Taming Wilde (Waltzing with the Wallflower #3)(30)

“Do? Why, I shall go home, set my affairs in order, and make my way to Jackson's for the bloodbath.”

“You mean to go through with it, then?” Ambrose asked. Concern was etched in his expression.

“Of course. What alternative do I have?”

“Mercy, man! An ounce of the milk of human kindness?” Anthony proclaimed.

“You'll murder him, Wilde,” Ambrose said. Reverence laced his words, and Colin thought perhaps the man was almost solemn.

Colin's lips twitched with a slow, knowing smile, much to the obvious chagrin of his comrades. “Yes. And I shall relish each and every bloody moment of it.”

****



Colin was not sure why he was tempted to sing as he burst through his front door. After all, he could very well be marching to his death. But then again, he had love. Yes, he was a sap. Yes, he was behaving quite madly, but he had Gemma. He only hoped love would keep him from blacking out during the match with her brother.

When the butler took his hat and walking stick, Colin nearly leapt into the old man’s arms. “Godfrey, you old codger! I am going to get my ears boxed!”

True to form, Godfrey didn’t raise so much as an eyebrow at his master’s outburst.

“Sir…” he drew out in a low monotone.

“Godfrey! Did you hear me? I intend to boldly march into the fray. Win or lose is no matter!” He danced a short jig in the hall to emphasize his point.

“Sir…”

“Oh, Godfrey, you old killjoy. Whatever is the matter with you?”

“Sir… There is a man to see you.” Godfrey sounded exhausted as he gestured toward the study door.

“Whatever do you mean? Who is here?”

“Your solicitor.” Godfrey lifted his eyebrows nearly to his hairline — impressive trick. “The man who has been sending the correspondence.”

Colin shook his head in confusion.

“The correspondence you have been ignoring.”

In truth, he’d been ignoring all of it.

“It is a matter of great import. At least, that is what he claims.” Godfrey opened the door to the study for Colin to step through, then closed it behind him, leaving Colin in the room with the family solicitor — a man he hadn’t had the privilege of meeting until that moment.

“May I help you? And please be quick about it; I have another, pressing appointment for which I cannot be late.” Colin gestured toward a chair nearby as he took a seat behind his desk.

“Very well, your grace. I shall—”

Colin burst out laughing. “I am not a duke, sir. And I assure you, formality is lost on me.” When the man stared blankly at him, refusing to recant his greeting, Colin chuckled again. “I see. A joke, is it? Has Lord Maddox put you up to this? Anthony!” Colin began yelling for his friend. “You would think the fellow would have other occupations than to—”

“Your grace!” the solicitor snapped. “This is important.”

Fine, he’d play along. “Is it now?”

“My name is Rutledge. I have been in your family’s employ for the past twenty years, and I am here to inform you that the title of the Duke of Bridgewater has passed from your great uncle — God rest his soul — to you.”

Colin narrowed his eyes. “My great uncle? The same one who has not spoken to my family since before I was born?”

“A recluse of late. Some sort of falling out with his brother, your grandfather.” Rutledge shrugged. “Whatever the case, the title now falls to you. Of course, if you do not accept, it will, by law, return to the Crown.”

What an odd turn of events. Colin wasn’t sure he could wrap his head around it. A duke? Sir Colin Wilde?

He was still processing it when Rutledge pulled out a stack of papers. “The title is entailed to properties in Scotland, Wales, Surrey, and a lovely townhome in Mayfair. Upon your signature, you will also inherit the sum of seventy-five thousand pounds.”

Colin began to choke on the dryness in his mouth. Perhaps he should have shut it, instead of gaping at Rutledge like a lunatic. “Pardon me, did you say seventy—”

“—five thousand, yes.”

“Thousand?” Colin repeated.

“Pounds. Yes, that is what I said. Your grace, if you please… if you intend to repeat everything I say, this shall take a frightfully long time, and you did say you have another appointment.”

“I do apologize. Please, Mr. Rutledge, proceed.”

Rutledge stood to spread the papers out on Colin’s desk for his perusal. “There is one more thing.”

“There’s more?” Colin croaked.

Rutledge’s annoyance seemed to increase as he shifted on his feet. “Yes. A stipulation to your inheritance, your grace.”

“A stipulation?” Colin repeated. Rutledge raised an eyebrow in irritation. Colin shook his head and gestured for the man to continue.

“A betrothal contract. A match has been made.”

Dread filled Colin’s stomach. He wouldn’t. No, he couldn’t. His heart would not permit him to—

“—Miss Gemma Reynolds, the daughter of the Duke of Williston. I was told you are acquainted.”

“What?” Colin was apparently having a hard time hearing.