Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (Scandalous Seasons #2)(2)

Father slashed the air with his hand. “The bloody French wars destroyed my investments. I sold off the textiles at a loss.”

Christopher swiped a hand across his eyes. His father had so little faith in him that he’d not even sought Christopher’s advice. For his academic failings, Christopher had excelled in all things mathematical. Why hadn’t the old bastard let him look at the bloody ledgers? “What you’re proposing is madness.” Christopher made an effort to avoid the hellion who roused memories of that fiery night…and now his father expected him to wed her?

The marquess jabbed a finger in his direction. “You idiot. You have an obligation to me.”

“I have an obligation to no one.”

His father’s white eyebrows dipped. “If you don’t marry her, we’ll be ruined. You won’t be so mighty when you’ve lost everything.”

Christopher frowned. “Surely you exaggerate?”

“The creditors have begun calling.” The black scowl on Father’s face was dark enough to raise bloody terror in the devil himself. Fortunate for Christopher, he’d grown accustomed to the hell of living in his father’s household long, long ago.

Christopher’s rash actions might have resulted in the destruction of his father’s stables but he hardly deserved to spend his entire life atoning for that great sin by marrying Sophie Winters. “I’m sorry, Father. I won’t wed her.” Christopher went and poured himself another brandy. He could only imagine the kind of woman she’d grown into. Christopher took a long swallow. Nor did he care to find out.

“You won’t be so casual when you are penniless, shut away from all good company. Christ, I’d had such great expectations for you.” The marquess’ hand slashed the air. “Who would have imagined you’d have turned into such a miserable failure as a son?”

Christopher clenched his jaw to keep from pointing out that it was the marquess’ poor investments and proclivity to the gaming tables that had put them in the spot. His mind wandered off during the all too familiar, tirade. How often had it gone this way with the marquess? Ever since Christopher was a young boy, struggling in his studies, his father had looked on him with contempt and shame.

The marquess presented one fa?ade to Society and an altogether different one to the son who’d never managed to live up to his grand hopes. Over the years, Christopher had devoted himself to winning his father’s approval.

Now, at thirty years of age, he owned some of the finest horseflesh. His company was desired by the most influential members of the ton. Young ladies clamored for his notice.

All of that was irrelevant when coupled with his shortcomings.

As if sensing the dark direction his thoughts had taken, his father placed his palms on the surface of the desk and leaned over. Rage dripped from his ice blue eyes. “I know what you are thinking, boy. You’re saying to yourself ‘I’m the darling of Society,’ but my, how all that would change if you were found to be the penniless simpleton you truly are.”

A chill swept over Christopher. The promise of being cut off without funds didn’t terrify him as much as the risk of discovery. His father’s threat to expose Christopher’s struggles was a familiar one. Only this time, a thread of desperation underlined the marquess’ words, lending far too much credibility to his promise.

“You wouldn’t,” Christopher forced out past dry lips. “You’d shame yourself with any mention of the truth.”

“Bah, does it matter? If I am to lose everything, then by God I’ll see you suffer as well.” The marquess took a deep breath and composed himself. His age-weathered hands smoothed a path over the arms of the desk chair. “I know what you were about when you courted the Duke of Mallen’s sister.”

Oh, did he? Christopher arched a brow. “Please, enlighten me with your reasoning,” he drawled.

The marquess nodded. “You figured if you secured a match with the Duke of Mallen’s sister that as one of the most powerful peers in the realm, Mallen would protect you from Society’s scorn.” He continued with his flawed logic. “Except Lady Emmaline was far smarter than most gave her credit for. She saw your failings.” Just as I did. The words didn’t need to be spoken. They burned. Chafed. Dug at Christopher’s gut.

He’d not admit to his father that there had been more to his courtship of Lady Emmaline. He held a deep abiding respect for the Duke of Mallen’s sister. That, in no small way, motivated his courtship.

In the end, she’d chosen the better man in marrying Lord Drake, the Peninsula war hero and heir to a dukedom.

Christopher’s father was right.

God how he hated him for that.

Christopher peered down his nose at his father. “I’ll say it a final time. I won’t wed the lady, not to appease you.”

His father arched a single, ice-white brow. “This isn’t about appeasing me, Christopher. This is about survival.”

“You’d consign me to the role of fortune hunter? I’m certain that Miss Winters’ father had grander hopes for his daughter than marriage to a penniless earl.”

“The young lady is desperate. She’s better off with a fortune hunter than no one.”

Christopher balled his hands into tight fists at his side. Rage thrummed through him, volatile and burning. “I won’t.” He turned on his heel. He reached the front of the room when the marquess called out, halting him in his tracks.