Anna Campbell - What a Duke Dares

Leath’s expression was stark with remorse as he looked at her. “Your Grace, an apology doesn’t come near to making up for what I did.”

Pen mustered a shaky smile. “Then help Harry and Sophie.”

Cam turned to Leath. “Arrange a quick, quiet wedding. Make a show of accepting Harry. Get your cronies to rally around the newlyweds. Given my part in this, I’m willing to offer the match what countenance I can. I’m sure the Harmsworths and the Hillbrooks will help.”

“But the scandal—”

A flash of Cam’s wry smile. “I’ve lived with scandal all my life. You, my lord, are a mere amateur. It’s too late to silence gossip, but a good face on proceedings will help.”

“So best behavior all round. That includes not shooting each other.” Pen glanced toward Harry and Sophie. “Or sailing to America.”

Harry still looked wretched. His chin bore a bruise to rival Leath’s. At this rate, they’d all return to London looking very sorry. “Pen, I never should have embroiled you in this.”

Reluctantly she left Cam to offer Harry a gingerly hug. Every movement made her head throb. If Leath ever decided against becoming prime minister, she could recommend him as a boxer. “Be happy, brother.”

Carefully she hugged Sophie. “Welcome to the family.”

Sophie returned her embrace, then approached her brother. “James, I’m sorry I’ve caused all this trouble.” Her voice wobbled. “But I love you and I hope you can forgive me one day.”

Pen was sure that Leath would hate the way his expression betrayed every emotion. Anger. Frustration. Abiding affection. Guilt. Then reluctant acceptance. Up until now, Pen hadn’t been sure that she liked the marquess. She didn’t blame him for hitting her, but she couldn’t excuse his arrogance.

Now when he beheld his sister as though he’d sacrifice anything for her, Pen’s heart melted.

It was the old magic again. Love. Once more she faced the harsh truth that the magic would forever remain a mystery to her husband.

“I’ll think about forgiving you.” Leath’s tone said that he already had. He kissed Sophie on the forehead, then faced her toward Harry. “Look after her.”

Pen had never seen Harry so grave. “I will, sir. And thank you.”

Incredibly, they might yet emerge without bloodshed. When Leath left Rothermere House, she’d been sure that he’d kill Harry.

Pen sagged with exhaustion. Now that the tension ebbed, she felt like Leath had punched her over and over, instead of landing one glancing blow to the side of her head.

“I’ll take Sophie and Thorne to Alloway Chase,” Leath said. “They’ll be safe from curiosity there while we plan the wedding.”

Sophie and Harry collected their few possessions—they’d traveled very light—and left with Leath. Pen and Cam remained behind in the dingy room, his arm around her waist.

She felt giddy and sick and sore and woefully unprepared for this reckoning. But she couldn’t bear to wait any longer to decide her future. She’d reached a point where a short sharp cut seemed preferable to slow strangulation.

Cam’s touch reminded her too painfully of all she’d lost. She broke away, fighting to keep her voice steady. “What happens now, Cam?”

He frowned. “I take you back to the Bear and Swan and summon a doctor.”

“I’m perfectly all right.”

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Leath landed a hell of a blow.”

“It was an accident.”

To her surprise, a faint smile curved Cam’s lips. “It wasn’t an accident. It was your damned recklessness. You haven’t changed since you were six years old and jumping into the river to save a drowning puppy.”

Cam had rescued her that day. Cam always rescued her. What a crushing realization that he’d never rescue her again. This was like having a limb amputated. Slowly.

“He was going to kill Harry,” she mumbled.

“Undoubtedly.”

“I couldn’t let that happen.”

“So you put yourself in danger.”

She sighed. “I wasn’t hurt.”

A flash in his green eyes reminded her of his incandescent anger when Leath clipped her. “Yes, you were.”

“Not seriously.”

“Good luck only.”

“You can’t still mean to shoot Leath. You two sounded almost friendly before he left.”

Cam’s mouth thinned and he sent her a direct stare that she couldn’t interpret. “I won’t shoot Leath. I may want to shoot you.”

That was hardly news. Despairingly she realized that while Sophie and Harry might get their happy ending once they’d weathered the scandal, no such happy ending awaited her with Cam.

“Don’t say that.”

He frowned. “That was a joke.”

“Not a very funny one.”

