “How far along?”
“Almost six months,” she said. A blush crept up her neck, as though ashamed of the arithmetic.
“Six months,” he bit out. “Six bloody months—and not a word.”
“I meant to—”
“When?” His voice rose. “After your wedding to that cretin? On the birthbed? Were you planning to send me a polite note once he’d given my child his name?”
She lifted her chin. “I could not imagine you’d be willing to give it yours.” The words struck him clean across the face. “I could not imagine you would care,” she added quietly.
His tone turned glacial. “Oh, I care.” Then it came, loud, bitter: “You lied to my face.”
“I was protecting my baby.”
He paused. “From me?”
“You accused me once,” she said. “You thought I had given myself to another man. You never took it back.”
He moved closer. “You were innocent of Beaufort. But you proved me right. You gave yourself to a man who would bargain with our child for an estate, a post in Whitehall.”
“I gave myself to no one,” she said fiercely. “I did what I had to do.”
“You had only to tell me.” The words hung there, low and bitter. He turned from her. Walked a few paces. The sound of his boots swallowed by the thick silence.
Behind him, Jane wavered. “And what is to become of us, then?”
He stared back at her. There was no softness in his face. “Given I’ve known for less than an hour, I do not know as of yet.”
But something had cracked in him. The thought of her marrying another. Bearing his child under another man’s roof. No. Unthinkable.
He stepped in—close enough for her to feel it. “You will not marry Mr. Marlowe. And no one else for that matter. Did I make myself clear?”
Her eyes brimmed, but she held his gaze.
“If you ever try this again—if you hand what is mine to another man—the next one won’t be as lucky. If my father gave his patronage to such a union, then the moment I became Duke, I would destroy any man you married. And perhaps,” his voice dropped colder still, “I would not wait that long.”
He looked her over—calm, unreadable. “You’re mine.”
And with that, he turned and walked out, leaving her standing alone in the stillness of the gallery, her breath trembling, one hand resting over the curve of her stomach, as if to shield the baby from what was to come.