Lady Gone Wicked (Wicked Secrets)(59)

They turned to him.

“If I might say—” Nathaniel began.

“No,” Nick said in one voice with Wessex.

Which Nathaniel ignored. “Do you think we will still be having this argument when we’re sixty?”

“Unless we’re dead,” came the cheerful reply from Wessex.

“That can be arranged,” Nick said. And it would be, if the duke tried to wed Adelaide. “Don’t you have anything better to do than pry into my affairs? Go bother your own damned family.”

“As my family happens to be dead, no, I don’t have anything better to do. I have immense amounts of time on my hands, and if I choose to spend it contemplating all the ways Mr. Nicholas Eastwood has been a blithering idiot, I am free to do so.”

Nick stared at him. How the devil was he supposed to respond to that? It seemed ungentlemanly to kick a man who had lost his entire family.

“Nick,” his brother said in a tone that somehow managed to be both exasperated and affectionate. “I don’t want to have this argument when we’re sixty. Can we not be done with it now? I apologized for my wrongs and forgave you for yours. What more will you ask of me? Do you intend to punish me forever?”

Forever? That was a long time. Nick gazed at his brother. Would he cling to his anger through the decades that stretched unwritten before them? Through the weddings, and the births of their children, and perhaps through the deaths of loved ones, and then still more weddings? Could he?

That seemed…exhausting.

Nick did not want to hold on to the grudge, yet he didn’t know how to let it go.

Nathaniel sighed. “Even when I thought you were trying to murder me, you were still my brother and I loved you. Of course I should have demanded you come home. I should have done a great many things. Love does not make us perfect, unfortunately.”

Nick froze with his whiskey halfway to his lips, his brother’s insight hitting him like a lightning bolt.

Love does not make us perfect.

No, it most certainly did not.

But perhaps love could accept imperfections in others.

Adelaide was proof of that.

He had told her love did not exist, that it disappeared with hurt or disappointment. Once a lover’s flaw was discovered, love turned to ash. So he had always believed. His life seemed a prime example of betrayed love.

But Nate loved him, even as a possible murderer. And Adelaide had claimed to love him even after he had abandoned her in Cornwall. Even after seeing his long list of crimes.

And what were murder and abandonment if not flaws?

She had told him she loved him.

Good God.

Good God.

That was what she had said just before her confession.

I love you.

She had said it, and she had meant it, even knowing he would most certainly abandon her again. She loved him, even knowing he would not want her once he learned the truth about his son.

Nick felt the duke’s amused, curious gaze on him. “I do believe he’s having an epiphany. How droll.”

Nick raised his eyes to meet his brother’s. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“Indeed,” Nathaniel said gravely. “What will you do about it?”

“I’ll…” Nick’s voice died as he realized the extent of the mess he was in.

Adelaide was engaged to another man.

The same man who held Nick’s future in the palm of his hand.

Even if Montrose didn’t ruin him, the scandal would. And Nick knew Adelaide would never let him sacrifice his promised title for her. She simply wouldn’t allow it.

Besides, a scandal would bring her down as well. Her father might never speak to her again, and her mother would never forgive her for throwing over a duke. How could Nick ever make it up to her? How could he convince her that he was worth all that she would surely lose?

How could he extricate them both from this tangled web with his title intact?

He could not.

“He won’t do anything.” Wessex sounded bored. “Miss Bursnell made the mistake of accepting another man, and now she must suffer the consequences. We can’t expect your brother to take the blow for her. She did so once for him, to be sure, but that was merely her reputation and life, and this is a title. A marquessate that will be handed down to—”

“Fuck the title!” Nick exploded. “I only want her.”

“There, now.” Wessex took a long pull of brandy, looking more than smug. “Was that so hard?”

Truly, it was a miracle the duke had survived this long without being murdered.

“Nick,” Nathaniel said insistently. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m open to suggestions.” Nick spread his hands helplessly. “How do I get her free of her engagement without a scandal? And if scandal cannot be avoided, how do I convince her I’m worth it? I’ve let her down twice now. I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to risk a third time.”

“Grovel. Beg,” Nathaniel said. “Give her whatever she wants.”

Whatever she wants.

Of course.

The answer hit him solidly in the chest.

She had only ever wanted one thing.

And, by God, he would give it to her.





Chapter Forty-Two


At precisely half past ten, the Duke of Montrose whirled Adelaide right past the patronesses of Almack’s in a delightful waltz.