He looked shocked. “I really don’t want to shoot you.”

No, he just wanted to freeze her out of his life. Shooting seemed kinder. She raised her chin. “You did earlier.”

He shrugged. “I’ve had time to calm down.”

But not to forgive her. She knew that. “Cam, I feel like I’m teetering on a tightrope. Tell me what we do now.”

That oddly direct stare persisted. “We go on, of course.”

She sighed. “I can’t live with you if it means walking on eggshells forever.”

He sighed impatiently. “Then don’t.”

She stiffened as a blade of ice pierced her heart. His rejection was clear. As clear as the shine on a headman’s ax. She drew a breath and squared her shoulders.

“How do you see this proceeding?” She set out the options, every word slicing like a razor. “I can live at Fentonwyck or on another of your estates. Or I can return to the Continent. There will be talk if we separate, but let’s face it, our marriage was always fated to fail.”

Pen wanted to leave him?

Appalled, Cam stared at her. “What’s this bloody nonsense?”

“Cam, I should never have married you.” She stood like she faced a firing squad, pale as milk in her black traveling dress. He should find consolation in her lack of enthusiasm for deserting him. “The events of the last day and a half must convince you if nothing else does.”

He sighed and reached for her. She edged away. “Damn it, Pen. There’s no need for this.”

“Yes, there is.” She inhaled deeply. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried until I’m blue in the face. I’ve tried to be a proper duchess and proved a woeful failure. I’ve tried to be true to myself and in the process I’ve embroiled you in a frightful scandal. I’ll never be the wife you want. I’ve known that since you proposed to me at Houghton Park all those years ago.”

He regarded her steadily. “Just how hard did Leath hit you?”

She didn’t smile. Instead her fists closed at her sides as if she resisted clouting him. He almost wished she would. At least that would make a scrap of sense. “Don’t treat me like a fool.”

“Can we leave decisions until after a meal and a few hours’ sleep? Preferably in a place that doesn’t stink like something died in the corner.”

She still looked like a medieval martyr going to the stake. Self-disgust welled up. He’d done a brilliant job of convincing his wife that he despised her. How he regretted his temper. But then, he regretted so much. The question was whether he could heal the breach between them, wide as the Atlantic. Something profound and unhappy, a remnant of his horrid childhood, insisted that he couldn’t.

He wanted to shout his denial to the sky.

“This won’t take long,” she said in a hard voice.

They were both exhausted. She was hurt—her head must pound like an anvil under a hammer. He couldn’t bear to see his wife in such poor surroundings. But his arrogance had done enough harm. If she wanted to talk now, he’d talk, even if it felt like she scraped out his guts with a scalpel.

With a sigh, he slumped onto the unmade bed. “Say what you need to.”

“Don’t sound so long-suffering,” she snapped.

Compared to stoic misery, her temper was welcome. He spoke the truth he’d discovered during those nightmare moments in the English Channel. And again when Leath had struck her. Still, he was a proud man. His voice emerged flat and hard. “I don’t want to lose you.”

She didn’t seem to hear. “It’s time to stop playing my knight, Cam. I’m no longer your responsibility.”

“You damn well are,” he said in a dangerous tone, lurching to his feet.

“By helping Harry, I deceived you. I knew how you abhorred scandal and I went ahead anyway.” She looked more a duchess than ever before, standing boldly in a rundown room in this shabby quarter of Liverpool. “And I’d do it again. So while I’m sorry you’re angry and I’m definitely sorry the story hit the papers, I don’t regret my actions.”

“I forgive you.”

A poignant smile touched her lips. “No, you don’t. And neither you should. I’m doing what’s best for you.”

“Which entails falling on your sword, I gather,” he said acidly. “Pen, I want you to stay.”

“Very kind.”

“I’m not bloody kind.”

She cast him a pitying glance. “Of course you are. But I’m no longer taking advantage of your good nature. I set you free.”

“I don’t damn well want to be free.” He fought the urge to snatch her into his arms and kiss her until she shut up. Instinct warned that he needed to win this battle with words alone.

Words weren’t his métier. At least words about emotions.

“Perhaps I already carry your heir.” With an expression he couldn’t read, she placed one hand over her belly. “I know it’s my duty to give you a child.”

He stared at her aghast, even as the glorious idea of his child inside her shuddered through him. “Would it only be duty, Pen?”